55
COOPER
The back door of the limo opens, and the din of the crowd outside rushes in.
In the order we’ve agreed just a moment ago, Scotty exits first, adjusting his black suit with a matching waistcoat beneath—because he’s excessive like that—and stepping into the pandemonium like some sort of supermodel as cameras flash in his face and paparazzi and reporters shout at him, attempting to steal both our vision and hearing.
Yeah, these are not the fucking hidden cameras used in The Dome during Bonding Games.
Bloody hell.
Alby gets out next, looking worse than petrified, and I internally wince as sympathy for him works through me.
I’ll never truly know how horrid it is for him to be around so many people like this, but from everything I now know about him, I’m thinking this is likely one of the scariest moments of his life.
And I don’t miss the way HC tracks him with narrowed eyes before a scathing glare is directed out the limo, even though no one out there can see her yet with where she’s sitting to scream and sprint from it, as if she’s thinking something along the same lines as me.
But with much more violent thoughts in the mix.
Doesn’t fucking care about us, my ass.
Tate steps out after him, glowering like this is the most irritating thing he’s ever had to do.
I’m pretty sure he’s just pissy because he’s separated from his Havoc for 0.1 seconds.
“See you out there, Ezzy! Love you!”
Ezla blinks at Tiger as he hops out the limo and into the crowd with a dramatic hair toss.
Shaking my head, I follow, internally cursing as I’m blinded by the white lights that assault me straight away.
Motherfucker.
Trying to see my goddamn hand through it all, vision spotty, I scowl at the figures I can vaguely make out behind the bloody attack machines, their barrage of questions—which I can hardly even understand in the cacophony—popping my eardrums, and I reach that hand out back into the open limo door.
A small, silky palm lands in mine, and the world around me shrinks, narrowing down to her.
Vengeance hikes her dress higher with her free hand, dark lashes rising to allow those mismatched eyes to meet mine, and my heart gives a forceful thump that echoes throughout the mind that’s silent other than for thoughts of her.
It feels as though our gazes stay locked forever, unwaveringly focused on one another, the blood rushing in my ears the only backdrop. But I know it’s less than a second before sound slams back into focus. And it is unbearable.
HC’s hand tightens around mine, the only sign of her discomfort as literal screams ring out, the flashes and countless clicks of cameras diabolical.
A faint tremor runs through her and into me, and my fingers grip on to her more securely as I help her down to the purest-white carpet that leads all the way to the massive gold-and-ivory building behind us titled HALFWAY BALL high up on its curved exterior.
The place stands out shockingly against the surrounding glinting black structures everywhere else and the cloudless night sky above.
Are you okay? I try to push down the bond. Or shove, more like.
It’s necessary when attempting to get through to Ezla in any way.
Fine. Her response comes too quickly to be entirely truthful, but even I know now’s not the time to push her on this. I’m just thankful she let me into her mind without a hitch.
Tiger, Alby, and Scotty have already formed a line, Tate waiting for me and Vengeance slightly further back, and I lead her over, linking her arm through mine, blood heating as her hand comes to rest on my forearm.
Tiger does the same on her right, flashing his usual smile to rival the light of the cameras.
But that happiness is only there and genuine right now in all this chaos because of our Bonded.
Because he gets to touch her like this. I more than understand the feeling—it’s still a miracle every time one of us gets so close to her.
But the moment is ruined as invasive questions, ridiculous remarks, and atrocious announcements keep being thrown our way, mostly Vengeance’s. And they’re truly fucking awful, no shame whatsoever.
I hate violence.
But I’d love to shove these cameras right up each one of their owner’s asses.
“EZLA?! ARE WE GETTING THIS?! THE BONDING GAMES CHAMPION: FINALLY REVEALED! BEAUTY OR NIGHTMARE?!”
“WHAT’S THAT ON YOUR FACE, CHAMPION?! CAN WE GET A FEW WORDS FOR THE VIEWERS ACROSS THE GLOBE?”
“THE CHAMPION’S FACE REVEALED AT LAST—”
“CHAMPION! CHAMPION! LOOK OVER HERE! SHOW US YOUR RIGHT SIDE!”
“HOW DO YOU FEEL ABOUT YOUR STATUS AS THE LARGEST BONDED GROUP EVER FORMED?!”
“CHAMPION, IS YOUR EYE RED?! IS THAT AVRI?!”
“OVER HERE! SMILE FOR THE CAMERA! MAKE SURE YOUR RIGHT EYE IS VISIBLE!”
