I hate the way it stirs something in me. A flash of admiration I don’t want to feel. I’ve been where she is—beaten and told to stay down. I know what it takes to keep getting back up. It’s not bravery. It’s not resilience. It’s something darker. Something rooted in pure, stubborn fucking willpower that refuses to die no matter how much the world grinds you to a pulp.
I saw it in the underground sometimes, in the fighters who’d take every hit and still drag themselves off the mat like they were born for pain. Like they needed it. Those were the ones I respected, the ones I knew would never stop. And those were the ones who scared the hell out of me.
Briella has that look in her eyes now. Not defiance—no, she’s too smart to waste her energy on defiance. It’s will. She refuses to let us win, even when she’s got nothing left.
And fuck me, it’s not just in her eyes. It’s in the way she holds herself. The way she breathes, like every inhale is a dare. We can’t turn her into a monster—because she already is one.
A beautiful, sweet, strange, and wondrous little monster.
And for the first time in years, I feel something close to fear. Not for her. Forus.
Because girls like Briella? They’re the ones who get back up. Every fucking time. They turn blacker. And they don’t stop until they get their vengeance.
Locking her eyes on Raphael, only Raphael, she stabs out her chin and says, “What do I get when I make it to Level 4?”
13
Jude
THERE IS NO WINNING OR LOSING. THERE IS ONLY PLAYING.
Citizen Soldier Playlist
“Save Your Story”
“Feelings Aren’t Forever”
Damn. Either this girl is a glutton for punishment or…she’s plotting her revenge.
She’s inches from Raphael now, their breaths tangling with one another. No girl has asked about the other levels. We haven’t even finished Level 2 yet.
Gotta hand it to Raph. I loved the God line.I am your strength.He is our strength. If she survives—and I really want her to fucking survive—she will see. She will feel and know what we all do. Our blood, flesh, and bones will be hers just as hers will be ours. Not just the initiation of the body. It’s the initiation of the soul. A sick and twisted mind fuck of a game to learn how much she wants to join the demons and their High God in hell.
There is no winning or losing. There is only playing.
When she grits her teeth and sticks her nose up in the air, staring Raphael down, I see this plaything not just playing with us—she’splayingus.
Fuck. Me.
The others know it, too, including Raph. Because all our cocks stir, throbbing to life, preparing for Level 3—the first time we will ever take a girl to Level 3. Goddamn, I can’t wait.
“Level 5, Briella.”
She blinks up at Raphael, more tears leaving her eyes. But he leans in and rubs his lips against hers, brow brushing hers. I’ve never seen him so tender with a girl. Then again, they were all dead by now. I remind myself how much of a manipulative bastard he is. How he came up with these games we’ve all reveled in.
Scrunching her brows, she gazes up into his eyes. “Freedom?”
“If you make it to Level 5…” He touches her tears, wiping them away with his thumbs, and finishes, “You will know the purest form of freedom that exists in this cage of a world.Whatdo you want, Briella?” He always calls her by her name. I know why. It’s his fucked up way of acknowledging her humanity, of reminding himself she is more than mortal scraps.
Slowly, she lowers her head, her hair falling over her face, her shoulders showing defeat. I ease a heavy sigh, my chest tightening with the knowledge she will likely be a warm, bloody corpse in another moment or two.
“Not death.”
The words were so quiet, so fragile a whisper, we almost didn’t hear them.
Raphael straightens.
Ready for his turn, Rory inhales deeply, his 12-inch dick like a thick piece of pipe twitching with hunger. He eagerly removes the expander, preparing her.
