Chapter 8
EIGHT
It didn’t take long for Milo to show up, but it also didn’t take long for the Games to start. Not officially, but in the ways that mattered more than what happened in the ring.
Luis watched the room from his spot by the parlor doors. His arms were crossed and his expression forbidding. He didn’t bother putting on his playful mask or being friendly with his opponents.
All around him, he could see the subtle machinations being played out and the game board being set.
The gears of the syndicate worked with terrifying speed.
Blood Games were not just about who could beat the shit out of who. With a prize like Francesca on the line, as well as potentially millions of dollars in bets being placed, it was a lot more complicated than that.
Now that the official entries were in, the room was far too crowded to be full of just contestants and their proxies.
There were gamblers, opportunists, and those willing to offer their services to the right bidder.
Those services could be anything from digging up blackmail on an opponent to poisoning their synth.
It was a good thing he’d barely been able to drink the stuff for weeks. He didn’t touch the expensive alcoholic bottles, warmed to body temperature, that were waltzed around the room by red-clad servers.
Deals were being made, offers exchanged, and alliances negotiated. In total, seven bouts would be held over three rounds. That meant there were ample chances for people to throw or sabotage a fight, particularly in the first round.
Luis normally liked to work alone, but in this sea of snakes, he couldn’t risk it.
“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”
He lurched away from the wall and spun to face his brother, who glowered at him from the doorway.
Dressed in a hoodie, battered jeans, and his standard shit-kicker boots, he looked like he’d just left a frat house rather than squeaky-clean condo full of books he really lived in.
A heavy gun was barely hidden beneath his hoodie, and he didn’t even bother trying to obscure the knife he kept strapped to his leather belt.
The only thing missing was his spiked slugger, which was probably in the passenger’s seat of his car.
Despite Milo’s calm, responsible nature, he was a scary son of a bitch.
That had a lot to do with the angry expression he wore nearly every second of every day and, of course, the nasty scar that ran down nearly the entire right side of his body, starting at his eye.
That eye was a clear blue-gray, and it could level judgment on a soul in a way Luis had never managed to replicate.
Unaccountably relieved to see his brother, Luis pulled him in for a swift slap on the back. “Finally,” he complained. “I was starting to worry you’d left me to fend for myself.”
Milo pushed him away. Looking even more pissed off than usual, he hissed, “What the fuck are you doing here, man? We don’t do Blood Games. We don’t run them, we don’t fight in them. Have you lost your fucking mind?”
“It’s not how it looks,” he replied, perhaps a little too defensively. That was probably because it was a little bit like how it looked.
Stepping into Luis’s personal space, Milo grunted, “Yeah? You wanna explain that? Because right now it looks a lot like you’re paying for blood.”
Luis reached into his suit pocket to retrieve the envelope of Francesca’s sales pitch.
Shoving it into his brother’s chest, he gritted out, “I came here looking for Easton. I heard he was organizing some Games, probably to make quick cash, and thought I could catch him here. But when I showed up, I found that the prize is a friend of mine.”
Milo arched a dark eyebrow. “A friend, huh? Since when do you have those?”
“I have friends,” he protested.
“No, you don’t.” Milo opened the creased envelope and pulled out the papers. His mismatched gaze moved quickly as he skimmed them. “You fuck, you play, and you make money. The only people you could passably consider friends are our cousins, and they don’t count because they have to like you.”
Normally he would’ve laughed that withering observation off, but something about it stuck in his craw. It hit a little too close to what Francesca had said as she tried to leave him the previous night.
“I wish we could really be friends. But I think we both know that’s not possible.”
He’d never cared about what people thought of his lifestyle before, but the idea that Francesca might have clocked him the same way Milo did — and not find him attractive as a potential mate because of it — made his stomach turn.
He’d never had interest in opening himself up to an anchor before, but that was the world that existed before Francesca.
This new one was full of terrifying possibilities he both wanted and dreaded exploring.
He knew that he had his thorns, but Luis also knew that once he decided on a mate, he would be an unstoppable force.
He’d be devoted. He’d provide, nurture, protect, and fuck until Grim plucked him from the Earth.
It hadn’t truly occurred to him until that night that he might be the only one who knew that.