“ARE YOU WITH ALL YOUR BONDED? HAVE YOU BEEN INTIMATE WITH EVERY ONE OF THEM, EZLA?! WHO WAS YOUR FAVOURITE AND WHY—”
“IS THIS A NEW FASHION STATEMENT?! EZLA?! CHAMPION?!”
I can’t hold back my snarl at that one.
A fucking fashion statement? Is that cunting, fucking bastard for real?
Nah, fuck this. I’m gonna bash his thick skull—
Calm.
Stiffening, I slowly turn my head to Vengeance.
Calm? I echo. How can I be calm?! Can you not hear the shit they’re saying?!
Her voice of velvet sin comes again: This is not surprising. We were prepared for this.
And? Give me the fucking word, and I’ll kill every one of them.
You hate violence.
Not when it comes to you—to protecting you.
Hm.
And that’s her dismissing me.
Scowling at everyone and everything not in our Bonded group, I fight to keep my steps even as we advance towards the mammoth monstrosity at the end of the long carpet, but it’s hard when I want to turn around every few feet to deck the nearest photographer or reporter.
Fortunately—or unfortunately for my tingling fists—we reach the heavy golden doors without any real issues, and two men dressed in expensive tuxedos who’d been standing by push them open for us, admitting us inside.
The ballroom greets us immediately, only a small open entry space shaped with straight plain walls in a sort of rectangular box to separate it somewhat from the huge circular room where hundreds of guests mingle. My gaze rakes over the interior:
The place is exclusively here for The Bonding Games, so it only has the rooms and facilities needed for the Halfway Ball; the open doorways embedded in the extensive circular wall surrounding the ballroom likely lead to the toilets, the dining room, kitchens, and other staff facilities.
It’s also the only building in all of Techta that is golden, most of whose structure I know is real gold from the boasting on live TV every year, and a gigantic chandelier displays this well with its gleaming arms and sparkling crystals right in the centre of the domed ivory-and-gold ceiling.
Parallel to that, the sheeny floor is checkered, alternating between the two theme colours all around, and the continuous wall is a mixture of swirling patters in the same shades.
Servers carry multiple trays of alcohol throughout the overload of guests, all of whom are dressed in black unless they’re the Players I find scattered around the crowd who are clothed in varying distinctive colours, two of whom no longer have a Bonded group; one of those wears a pink tie, while the other man—who I recognise as Player 2, meaning he would’ve gone to Tate’s third school as EvTS 202 students hold the Player numbers from 1 to 10, just like Players 11 to 20 came from my school, and so on—wears a yellow one.
I also spot who I believe is Iggy, one of the only people who I actually know the name of since Alby has mentioned him a couple times; he and his Bonds are wearing dark blue, while a raven-haired girl and a white-haired man whose names I can’t currently recall but who I know are from EvTS 246 as well are wearing purple along with the younger Exot teenager they claimed in Game 1.
And there’s two other groups who are Bonded pairs, one with a woody-brown theme, and the other orange.
Lastly, there’s silver, the most eye-catching after our gold, chosen by Aider fucking Cole—who I should really insult by calling “Player 22” like Vengeance does—and his two prickish Exot buddies.
Well, the servers and everyone else were moving around, I assume.
Before everyone had stopped to stare at Vengeance in the middle of our group, the classical music playing now the only sound floating about the room as everyone gawks.
Fucking idiots.
“Stop staring at my girl, you snobby, greedy little nut-fuckers. She’s mine,” Tate growls into the silence, and some stares shift to gape at him instead, though the majority don’t leave our girl.
“It is rude to stare.”
Heads whip back around in and instant, no one eager to be sliced and diced brutally by The Bonding Games Champion.
But the ruckus that rises to attempt to pop my eardrums is clearly all about her, and they don’t make any efforts to hide it, whispers and gasps not unlike the ones outside tossed about carelessly.
I think my teeth might crack from the force I smash them together.
Ezla doesn’t share whether she’s bothered by all this or not, marching forwards and dragging me and Tiger along since we’re still connected, the other three following as the crowd parts for us like we’re some sort of ethereal beings.
Or like we have the plague. I honestly can’t tell with the jumble of fear and reverence emanating from them which is more likely.
At least that’s one positive—wouldn’t wanna catch whatever pretentious-asshole virus they have.
Stopping us in the middle of the ballroom, Vengeance’s slitted gaze drills into the crowd, and I’m wondering what the bloody hell she’s doing when it pauses on a man.
A man whose face everyone knows worldwide. One of the few men I’ve fantasised about killing, who provokes my hatred of violence to fly right out the window.
The Game Master.
Ezla’s father.
My blood runs cold, then hot with the heat of a thousand suns.
I. Am. Going. To. Annihilate. Him.