31
ALBY
No one knows I’m here. Scotty doesn’t know I’ve found him like I was supposed to.
The four men fighting viciously with an unfeasible amount of skill and accuracy are completely oblivious to the fact that I’ve been waiting around the corner, festering in overwhelming, calamitous rage, just waiting for my chance to avenge my brother, my Bonded, myself.
But they definitely find out when I launch myself into the fray the moment that time comes as Scotty unknowingly leads him directly into my range.
With a battle cry containing years of pent-up pain, shame, and scathing anger, I launch myself at Aider Cole, stabbing two green-glowing blades down into his shoulders.
Shock coats the air from everyone as Aider lets out a roar of pain, buckling.
For a moment, my brother looks at me like he’s never seen me before, huge blue eyes zapping all over me.
But then a look of unmistakable pride takes over his features.
There’s a mix of pain in there, but it’s not disappointment at all, more just sadness for what we all have to become to make it through these Games.
I can hardly recognise myself, but for once, I don’t mind who I am.
In fact, with Ezla’s help, I’m still gradually learning to like that person, and I think I’m almost all the way there.
I didn’t want to warn Scotty of my whereabouts and plan through the bond Ezla’s kept open, not wanting to distract him, and he clearly understands that, only giving me a brief head nod as Player 2 does when I flick my attention to him for a moment before lunging back into action, using Player 87’s distracted state to send him sprawling on the taalk floor with a kick that launches the air from his lungs.
“You pathetic fucking—”
Scotty’s elbow slams into Aider’s nose, and blood spurts. “Not another word,” he grits out, and never have I seen my brother so overpowered by fury. “You will fucking pay for what you did to the woman I love and my brothers.”
Recovered from the blow, one of Aider’s armoury sticks produces a long blade, and he aims it skilfully to strike out at Scotty’s side, spinning out of reach. But Scotty does the same, a clang and buzzing hum of energy ringing through the maze as their Avri collides forcefully.
On the floor to my left, Player 87 grapples with Player 2, and when the latter catches my eye, he pants, “I won’t kill him. I know you guys have lots of shit going on with this Bonded group.”
Swallowing, I whisper a hasty “thank you” before I throw myself after Aider and Scotty, entering their battle as they move impossibly fast.
My brother has a dagger in one hand and his sword in the other, and Aider’s copying him as I attempt to jab as his back.
I don’t know what kind of person this makes me, but I want my tormenter’s death to be slow.
Agonising. I want him to hurt as much as he hurt me over the years—worse than he ever hurt me.
Aider dodges, so I catch his foot with mine while Scotty distracts him, and he stumbles, a chunk of skin ripped from his left side as my blade catches on it, tearing straight through his form-fitting suit.
I want him to bleed for every name he called me, to bruise for every rumour he spread around school. I want him to cry for the way he took away my strength, made me weaker and thinner than I already was.
Aider’s dizzy, but he doesn’t let up at all, bellowing in rage, his mask all but gone after gradually cracking apart over the weeks.
The sound is abruptly cut off as Scotty headbutts him, the need for revenge digging lines into my brother’s forehead, popping his jaw, gnashing his teeth.
At the same time, I slice with not much technique but pure, destabilising fury right down Aider’s back.
I want him to be in agony even after I rid the world of him for blowing up both me and Tiger, but if that can’t happen . . .
When he turns to me with a promise of life-ruining torture I’ve never seen on his usually composed face so prominently, my skills are back on my mind when he lashes out at me—two forward stabs of his blades lunge for me, one aiming high, one aiming low, but I’m too fast for him now, too used to my improved frame, and I use my agility to beat his speed, earning me another shout of unhinged outrage when my own weapons slam into his and send them flying from his hands.
I want to make his death the worst one known to mankind for the pain he put Ezla through with his plan in Game 4, the mental anguish I didn’t even know she could feel, and most of all, for the way he orchestrated everything just to try and beat The Bonding Games Champion for good.
He tried to use me against her, to make something bad out of the love I’ve found .
. . He tried to take her from me. The best thing that’s ever happened to me.
His Avri demanifests, his ebony batons clattering to the taalk. In an instant, Scotty drags him backwards in a headlock, and a choked sound leaves him.
