Page 507 of The Bonding Games: Part 1

As it is, I know my father will not want his property owned by another, so he will try to have these men killed.

I had almost done the job for him.

But then I realised that would only give him what he wants and make him love me more, and I cannot have that.

Love is bad.

Love is an evil, cruel thing that destroys families and infects the mind.

So instead of killing the ones who bonded me, I will train them. They will make me look better if I do; I refuse to have pathetic Bonds. And maybe I can even warp them into an extra shield against my father. A couple looked bendable, and I wonder if I could have thought of this years ago and escaped sooner . . .

But then I remember how strong The Bonding Games has made me and how much the killing eases my mind and allows me to let others experience even an ounce of the pain they are enabling me to feel day in and day out by keeping the Game Master in power, making him believe he is a god when he is the furthest thing from one.

I will train the Evots who seek to chain me, but I will have to be careful, make sure I have them fall in line with me and only me.

Some seduction might work . . .

I internally recoil at the thought, insides twisting.

But it might be the best option, especially with the big one.

Hmmmm . . .

I will have a think on that route, maybe do some experiments to see if I can stomach it or if I will throw up inside my helmet.

I am expecting the latter.

I feel sick at just the thought of a man’s touch.

I am now craving blood, and I do wonder if I will be able to refrain from butchering these Evots when they provide such tantalising targets.

“You’re going to train us?” Player 38, the barbie doll, says slowly, the first in the procession of men following me.

Oh, look—they are like my little army already. Perfect.

“Yes,” I say shortly.

“And why’s that?”

Pausing before the Simulation Hexagon, I glare at the Exot currently inside, making sure she feels the force of it through my visor, and she graces me with a look of pure horror that I eat up with satisfaction before she flees from the scene, her Bonded, who had been waiting beside the mammoth taalk shape, rushing along with her like a horde of mice. Then I turn that glare on Ken beside me. Although I do vaguely note his shade of blond is a little too dark to be compared to that specific thousand-year-old doll; it is more like the sand on the beach when the sun is going down.

What an odd thought to have.

I suppose he is attractive, with his tapered hair combed neatly on top to add to the natural sensible look he has about him, as well as deep cobalt eyes, a proud jaw, and a faint golden hue to his light skin.

But he is glowing the colour of weakness, and his height ruins everything.

I do not like when anyone looks down on me. It is very rude.

I am meant to be worshipped.

His brother bounds over like an overexcited, overgrown golden retriever then, getting way too close for my liking.

I pointedly take a step away.

“This is so exciting! We’re all going to be total badasses like you!”

Doubt it.