Figuring that was a problem for tomorrow, when he had her safely in his penthouse, Luis replied in a low voice, “She’s my housekeeper. She has no damn idea what she’s gotten herself into here, Milo. She’s a golden anchor.”
He didn’t feel like explaining who she really was to him — and subsequently inviting the very reasonable question as to why he hadn’t claimed her when he had months to do so.
His brother’s attention snapped to Luis for a split second before it came right back to the papers. Shuffling them to find the medical reports, he whispered, “Grim’s tits, Luis. You couldn’t have picked a worse situation to stick your nose into if you tried.”
“Are you going to help me or not?”
“Of course I’m going to help you,” he grunted. “I’ll be your proxy.”
Luis made a face. “You’re not going to be my fucking proxy.”
“I’m a better fighter than you,” his brother argued.
“I taught you how to fight!”
Milo shrugged. “I grew more muscle.”
“We have different builds. It’s not the same— You know what? Shut up.” Luis clapped his hands together and pointed them at his brother. Raising his eyebrows, he declared, “I’m the big brother. You do as I say, and I say I’m fighting.”
He wished he could claim it really was about tactical advantage, but he couldn’t. In his shriveled little heart, Luis knew that the reason he couldn’t let Milo fight as his proxy was because the idea of letting another vampire fight for her made him want to tear his hair out.
It was pride, pure and simple. Any vampire worth his salt based his pride on how well he cared for his anchor. That included taking on any rivals for her claim. To let another man fight for her made his skin itch like it suddenly didn’t fit right on his flesh.
If Milo won, he knew for a fact he’d feel compelled to beat the shit out of his brother in order to establish his dominance. Since he very much didn’t want to do that, Luis knew this was all around the best possible solution.
Gesturing to the crowded parlor, he continued, “I need you to be my backup. There are only three types of people here, Milo. The kind that are betting I’ll win, the kind that are planning to make sure I lose, and the kind that won’t think anything of murdering me before I even set foot in the ring. Those are the fights I need you for.”
Finally getting the picture, Milo looked around with keen, mismatched eyes. Lips tightening, he noted, “We don’t have any allies here.”
“No, but we sure do have a lot of people who’d think it was really great if they took an Amauri down a peg.” Luis stepped a little closer. In a lower voice, he added, “I need you to help me make it to the ring, and while I’m in it, you have to watch out for Frankie.”
“Frankie?” Milo gave his brother a look of sharp-eyed suspicion. “The information packet says her name’s Francesca.”
“She prefers Frankie,” he explained. “Never Fran. Only her mom calls her Francesca. And when you meet her, be nice. She’s… good. Too good for all of this.”
“You really like her.”
“I just dropped a hundred thousand dollars on her, so yeah, I’d hope so,” he scoffed. Not that he cared about the money. He’d offered her a whole lot more to run away with him, but Milo didn’t need to know that.
His brother didn’t buy it. “You like her,” he breathed, his astonishment clear. “How long has this been going on?”
Distinctly uncomfortable now, Luis rolled his eyes. “What do you want from me? A page from my diary?”
Milo looked around the room in an exaggerated way that said screamed oh really? “Look where we’re standing, Luis. You’re telling me that you spent a hundred thousand dollars to enter the Games for this girl, your housekeeper, who is also your friend, and it’s not that deep?”
“So what if it is?” he snapped. “You gonna run home and tell our parents to buy us a mating gift?”
Milo didn’t even flinch. “Well, I’m definitely telling our moms, yeah. And you’ll have to deal with the fallout of not telling them yourself.”
“Fuck you,” he growled, shoving his brother’s shoulder.
Milo didn’t budge. “How long, Luis?”
Gods, sometimes he hated his brother.
Gritting his teeth, he answered, “About six months. Give or take.”
That moved him. Milo’s eyes widened. Scarred mouth parting with astonishment, he breathed, “You let a woman you’ve been courting for six months volunteer for the Blood Games? What the fuck is wrong with you?”
“I didn’t let her do anything,” he snapped. “And I haven’t been— It’s complicated! She’s skittish. And shy. And she had no idea who I was or what I did or who our family was. I was… navigating.”
Milo sucked in a breath and looked away, almost like he was too shocked to even look at his brother. “She doesn’t know she’s yours,” he whispered. “She has no idea. That’s why she thought she could volunteer. You haven’t claimed her.”