32 #2
Wild-eyed, pale face splattered with blood, his head snaps her way. His other arm halts on its own when he processes who stands before him. “E-Ezla,” he rasps out.
Humming, she yanks him into her and wraps her arms around him. You did so well, she praises as I drop the dead weight from my hold, demanifesting my Avri but keeping my armoury stick in my hand at the ready.
Gasping, Alby quickly wraps his arms around her in return, clinging on tight. I did . . . ?
Yes. I am proud.
He flushes, pleasure trickling from him and through to her.
But then Ezla says, But you will not do that again. That is not for you to do. You are not that person.
Swallowing, he nods against her shoulder. I know . . . I . . . I don’t regret killing him, though . . .
A gloved hand strokes over his hair, and his lashes flutter. I am aware, she replies. But he is an exception, and his kill was yours to claim how you saw fit. You will never feel like that again. You will never feel the need to end someone like that again.
But the Game Master . . .
Is not yours to kill, Ezla cuts him off, and there’s a mix of disappointment, confusion, and also a little hurt in him in response.
Do not be upset, Alby. You will still be there when the time comes, but I can feel how unbalanced this has made you.
I know that, despite feeling relieved and glad of the way you have ended Aider, you do not feel like yourself.
You are questioning who you are. Feeling tainted.
I will not allow you to feel like this again.
Relaxing, the tumult of emotions within him subsides. Yes, Ezla . . . Thank you . . . thank you for always taking care of me.
She stills, and Alby stiffens in response, a bolt of panic returning. Ezla muses, Is that what I have been doing?
It’s eerily silent, and I can’t take it for too long. Deciding to fill it, my tone is cautious as I answer, Yes, Love . . .
“Fifteen minutes remaining.”
I go rigid all over.
“Oh fuck. Oh fuck, we’re all gonna die—”
Ezla’s head whips to her left, and she draws back from Alby.
“Shut up, you moronic waste of space,” she snaps at Player 87, who’s pinned on the taalk beneath Player 2—Elijah—who my Bonded’s mismatched glare narrows on maliciously next.
She’d evidently been too distracted, too consumed by the bloodlust, to notice him until now as she purrs in a way that has goosebumps raising along my arms, “What do we have here?”
“Not him, Ezla,” I say quickly, stepping towards her.
Her stare of death whips over to me. You dare to tell me what to do? she hisses venomously, a look darkening her features that I’m not sure I’ve ever seen pinned on me like this, not in all the time I’ve known her. On live television, too?
My heart drops from my chest cavity.
Shit, I’m so sorry, Ezla. I’m sorry, I didn’t think about that, how that would look—
I cannot be controlled. I cannot be stopped—
He saved my life, Ezla! I cut her off urgently, moving closer to her and trying to take her in my arms, but she shoves me back so hard I almost fall into the blood pooled on the floor from Aider.
Still, I don’t back down. You know that!
He told me about the helmets! Then he fought with me when I was outnumbered! Please, Ezla—
“Go away, Player 2!” she barks abruptly, and I jump. “This is my Bonded group’s revenge, and you are not wanted here. I shall kill you in Game 6 and rejoice in your terror whenever I catch a glimpse of you before then.”
Any and all colour gone from his face, he splutters out a, “Y-yes, Champion,” before scrambling to his feet and running like hell down the hall, turning a corner without even analysing if it’s the best route beforehand.
Swallowing thickly, vaguely noting Tate jumping on Player 87 when he tries to make an escape, too, I send down the bond, Thank you, Love. I know that must have been h—
I do not wish to speak with you. Leave. Leave my mind.
My lips part. Ezla . . . Love, please . . .
I have spared him as he kept you alive, but I am unhappy with you and would like some space.
Pain clenches and spasms in my chest. Please, Love. Please, I’m sorry. I didn’t think. I should have asked in your mind. I didn’t mean to undermine you. Don’t shut me out—
An impenetrable wall slams down in front of me.
“Fourteen minutes remaining.”
That pain spreads and spreads until it’s hard to breathe. I’m really fucking things up today.
My brothers exchange cautious glances, Tate excluded as he gives me a furious glare that tells me he’d love to shake me hard enough to dislodge my teeth.
“We have to go.” Cooper is the first to break the silence, tone low.
Alarm flashes through Tiger’s eyes. “Does anyone have any idea of the way to the middle from here?”
“You go ahead. I am not done here.” Ezla’s voice is harder and colder than ice.
“Fuck that, Havoc. We’re finishing this together.
