Chapter Two
In which Kai has had enough of this shite.
Kai / “Wallace…”
“C’mon, Wallace. Let me make you feel better.”
The girl trying to crawl on my lap is pissing me off. She’s one of those extra-skinny types who refuses to eat more than an almond a day.
Mariah? Misty? M… somethin’ starting with an M.
“Not tonight.” I drink half my Glenfiddich. “Are you forgetting the Dark Games? I have shit to do, so get off my lap.”
She slowly stands up, pouting as hard as she can. “How about after?” Her voice is shrill with disappointment, and the pitch kicks off the buzz saw in my brain. Being on this fecking island is a headache. An ever-present throb of pain about who and what I have to be.
Brushing past her, I head for the study in the back where my fellow arseholes are ready for another game. The Dark Games, we call ‘em, but they’re more than dark; they’re the blackest of the black. The color matches my soul, though it’s hard to care.
I’ve been in this fecking life as a Lord of Chaos for six weeks, no closer to finding the site of the nerve gas lab, though I’ve picked up plenty of other bits of information to pass on to Uncle Cormac; new crime families distributing drugs - the hardcore shite - a couple of ports they’ll likely use to ship the gas and modified rifles.
Just not the god-cursed lab.
Five of the other Lords are there, lounging in leather wingback chairs. The elegant room looks like it should be a private club, where old, wealthy businessmen plot the future of government and commerce. Technically, that is what we’re doing, we’re just younger, stronger, and more vicious about getting what we want.
“About time, motherfucker,” Enzo says, finishing off his drink. “We were about to start the fun without you.” He’s wearing leather pants - the poser - and boots, his tattoos twisting all over his chest and arms in the firelight.
“Who’s on the menu tonight?” I ask, picking up my baseball bat and spinning it. It’s a solid piece of wood, polished to a sheen, but traces of blood are embedded in the grooves like veins running through it, a living thing meant for destruction.
Marcus clicks the remote, and the huge monitor lights up, showing our guests scattered through the mansion and scanning slowly over the women.
“The usual desperate pricks looking to be admitted into the Lords,” he says. “I decided shit’s getting dull. So, the girls have helpfully brought in some fresh meat. They think they’re just here for the party. They have no idea what’s about to happen to them.”
What have these arseholes done now? Fecking human trafficking?
“That’s brilliant!” Richard crowed. “They’re in for one hell of a night.”
My gaze zeroes in on a lass I don’t recognize. Shite, she must be one of the innocents Brittany and her harpy crew dragged in. She’s beautiful, with silver-blonde hair cascading over her shoulders and glittering in the moonlight. She’s little, but as the Bard says, she is fierce. She’s helping a waitress out of the pool while glaring at Eddie, who’d shoved the poor woman in. I know better than to ask who she is. Deacon has a hard-on for going after every woman he thinks I have the slightest interest in.
“See anything you like?” Deacon asks with a sly grin.
Shrugging, I say, “They’re meat. Just meat.”
The camera scans over some other little clumps of partygoers, I recognize most of them. “I can already tell the men are useless, though the burly guy looks like his muscles are used for something other than flexing at the gym,” I muse. “He might have some promise.”
I only see two new girls, and my gut twists as I hear the others laughing loudly as they speculate on who they plan to run to earth tonight. This changes everything, I must get them out of the way before these dumb fecks mow them down.
“Who is that big bastard?” Trent points at the muscled guy I’d mentioned earlier.
Richard leans closer, eyes narrowed. “That’s Colton Brennan, comes from Big Pharma in the States. I don’t know why he’s willing to go through this bullshit to get into the Lords, but I’m perfectly happy to test him out.”
The others laugh, picking up their various implements of destruction. Deacon’s favorite is a six-foot-long bullwhip, and I have vivid memories of what happened to the last man he used it on. He’s wearing his studded red leather mask tonight. I’m dying to tell him he looks like a male submissive, fresh out of his cage, but we dinna have time to beat the shite out of each other tonight.
His brother Richard is fond of a stout wooden bokken, it can break bones and shatter joints with a single swing. He’s always rattling on about his “samurai training” in Japan. He’s wearing a Namahage mask, with vicious, blocky teeth distorting the mouth of the mask.
Reaching behind me, I pull off my shirt, stretch, and spin my bat. “Let’s do this.”
I get a small moment of satisfaction when I slam my bat against the metal pot, watching the crowd around the pool yelp and cover their ears.
“Pay attention, fuckheads! The Dark Games are about to begin!”
There’s something ugly in the energy swirling through the Lords tonight. Deacon and Richard look like they’re out for blood, and Enzo’s a fucking lunatic who’d just as soon kill as catch.
“We’re going to play a game tonight,” I say, my voice rasping through my mask.
