54
TIGER
“Do I look okay?” I run my hands over my thick golden hair, trying to get the voluminous waves to sit just right, the smell of creamy chocolate from the scent patch I secretly picked up from a stand in Techtis Ballroom to make sure Ezzy knows I’m edible, ready for consumption, and that I would love for her to take a bite filling my nostrils.
“Yes, Tiger. You’ve asked that about ten times now,” my brother sighs, slapping my hands away from my hair, and I pout at him. “But you’ll mess it up if you keep doing that.”
I huff. “Gotta look perfect for Ezzy, brother.”
“And you do—you look great.”
“Awwww, come here.” I pucker up and lean in to kiss his cheek, but he dodges and pushes me back by my head.
My head!
“No! Not the hair!” Frantically patting at it to get the strands back into position, I look at Scotty with betrayal in my eyes.
“How could you?! You’re trying to sabotage me!
” My eyes widen as the realisation hits me.
“I knew it! You’re jealous that I look better than you!
You know Wifey won’t want to look at anyone but me at the ball tonight! ”
He sighs like the weight of The Bonding Games Headquarters’ buildings are on his shoulders. “As dashing as you look, that is not the case.”
“Do I look okay?”
At the quiet voice, I turn around, shooting one last narrowed-eyed stare at my brother before facing Alby.
I gasp. “Yes, Bestie!” I cheer, then bring my hands over my sparkle-filled heart. “Awww, my child is all grown up.”
“Thought he was your brother?” Cooper mutters as he comes out of his own room, adjusting his golden tie before smoothing a hand over his slicked-back cocoa head of hair.
“He is, Cocoa Coops. Keep up.” I roll my eyes before taking in Alby again, ignoring the grumpiest of my new brothers as he bitches about my awesome nickname:
Like me, my bestie chose a grey suit and golden bow tie, but his grey is a few shades darker than mine.
He mentioned not wanting black because it felt too dark for his personality, especially when paired with his ebony hair—which I totally agreed with, by the way.
These are the important things everyone should be concerned about when questioning fashion choices.
“Ezzy’s gonna drool for you, Bestie! Don’t you worry!”
He quickly resembles a strawberry.
“Fuckin’ hell, this thing is too small.”
Whipping my head to Tate’s door as he walks out of his bedroom, I fight back a laugh. His black suit jacket appears close to bursting at the seams, and he’s glowering as he shifts about in attempt to get comfortable.
Scotty’s brows draw inwards. “Didn’t you try it on when we were in Techtis Ballroom the other day?”
“Yes,” Tater Tot huffs. “I thought Havoc would like the way it accentuates my muscles.”
“That was a big word for you,” I comment with a hum.
He frowns. “What?”
“‘Accentuates’.”
The lines on his forehead deepen. “How’s that a big word?”
“Tater Tot, you used to only know two: ‘Havoc’ and ‘mine’.”
He looks proud of this.
“Okay, so why are you complaining if you did it on purpose?”
Tate glowers Cooper’s way.
Oooooooh, this is gonna be good. Drama alert!
But the swoosh of a door opening smashes any possibility of that, and all thoughts fly from my mind the moment I turn to face Ezla’s bedroom that she’d silently walked into after training today, only coming out for the first time now.
My knees wobble as I take her in, breath getting stuck in my lungs.
In nothing but gold, she really is a goddess right now, no question about that:
Starting at her feet, I admire gold-painted toenails and the matching-coloured, strappy high-heeled sandals that I can see twine up her calves like snakes through the slit on her left side.
No, literally—it’s a golden snake body, confirmed by the hissing head with deadly, glinting fangs on display that I find ending a couple inches below her knee.
Next, I take in the simple but elegant sheeny gold satin slip dress that ends just above her ankles, the slit exposing her left leg ending high on her thigh, revealing miles of smooth milky-olive skin; two thin straps hold the dress up by a loose square neckline, while another two on either of her upper arms hang down in delicate arcs over her biceps to finish everything off.
Higher, a dainty gold choker circles her slender neck, and I notice more glinting jewellery adorning her wrists and fingers, as well as snake drop earrings hanging from her ears—which are on display since her dark chestnut hair is piled up in some elaborate updo that’s flippin’ insanely gorgeous, but I’m not even going to pretend I know the name of it: the usually pin-straight strands are curled and held in a large sort of .
. . bun, I want to say, but I’ve never seen one so beautiful and voluminous; it’s sitting high on her head with gold threading weaved throughout and strands framing her face.
