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“Yeah, I keep getting reminded that.”
His eyes narrow. “At least Leo doesn’t think I threw him into a livestream survival game.”
I wince theatrically. “Oof,” balling a fist and tap it lightly over my heart. “Right where it hurts, Estrada.”
The conversation dies right there as the twins drift toward us.
Yara drops onto the armrest beside me while Yasmin steals the spot next to Marcos.
“Well,” Yara sighs dramatically, “that was embarrassing.”
“For Kieran,” Yasmin adds.
“He’ll survive,” her sister laughs, “but his ego won’t.”
Yasmin sinks deeper into the soft velvet fabric of the couch as she swings both legs up onto Marcos’s lap, stretching. “What the deal with that player anyway? You and Kieran really going to fight for his attention?”
I scoff, “Like he’d be able to put up a fight against me.”
“Clearly Dante’s the winner, I mean…” Yara adds, pinching my cheek, “if anyone’s winning favors, it’s this charmer.”
“The boy’s a one-hit wonder if you ask me,” Yasmin yawns. “You should probably start looking for a better rival. The guy made 15k and lost it again in less than three hours.”
I pull my ever-so charming signature smile, ignoring the way Marcos keeps scowling at me. The twins don’t notice the way my fingers curl against the armrest as they keep chatting away, filling the space with banter and laughter.
All while I die away at the rotting reality that the man I’m obsessed with despises me and there’s nothing I can do about it.
Usually, answers come naturally.
Between manipulation, adaptation, and control, I always held the world in my hands, dangling people like puppets from my fingertips.
That’s been my modus operandi.
Insufferable boredom, lack of empathy, and intense curiosity have put me in a box with a warning label ever since I was young. I was never the ‘put-the-bird-in-the-microwave’ type of kid, but don’t paint me the saint.
My parents could never handle me, so they eagerly shipped me off to boys’ scout camps every summer where I terrorized the shit out of my peers while simultaneously charming the teachers.
I once pushed a boy off a cliff and broke his leg right before gaslighting him into thinking it was his own fault. Good times those were.
But it all means nothing now. Twenty-five years wasted building my character and skills. I spent so much time planning around Adrian that I never considered someone might be planning around me.
“Attention, hunters.”
The mechanical voice announces.
“The Watchers have completed their votes, and the second official game has been selected.”
The monitors go black before filling the screens in bold red letters.
“The next game will be Russian Roulette.”
Chapter 36
Dante
The corridor opens into a circular gallery overlooking the arena below. Every time I enter this room, it reminds me of an old gentleman’s club that somebody gutted and rebuilt for planned murders.
Dark timber climbs the walls between brass sconces that cast a low light over leather couches arranged along the perimeter, while strips of neon pink and violet light hidden within the ornate ceiling wash everything in color. Portraits of aristocrats covered in graffiti stare down from gilded frames, adding to the mixed-themed space.
