34
TIGER
“GET OUT OF BED, YOU LAZY FUCK!”
I groan at my brother’s muffled-but-still-wayyy-too-loud voice, shoving my pillow over my head to block out the banging on the door, the fresh scent of silk filling my nostrils.
Ahhhh, peace.
“I know your alarm’s going off! I can hear it through the door!”
My hand pops out of the pile of sheets I’m cocooned in to smack at the alarm clock on my bedside table.
“Ezla wants us at the Training Centre a half hour earlier than usual, come on! You need to eat!”
My lips tremble at the thought of our Bonded. I think I might . . . I think I might be in love with her. No, I know I am. Doesn’t matter how early on it is—I’m sure about what I feel. And I’ve never been shy about expressing any of my feelings.
I love the way she’s so unapologetically her, just like I’m so unapologetically me.
How she doesn’t care what people think, her confidence and how straight-to-the-point she is.
I love the thrill I get every time she’s on my mind .
. . which is really every hour of every day, so I’m excited all the time—to the point I sometimes forget our training sessions are preparing us for death games.
I love how when I get her attention, it’s unwavering, how I can feel the intensity of it through her visor.
Oooh, and I especially love the way she bosses me about like I’m her pet dog, like she owns me.
I just . . . I internally sigh, belly all tingly. I just love everything about her.
But she . . . It’s clear she doesn’t love me in return.
No matter! I’ll be so good for her! I’ll be such a good boy she won’t be able to resist!
My heart still feels crushed by an anvil from her most recent rejection, but it’s okay. I won’t give up on Ezzy. She’s just hurting. She needs time. All good things come with . . . major challenges and an impossible mission.
My insides light up at my motivating self-talk, and I stick my head out from under my pillow before springing from my bed like the gazelle I am. How can Ezla think she can resist these moves?
Heading to the bathroom and unlocking the door with a scan of my thumb, I stop at the sight of myself in the mirror.
Then I swing my golden head of hair around like a model just to see how it shifts around my face and what looks the most sexy to seduce Ezla.
Once satisfied, I bite my lip in that way I’m trying to perfect that Tate seems to do so well. Hmmm . . . something about this looks off, but I can’t put my finger on it. I scrutinise myself for a full minute, teeth digging into my lower lip, eyes squinted.
Then shrug. “Good enough.”
“Tiger! Hurry up, fuck’s sake! What are you doing in there?!”
“I’m in the bathroom, broski! Take a chill pill, my gawwwd!”
“Did you forget that Game 3 is today?!”
I pause.
Yes.
“No!”
I can imagine his sigh even though I can’t hear it through the taalk.
“I’ll just be a sec, big bro! Don’t you worry your pretty little head!”
I quickly sort out my beautiful silky lion’s mane before rushing into my Avri suit and pulling on my boots and gloves, then grabbing my armoury sticks from my chest of drawers, slotting them into place with faint clicks.
Lastly, I grab my helmet, holding it under my armpit while I make my way out of my room to join my little family at the dining table, who are already halfway through breakfast.
I give an enthusiastic wave as I spot Alby. “Hey, Bestie!” Then I turn to them one by one. “Tater Tot! Coops! Big bro!”
A grunt from Tate, an upward chin nod from Cooper that I attempt to mimic ‘cos that’s what the cool kids do, a shy smile and a small “hi” from Alby, and an unimpressed look from Scotty is what I get in response.
Beside Cooper on the table, I notice a small tablet, which each of us got one of when we first moved into these chambers, but it’s turned off—probably because it’s useless as hell.
I’d took one look at mine when I’d found it in my bedroom on further inspection after thoroughly enjoying checking out our Bonded bedroom, and seen all it had on it was the time, an official TBG game app that’s enjoyed worldwide, where players can choose an Evot or an Exot character to play as to kill the little pixelated opponents—the Techtis Council is really overly obsessed with promoting the Games and the killing between the social classifications, if you couldn’t already tell—a few songs on a music app that are played at the Halfway Ball, and an empty contacts list which only allows higher-ups to contact us if they ever deign to for whatever reason.
Yeah, I’d tossed that thing in one of my drawers, never to be seen again.
Well, actually, it does have one useful thing: our credit scores. And let me tell you, The Bonding Games does not mess around with money. Never in my life did I think I’d have so much.
I never really cared for getting rich, but it means that when this is all over, we can live comfortably, simply be able to have fun and do whatever we want without worrying about some shitty job we probably wouldn’t enjoy. For the first time ever, we can just focus on being happy.
