I shrugged it off and turned my attention to her car.
“Looks like you got a flat,” I said. “Mind if I give you a hand?”
She inhaled a sharp, shaky breath and offered me a grateful smile.
“I’d really appreciate that… thank you.”
Chrissy crouched beside the car to examine the damage, palms braced on her knees, eyes narrowed at the offending tire in exhausted fury.
“Seriously? Today?” she muttered. “This is just fucking perfect.”
I crouched beside her and sized up the situation.
Her tire was shredded, not just punctured, but entirely ruined.
The rim wasn’t bent because she wasn’t fool enough to drive on it for long after the tire blew out, but the tire itself was in ribbons and steaming faintly in the cold, wet air. We both stood up again, but she was still glaring at the shredded tire.
“You’re late for the Game. Mr. Stonewood won’t like that,” I said.
She scowled.
“My tire exploded. I think that’s a pretty valid excuse.”
“Mr. Stonewood won’t see it that way.”
Chrissy threw both hands up.
“What would he want me to do, go back in time? If he wants to punish me for something that wasn’t my fault, fine. What’s he going to do, anyway, spank me?”
I flexed my fingers against my thigh, trying my best to hide the way my fingers twitched at the thought of doing exactly that. She had no idea how close she was to the truth, and maybe it was sick and twisted of me, but I was enjoying the hell out of it.
I stepped closer, letting her feel the heat rolling off me before I spoke.
“He’ll do whatever he wants to you,” I murmured, my voice scraping low. “Because you agreed to that and more.”
Her breath hitched, the smallest, most delicious sound.
“Excuse me?” she whispered.
“You signed a contract when you accepted your invitation to participate in the Game,” I said. “Did you read it closely?”
She looked away for half a heartbeat, more than enough to damn her.
“I skimmed it,” she muttered.
Of course she did. Of course, the woman who metaphorically threw herself into burning buildings for people she loved didn’t read the fine print.
“That contract is binding,” I told her. “Every rule. Every consequence. If you knew what was good for you, you’d have read every word.”
Her throat worked as she swallowed.
“What kind of consequences?” she asked, voice softer now, warier.
I let the truth slip between us like a blade through silk.
“Whatever the Game demands,” I said. “Whatever Mr. Stonewood demands.”
Her lips parted, but what I saw in those big brown eyes wasn’t fear. No, my girl was intrigued.
