Page 2 of Sinister Games

After was blindingly clear. Full of bright colors, intense emotions, pleasures and pain. After was living a life so extreme you felt the heat of the flame as it got fed by your own desires. It unfurled and stretched toward the sky, burning hotter and brighter. Soon it would consume you… and you didn’t care.

Richard had become as much my obsession as I was his.

An unholy fusing of two damaged souls.

It wasn’t supposed to be like this… it had all started out so innocently, with a chance encounter and a stolen kiss. Even now, I wondered how I could have been so naive? As if Richard ever left anything up to chance. He had planned this… every moment of our mutual destruction, from the very beginning.

These violent delights have violent ends, and in their triumph die, like fire and powder, which as they kiss consume.

If ever there was a quote to fit this fucked-up, twisted obsession we had for one another, that was it. Except we couldn’t claim the innocent infatuation of Romeo and Juliet. No, this was something far darker and more all-consuming. We did have one thing in common with Romeo and Juliet—this would end violently. There was no other way.

An obsession this extreme did not just fade away. We were not the type of couple to randomly have an argument over frozen pizza and then split up, only talking again to exchange small boxes of meaningless trifles like toothbrushes and unread books. That was what happened to normal couples. There was nothing normal about our relationship.

Pain, punishment, and manipulation—all to chase the high of an ever more intense, ever more consuming pleasure. We had each drawn blood in the frenzy of our own desires and yet instead of it becoming a sobering omen it only spurred us on more.

Where would it end? In madness or death, I had no doubt. I was already half mad myself.

I could no longer tell what was real and what was part of our game. If I didn’t do something soon to save both of us, we would be lost. Yet I knew, deep in my bones, Richard would never let me go, never allow me to simply walk away. If I were honest with myself, I didn’t think I could now if I tried. I was bound to him with chains of my own making.

These violent delights have violent ends…

Shifting my body slightly away from his oppressive warmth, I reached under my pillow, moving my fingers beneath the silk till they touched cold metal.

At that moment, Richard’s arm tightened, his fingers stretched out over the narrow curve of my waist, pressing deep into my skin. I choked on a frightened gasp. The sickening taste of blood trickled into my mouth as I bit down on my bottom lip to keep from crying out. My heart hammered in my ears, as my body became rigid in an effort to stop my limbs from trembling.

My eyes closed as I braced for his rage at my betrayal.

Holding my breath so long I felt dizzy, the rush of adrenaline made my stomach cramp. Still, I waited in the darkness.

An eternity later, his fingers once more relaxed, resting heavily on my hip.

Willing myself to move, I carefully shifted to the side, my overheated bare skin sliding easily along the silk sheets.

I placed one foot on the hardwood floor and paused, listening for the even sounds of his breathing. I then swung my other foot over the edge and crouched by the bed. For a brief moment, I thought of covering my nakedness with my discarded nightgown, whose champagne satin shown bright in the moonlight. I abandoned the idea when I remembered how Richard had torn the delicate garment from my body only hours earlier. Its tattered remains would provide no protection for me now.

My eyes adjusted to the dim light as I scanned the bedroom, before my gaze rested on Richard.

Even in sleep, he looked intimidating. Nothing could soften the harsh angles of his jaw and sharp cheekbones or the heavy slope of his brow. He had the handsome looks and charm of the devil himself, with the same moral code. Half expecting to see his piercing blue eyes trained on me in anger, I let the breath I had been holding escape through my lips when I observed him still sleeping.

Refusing to take my gaze off him, I wrapped my stiff fingers around the smooth wooden handle of the gun, stifling a hiss as it pressed against the cut on my palm, and slowly pulled it free from under my pillow.

The Smith & Wesson .38 Special was heavier than I thought it would be. I’d never really held a gun before but for some strange reason I didn’t think it would feel so heavy. Its polished metal looked dark and sinister against the pale skin of my hand.

Tremors racked my body as I willed myself to take one step, then another, away from the bed.

This was it. There was no turning back.

Circling around, I turned to once more face his sleeping form.

Except he wasn’t sleeping anymore.

Those dark, intense eyes were trained on me.

My mouth opened on a silent scream as my stomach twisted in stark, terrorizing fear.

Had he been awake the whole time?

Had he found the gun earlier and guessed my plan?

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