Page 32 of The Players

Her head bobbed again.

Panic twisted in my gut. I wasn’t much of a drinker, but what choice did I have? I had to hope Savannah was a lightweight. She barely weighed one hundred pounds. Then my eyes caught Spencer and the nearly-imperceptible shake of his head.

He was telling me this was a bad idea.

But it was too late. I couldn’t back out now.

I sat down at the table and grabbed my glass. “Okay, Savannah. Take your best shot.”

She laughed and slid into the chair across from me, before saying, “Bestshot. Boy, you are clever. Oh, this is going to be fun.”

Chapter fourteen

Savannahpouredthefirstshots, the clear liquid filling up the glasses as the bottle made little gurgling noises. Vodka looked so much like water, yet it would be so cruel.

I’d only had vodka once at a party with Randy last year. I remember the burn in my throat. I remembered the instant headache. That was my first and last experience with vodka, and it wasn’t like I’d had a ton of other drinking experiences either. I’d never liked feeling out of control. The world had been a frightening place after my parents died. I needed to stay aware in case the wolves were at my door.

Today the wolves were clustered around me under the harsh glare of the halogen lights, the smell of burning rubber still lingering in our nostrils.

The three boys leaned against Spencer’s sports car watching. It was so strange to see Mills standing next to Easton like he hadn’t wanted to crush his skull a week ago. Had it been that easy to drag him back to the dark side? One bad night? One insidious game and he’d gone crawling back to being a Lord? I’d have thought he’d have more loyalty than that. Or maybe I’d just been a fun romp.

It hurt more than I could say, and I knew she’d done it to mess with my head. Savannah fed on my discomfort like a Dementor fed on joy. I’m sure the look on my face as he stepped out of the car would sustain her for a long time to come.

“There,” she said, setting the vodka bottle down. “Shot number one. Easy.” She picked up a glass and held it out to me.

Reluctantly, I picked mine up and clinked it against hers.

“Cheers.” She lifted the glass to her lips and tipped it back.

I did the same. The vodka burned my throat as it slid down, making me want to choke, but I held back. We both set our glasses on the table with a hard clunk.

“Now what?” I asked. This felt very anti-climactic. No drowning in tanks of water. No being buried alive. Had they run out of ideas?

Savannah smirked. “You’re right. This is boring. How about this? Let’s make it interesting. After each shot, we play Truth or Dare. Well, mostly you play.”

“Why not you?” I asked. “Are you chicken?”

“Ah, ah, ah,” she said, wagging her finger. “My friend isn’t a poor worker bee who’s about to lose her shitty grocery store. That’syou, remember?”

I sucked in a lungful of the night air. “Fine. Whatever. Truth. Let’s get this over with.”

“Truth?” Savannah said, her voice higher pitched than normal. Was the vodka already affecting her? It was me. My head seemed to buzz.

“Okay, how about this?” Savannah said. “Tell us, why did you pick Mills last during the water challenge? I’m sure he’s dying to know.” She glanced over to him and gave him a wave. He stood still, looking uncomfortable. Then she turned back to me. “And you have to be honest, or it’s two shots for you during the next round.”

I rolled my eyes at her arbitrary rules. But then I lifted my eyes to Mills.

His expression had changed from one of indifference to a thinly veiled anger. I couldn’t tell if he was angry at me or angry at being a pawn in this stupid game. Either way, he crossed his arms over his massive chest, the sleeves of his t-shirt going tight against his biceps.

He did not look at me.

I swallowed hard. My head was buzzing, either from the stress or the alcohol. “I picked Mills last because he was the strongest.”

“Lies,” Savannah said, pounding her fist on the table. “You picked him last because you think he’s a shitty lay. Admit it.”

I shook my head. “It’s the truth. Mills is the strongest, physically and mentally. Sure Lowell is strong physically, but he’s been through so much. He drinks to forget the demons of his past. And Hector, he’s smart, but he’s not as physically strong as Mills. Plus, Hector’s dad is verbally abusive to him and his mom. They’re probably going to break up soon and that’s really going to affect Hector when it happens.” I squeezed my hands together under the table as emotions threatened to overwhelm me. “Mills is strong. I knew he was a survivor.”

This time, when I looked up at him, Mills met my gaze. His expression was unreadable.

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