Page 9 of Vicious Games

I wanted to be the hero in her story, not the villain.

My stomach twisted as every cell in my body rebelled against my wayward thoughts.

Heroes were weak. They were easily led by their emotions, a dangerous thing.

True, I wanted her to love me, to need me, to want me, but I had no intention of ever returning that emotion. To do so would be madness. It would be inviting in a lack of control over my life that I hadn’t felt since I was a child. A lack of control I had promised myself I would never, ever feel again as long as I lived. Never again would I return to a time when I yearned for the slightest show of affection.

Damn her.

Damn her for making me even question my motives.

Damn her for making me feel something.

She was my possession, nothing more.

A plaything I had gained through cold-hearted manipulation.

When I told her what we had was beyond love, I meant it. Love was for the weak. It was a useless emotion that left you vulnerable. Power and control were the strong emotions. Knowing you had someone’s entire existence in the palm of your hand, that was something to strive for, to attain, to possess. Of course, I was obsessed with her, but that came from my deep-seated desire to always be in complete control at all times.

I am obsessed with her because I want to own her, not love her.

That didn’t mean I didn’t want her to love me.

I wanted her to love me above all others.

I could capture her body. I could play with her mind, but I couldn’t force her heart. That was the only thing she could keep from me. The only thing I couldn’t possess at the snap of my fingers.

I could feel my anger rising again.

She had gone behind my back. She had planned another escape almost from the very moment I stopped her last one. She had begged another man for help—for help in getting away from me. It was unacceptable.

She was mine, goddammit.

The sooner she accepted that fact, the sooner I would stop hurting her.

How dare she think she could best me in this game?

How dare she make me question my motives?

Did she not realize she tempted the devil himself?

She wouldn’t win. I wouldn’t let her win. This was my game, and we would play it by my rules.

I raised my fist and punched the mirror. It shattered into a thousand jagged pieces.

Ignoring the sharp sting of pain in my hand, I continued to stare at my fractured reflection.

My moment of weakness was gone.

My resolve hardened.

She would not win. I would not let her win.

My heart wasn’t the one in danger. It never would be.

Fuck wanting her to love me. I would settle for owning her, controlling her, fucking her.

She was my pretty little possession. I would use her for my own pleasure. In time, she would learn to love me. She had no choice. It would be the only way she’d survive.

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