But still, the fact we can see our balance on the tablets doesn’t increase their usefulness when we already have card readers brought from training school to check that.
Probably, it’s another one of The Council’s tricks to make sure there’s so little to do on your own that you’re forced to spend time with your Bonded group.
But I, for one, don’t need any prompting—everyone in mine is such a sweet little munchkin.
After eating, we head to the Training Centre, where Ezzy waits on the other side of the transparent doors. Turning away the moment she sees us, we all have to rush to follow as she marches off to our usual room.
Damn, she really makes us work for it.
Also, the other men’s moods are really trying to smother my sun rays, and I am not vibing with that.
“Guys, lighten up; it’s not time for the eclipse yet.”
Tate’s forehead wrinkles. “What?”
“Nothing, Tater Tot,” I sigh. “But you should stop frowning so much—it promotes wrinkles.”
He scowls at me.
Fine, don’t take my advice, then.
Once inside our private training room, Ez sits on the weights bench, and we all stand around her.
She does not like that.
“Sit or kneel,” she snaps.
Oh yeah! I slap my forehead. Queens should always be kneeled before, idiot.
My knees rush for the taalk floor like two lovers meeting after a century apart, and no one else objects as they copy me.
Once she’s satisfied we’re all lower than her in one position or another, she says without inflection, “Players 22, 24, 84, and 87 are going to try and kill you today.”
We all stare, dumfounded. Maybe it’s because of the way she says it: first, like it’s a fact she’s sure of, and second, like she doesn’t have much of an opinion on the matter. Not that that’s surprising.
“A-Aider?” Alby’s voice trembles, and I cast a concerned glance his way. “And . . . Troy . . . ?”
Deadly Nightshade nods.
Tense looks are exchanged between us. We knew they’d been too quiet.
“So we kill them first,” Tate says gruffly, eyes sparkling with bloodthirsty excitement.
“Obviously.” The robotic-sounding word is deadpan.
“It is dark in Game 3, as you know,” Ez continues.
“They think to use that darkness to their advantage. They have not been acting because they know you are under my protection and they would be dead within seconds if they hurt any one of you.” Ooooh, I just got the fuzzies and tinglies.
“But their theory is there will be such low visibility that I will not be able to pin the kills on them.”
“And how do you know?” Scotty asks, not as if he doubts her, but more like his mind is working through everything and he needs as many details as possible to put a plan into place to keep us all safe as well as efficient, as he always does.
“I know everything.”
Scarily, I don’t doubt that, and no one contradicts her.
“So we will go in pairs. Nobody goes alone.”
We all nod steadily.
“4 and 17. 38 and 35. You each work best together, so you will have the highest chance at surviving and launching your own attacks effectively.” She pauses to bore her gaze into us her through her visor as if willing the words to drill themselves into our brains.
She doesn’t need to do that when they already do no matter what she’s saying, but I do love the attention—it makes me wanna giggle and kick my feet. And sink inside of her.
My cock twitches.
Bad boy, I tell it. Now is not the time.
“Do refrain from talking to you dick whilst I am giving you instructions, 35.”
Whoopsies.
Scotty shoots me a scolding big-brother look, and I beam at him as he rolls his eyes and gives a shake of his head.
“29, you are with me.” My bestie takes on his tomato form, and Tate grumbles with jealousy before Ezzy—nahhhh, I’ll go with Wifey this time—continues, “You may spread out slightly in your pairs, of course. In fact, I’d advise you to do so unless you want to make yourselves an obvious target, but make sure you can always see the other.
” She crosses one of her long, sexy legs over the other, and I hear Tate mutter something that’s not decent for my poor, sensitive, innocent, young brain.
I perk my ears up to listen closer.
Getting all the juicy bits about where he’d like her legs when her “greedy cunt” is sucking the life out of him, my dick nods along beneath the crotch of my suit with each throb.
“Remember, the regeneration serum is used again in this Game, but unlike in Game 1, it will react to how many times you are speared with an arrow.” I listen intently even though this is more a recap than anything, trying to ignore my aching groin.
“You have three ‘lives’, so to speak, unless you are hit in the heart or, if you are stupid enough to somehow part with your helmet, your head. Then you are simply dead. Everyone clear on that?”
Murmurs of agreement sound through the room.
“Good.” She stands and strides for the exit. “Now, we will get in as much training as possible before the Game this afternoon. Come.”
***