“Finders, Keepers,” Marcus shouts.
Our people slowly back away from the lambs they’ve lured in for tonight. The new girls are looking around, wide-eyed, and the two men stupid enough to try to gain admission into the Lords attempt to look tough. The wee blonde I’d watched earlier is frowning, stepping closer to her friend. She’s already noticed that Brittany and Canary have joined the others on the stone steps.
She’s taking in the new energy around the pool, the barely contained eagerness, the terrified anticipation.
Smart lass.
Our hangers-on are always ready to see some blood spilled.
“The rules for Finders, Keepers are simple,” Enzo shouts, wearing a demon mask and a huge grin. “You run. We chase you. If you can make it back to the dock before you’re caught, you are our honored guests.” His gaze shifts to Colton and the other guy, who’s currently questioning his life choices. “If we catch you…” He chuckles. “Tonight’s going to go in an entirely different direction.”
I can still see the wee blonde out of the corner of my eye. She’s shaking her head decisively.
She just realized she’s on the menu tonight. My head tips back and I groan silently. I have to get them out of this chase and hide them somewhere until I can get them off the island tomorrow.
Feck the rest of these lambs. They signed up for this. These two girls dinna know what they got lured into.
Taking the hand of the other newcomer, the little blonde starts edging to the side. She’s probably trying to skirt around the mansion to the front, which is a straight shot to the docks. Clever lass. Eddie steps in front of them. He prefers a cricket bat, taped to add more strength and flexibility. He taps it against her leg in warning, chuckling when she angrily pushes it away.
Richard’s still talking; he loves the sound of his voice. He talks more than the other six of us together. “Almost midnight. Count it down, people.”
Our crew starts counting gleefully, everyone excited, waiting for the havoc to begin.
“Five!”
“Four!”
“Three!”
“Two!”
“One!”
“You heard them!” Trent roars, “Run, or we’ll fuck you up right here!”
Some of the women foolish enough to want to play this game take off into the forest. Not my blonde. She’s looking for a way to the docks and safety. A quick glance shows her both paths to the front are blocked, and her shoulders slump.
Slamming my bat against the metal container again, I watch everyone jump. “If you want to live, fucking go, you sheep!”
My girl takes off, dragging her wailing friend behind her. Waiting until they’ve disappeared into the pines, I break into a run, following them silently through the woods.
“It’s going to be okay,” she pants, smiling reassuringly at the shaking redhead. “The harbor is to our left. We’ll run this way and then curve around once we hit the beach. I know your flip flops suck, it won’t be for long.”
So sweet, comforting her sobbing friend, who’s yowling loud enough to startle birds from the trees and likely providing their location to the other Lords.
That won’t do.
I slam my baseball bat against a tree trunk, and they both jump half a meter. My lass hastily presses her hand against the redhead’s mouth before she can scream, and they take off again.
Now and then, I hit my bat against a pine or let out another howl to keep them going in the right direction. I’m herding them toward the boathouse. It’s on the far side of the dock and while I admire her courage, she was running in the wrong direction. Another howl from me and they veer right, picking up speed.
I’m torn. This girl’s fierceness and her refusal to panic are grand. I could herd them both to the safety of the boathouse.
I should.
The feral part of me is trying to surge through my self-control, and on nights like this, I enjoy the game too much.
I’ll play with her a wee bit longer
Taking two huge steps toward them, I grin as she tenses at the crack of branches under my feet, and she squints, trying to see through the trees.
“Run, little girls,” I say, just loud enough for them to hear. “I’m so close.”
By now, she’s half-carrying the redhead as they angle to the left. I’m herding them around the thickest part of the forest and to the beach. Watching her furious determination to escape me is hot as feck. My cock’s hard enough to split wood and I press the heel of my hand against it, trying to will it back down. Running with a stonner is just as uncomfortable as it sounds, but this chase is making me predatory. Feral.
The sky is black with only a sliver of the moon to guide them, the scent of the pines and fresh earth and a tang of salt from the ocean in the wind make me breathe deep in pleasure. I always regress into something else on nights like this, a beast, sharpening his teeth. Wanting the chase, loving it.
I’m fighting my filthiest impulses to put the redhead in the boathouse and chase my pretty blonde through the forest for the rest of the night. Throwing a rock that hits the boulder next to them, I chuckle when they take off again like spooked rabbits.
Running parallel to them, I groan silently. This is good. It’s so fucking good but I have to let her go. She’s distracting me, and I need to get these two tucked up and out of sight. The boathouse is close, and my blonde is dragging her friend along.
“Almost there, see it?” she urges. “We’ll hide. We’ll be safe. You can do this, just a little more.”
Stonner -Scottish slang for an erection