It’s that face that has me gasping audibly, and I’m sure the stars that were already in my eyes have been joined by inky-crimson love hearts.
Because the scar that’s something so beautiful, yet with such a horrid backstory, on the face of the woman who I know despises it almost or just as much as she does the man who gave it to her .
. . it’s been highlighted, the luminous crimson outlined in a shimmering gold.
It’s a big “fuck you” to her vile, manky sperm donor, and simultaneously a “please fuck me”.
At least, that’s the message my cock’s got.
She doesn’t usually wear makeup, and she definitely doesn’t need it to enhance her beauty, but the sight of that smoky black eyeliner in a siren-eyed look makes my dick throb even harder.
Her lashes have been painted to match, but her rosy lips have been left bare, and I’m very, very tempted to kiss them .
. . Just to make them even more rosy, ya know? Just to help her out. Uh-huh.
“Oh, Havoc, baby. Fuck me,” Tate groans, his discomfort in his attire entirely forgotten as he purposely bulges his muscles so the suit jacket strains against them even more, shamelessly adjusting himself through his tailored trousers while he looks our Bonded up and down with all the focus of a bear observing his chosen feast.
I only shift my own erection a tad more subtly.
“Stunning, Love,” my brother murmurs, and I don’t doubt his need to jump on our girl either as he slowly roams hungry blue eyes all over her.
Alby’s flush has deepened to a concerning shade, and his hands over his crotch is the least discreet thing I’ve ever seen, but I decide not to point it out in case that increases his humiliation.
Not that he has anything to be embarrassed about.
Steel cocks are just the vibe whenever Ezzy’s around. “Y-you look so beautiful,” he whimpers.
Cooper rubs a hand over his stubbled jaw, the other in his trouser pocket. “You do, Vengeance.” That jaw clenches like he wants to say more but doesn’t want his big, soft, gooey heart exposed, so he smirks instead. “Give us a twirl?”
“Give me a knife so I can slice your dick off?” she counters.
Scotty chuckles while I clap. “Oh! Good one, Ezzy!”
“Fucking hot as fuck,” Tate agrees, licking his lips. “I wanna sit you on my fat dick.”
“Wow, thanks guys,” Coops grumbles.
Our Bonded stares at the lot of us blankly.
Moving my hands in a begging motion while my eyes absorb her again, I moan before whining, “Wifey, please become my actual wifey! I’ll do anything. Uggghhhh, you look like an ancient Egyptian goddess! I could eat you up! Can I eat you up? I’ll be such—”
“We must go.”
I pause. Before batting my luscious lashes. “Will you marry me?”
Her mismatched eyes narrow. “No.”
“It’s the ring, isn’t it?! Because there’s no ring?! I’ll have one next time, don’t you worry, Nightshade—”
She spins around, and my jaw slackens. Before snapping shut when she barks, “Come, Bonded.”
“On your—”
“No.”
Tate grumbles under his breath.
I watch Ez’s ass as she moves, like a typical man, but it just looks so . . . yum in that dress. It always looks yum.
“Hurry. I want us to be there last as it will raise the anticipation, but that does not mean we can be late.”
Obeying, the five of us speed after her, her heels clacking against the taalk floor as we move through the halls.
Once we’ve made it out of the maze that’s the T-shaped building, we head straight to the fancy-ass limo waiting for us, which must’ve been one of eight for the number of Bonded groups left . . . not that you can even call all of them that anymore . . .
Few actually died in Game 3—it’s always the Bonding Game with the least kills since it’s difficult to actually find people to target in the dark and with so many places to hide, saving both your own skin and our opponents—but there’s now twenty-one Players left, and two Evots are completely alone, none of either one’s Bonded group alive anymore.
It’s awful knowing that if they do miraculously manage to survive on their own, they’ll now have to compete again in next year’s Games.
My mood dampens slightly, and I have to force myself to shake it off. As disgusting as it is, if I linger on it, it’ll ruin any chance of my own happiness, latching onto the depressing things like that. And sometimes to be happy we have to be selfish.
But that doesn’t mean I won’t be thinking of all those Players and their unnecessary deaths; we will grieve and learn to live joyous, full lives when we survive the Games and all this is over.
Yet right now, there’s no room for that.
We have to focus on getting ourselves out alive before we think about all those who didn’t.
“Tiger.”
I blink, realising I’ve frozen in place, and I offer my brother a sad smile, not able to immediately pick myself back up with those lingering thoughts refusing to leave my head.