Dark eyes hazy, face bloodied over a chalky-white complexion, he still spits in my face despite his clear defeat.
I flinch as the blood-tainted glob of saliva hits my cheek, and Scotty lands a brutal kick to the back of his knees to have him slamming down before me.
His kneecaps meet the unforgiving glossy onyx ground with an audible crack, and he hardly keeps a whimper contained this time as he’s reduced to nothing .
. . reduced to how he’s made me feel since second school.
“You don’t fucking touch him. Not him, not any of my other brothers, and certainly not my fucking Bonded,” Scotty seethes, clasping a merciless hand around the back of his neck.
Aider ignores him, unable to let his pride go even now. “You’ll always be fucking pathetic, Twig.” He eyes me in disgust, and I’m not immune to the demeaning look. Still, I somehow stay strong as he continues. “Always fucking weak, everyone’s last choice—”
Scotty has an Avri chain wrapped around Aider’s neck in a heartbeat. The Avri mimics the sound of metal against metal, splitting through the air harshly as it’s pulled taut, crossing over at the back of his neck tightly.
Wheezing, Aider’s eyes bulge, and he scrabbles at the dark emerald energy frantically.
It’s rare to see Scotty like this—I never even have—but I know this is a darker side he has in him that comes out when one of the people he cares about has been wronged, that side appearing more brutally the worse the crime enacted was.
And this . . . Aider’s crimes are numerous, and not just against one of the people Scotty cares about, but all of them.
Because I’ve learned that when someone hurts one of us, it’s an offence against the entire Bonded group.
And with the state he left our group in after Air Battles . . .
He should have run.
He should have run far, far away.
Only someone lacking any true intelligence wouldn’t do so. No one hurts The Bonding Games Champion and gets away with it. And now, being one of her Bonds, part of this amazing family I’ve found myself in, no one hurts me and gets away with it, either.
Scotty’s voice drops to a lethal murmur as he leans down to level his lips with Aider’s ear, knuckles white.
“Did you really think you could get away with it? You were already going to die the most painful death for what you’ve done to Alby for eight years, but then, you had to take it a step further and try to kill him—him, my blood brother, and the motherfucking woman I want to marry!
” One armoury stick is returned to his shoulder blade now, and he holds the other in one hand, while the end of the four-foot chain is gripped tightly in the other.
Marginally, but enough for more purple to crowd Aider’s face, he pulls that chain further.
Scotty’s shaking, and I hear Ezla’s beautiful, cruel notes through the bond then, pulling a gasp from the depths of me at what feels like a true breath of fresh air: I can feel you.
I can feel both of you. I am so proud. I am with the rest of your brothers, my Bonds, and we have captured Player 84.
He is ever so kindly taking us to you with Aider’s help through their bond.
We are coming. We will end this together.
My eyes widen, and relief works through me, pure happiness finding me even now at the thought of this chapter of my life finally coming to an end. Sharing the look with Scotty, he smiles at me, his own eyes brightening for a moment.
Until Aider starts writhing like a parasite again.
“Now,” Scotty continues, tone darkening even further than before, “you’ll pay for that as well. And I’ll bring her your worthless fucking head.”
Aider’s about to pass out, so Scotty loosens the chain just enough for him to drag in an ugly bag of oxygen—then another, and another, each inhale harsh against my ears.
And as he gasps for breath, I can’t help but think that he truly, honestly, just looks .
. . worthless. Pathetic, as he likes to call me.
And I just . . . I can’t believe how much this .
. . little person, this insignificant disease, has managed to wreck my life.
I can’t believe he stole so much from me.
Can’t believe there was no reason for it.
That last thought is what has me rasping out despite my attempt to make it come out firm and commanding, “Why?”
His slow grin full of blood is vile. “Because I wanted to. I had a monster in me, and I needed to feed it. You were just there.”
Lip trembling, I work to prevent that tremor from spreading, and I straighten my spine, fists clenching. But I can’t help it, and the tears form and spill over before I can stop them.
I knew there was never a reason, and I’m not sure if the confirmation makes things better or worse. It just . . . it hurts. Everything hurts.
Until all of that is zapped away by the same velvet and sin it always is.
“I am so glad we could make it to the party in time. Shall we begin with the fun part now?”