” His large fist smashes into Player 87’s face, who spews a train of venomous curses and struggles and flops about like a fish on a hook beneath him.
“This good-for-nothing prick stabbed you. He almost—” Neck tensing and rolling, Tate cuts himself off.
Rage like no other pummels into me too, and my hurt momentarily takes a back seat as my attention lasers in on the man who could’ve killed my Bonded, my fucking everything.
Growling, Ezla hisses, “Do it, then. I will have my fun with Player 84. Be quick, or I may kill you all myself.”
Not about to question her abrupt change of heart, I step towards Player 87.
The Exot doesn’t stop throwing his insults about as I advance with Cooper, but he’s definitely getting weaker with each of the hits Tate’s now raining down on him.
A brief glance behind me shows Ezla advancing on the passed-out Player 84 and Tiger stood back with a rare seething expression scrunching his face as he glares at the man under Tate alongside Alby.
I think he wants to join in but has chosen to keep his best friend company after the words Ezla gave our quietest brother, there to make sure he’s okay and doesn’t break down.
I’m glad, honestly, because I think they apply to him too.
Cooper is the first to reach Player 87 out of the two of us, and his boot slams into the man’s head with a solid thump as he grits out, “You’re fucking dead.
You seriously thought you could touch our woman and get away with it?
” Another kick, and Tate moves back automatically to give him room, understanding this vengeance belongs to all of us.
Gloved hand wrapped around the Exot’s neck, he keeps him in place as Cooper continues, “You tried to take her away from me. From us.”
When Tate leans to the side as Player 87 opens his mouth to speak, I don’t know what the fuck he’s doing.
Not until he comes back with Aider’s severed penis in his hand.
And he shoves the organ straight down Player 87’s waiting throat.
“Oh my fucking god!” Tiger shrieks somewhere behind me. “Don’t look, Bestie!”
Cooper has frozen, foot paused mid-air as he blinks at the sight in shock. My stomach does a concerning spin, but I’m not sure what kind of person it makes me when I really don’t think this punishment is unwarranted.
Ezla makes me do and think crazy things sometimes.
“Since you loved to suck your master’s cock so much when he was alive,” Tate provides with a manic grin, and I don’t know whose half-choked, half-laughed sound comes from behind me, but I almost let out one of my own.
With no way to breathe, Player 87’s face purples, and I’ve never seen anyone look both so horrified and angry before. He thrashes more desperately, but those attempts are quickly weakening.
“Very poetic,” velvet and sin purrs, and I snap my head to the left, my brothers following my gaze.
With my quick scan behind Ezla, I catch a surprisingly neat death, only a hole through Player 84’s chest . . . That sounds really bad to think, but when I know the usual results of the storm that is my Bonded, it really can’t be described as anything else.
Her brown and red eyes land on me, and my heart jumps. I know we definitely need to talk things out later—all of us—but at least she’s acknowledging me again. She lifts the bloody organ I now notice in her hand, staining her glove and the arm of her suit. “I brought you a gift.”
I gape at the heart in her hand.
“You are the one Player 84 affected most during Game 4. He kept you from me and from your brothers.”
My mouth opens and closes. I rub at the back of my neck. “I, ah—”
Ezla’s eye twitches, features tightening. “Do you not want it?”
“No, no!” I rush out, raising my arm for her . . . gift. “Of course I do, Love! I was just a bit . . . shocked, is all.”
Her eyes slit. “Hm.”
I try to keep my face even, not allowing a single muscle to twitch as she places the heart in my hand. It’s not that I don’t appreciate the gesture—the reasoning behind it has my heart warming, honestly—but I mean . . . I’m holding a goddamn human organ. A still-warm one.
Even though I keep my shiver of repulsion in, Ezla doesn’t miss a thing. “You hate it,” she states.
Before I can respond, Tate jumps up, and it reminds me of Player 87, who I haven’t got the chance to have my piece of yet.
Time’s fast running out, and there’s a burning need to make the Exot pay for the way he hurt my Bonded, the way him almost managing to kill Ezla nearly killed me and my brothers as a result.
So, as Tate snatches the heart from my hand and licks his lips like it really is the best gift he’s ever seen, sending relief through me as I swear Ezla’s eyes seem to brighten a fraction, in a way I’ve never seen before, in response when he stalks right up to her and rumbles, “I’m so fucking hard for you, baby.
This is the best gift anyone’s ever given anyone,” I turn towards Player 87, features hardening to steel.
Manifesting the Avri in my armoury stick into my curved sword, I stride over to him.