Page 582 of The Bonding Games: Part 1

He smirks.

She turns away from him to face the rest of us. “Thank you for asking why I am here. Truly efficient,” she says, deadpan.

“Why are you here?” Alby rushes out from where he stands by the wall near me, as if the question had been dying to be set free but he’d been too scared to let it, his slim fingers twisting together nervously. And when Ezla’s gaze deliberately comes to rest on him once more, he shakes his head to try and get some of his ebony hair to cover his face, but it’s not quite long enough to be effective.

“I came here to tell you that I am no longer indisposed this morning.”

We all perk up.

Yesterday, she’d told us we’d start training an hour later this morning, and it was as much of a relief as it was a disappointment, the former because she works us to the bone—not that I truly mind when it provides such noticeable results—and the latter because that meant less time with her. She didn’t deign to divulge what exactly would steal her attention from us and take her from training when she’s so devoted to it, but she was clear in her words. So I wonder what changed?

“Why not?” Tiger asks eagerly, and I’m just waiting for his tongue to hang out and wag with the puppy-dog expression on his face as he leans forwards even though he’s across the room from her.

“Because my massage therapist has cancelled. I usually have him two or three times a month.”

We all go rigid, and every part of my focus narrows down to that one little word:

He.

A growl like a grizzly bear’s emanates from Tate, and I almost let loose one of my own. “Another man touches my girl three times a month?” he seethes, the sizzling glare in his eyes coloured green with envy to match the energy on his suit.

“Is that not what I said?” our Bonded drawls, unfazed as always.

“I don’t want another man touching you, only us,” Alby whispers, and my brows shoot up along with everyone else’s as I cast a quick glance at him. But I’m unable to linger there, too consumed by my own possessiveness.

“Agreed, Bestie.” Tiger’s face forms a pouting scowl.

“I also agree, Vengeance,” Cooper mutters.

I nod firmly, as though that decides it all and we’ll be able to keep her from even looking in another man’s direction ever again.

Of course, she doesn’t give a shit what we want.

“Are you done? I think you all know that I do not particularly care about your petty concerns,” she says blandly.

“Petty? You’re our Bonded.”

“And what, Player 17? That does not mean anything—many Bonded groups are platonic.”

“Not us,” he insists, and I’ve never seen him be so forward as the rest of us—of course, not including Alby, who’s sporting his usual flush after his most recent words. “Don’t pretend we’re platonic. I think we’ve all made it pretty damn obvious we want you, HC.”

“I have said nothing about wanting you in return.”

Tate snarls and grabs the back of her neck, yanking her forwards, and she bares her teeth at him but, shockingly, doesn’t immediately pull away.

I’ve tensed anyway, ready to intervene if necessary.

“You seemed to be singing a different tune a couple nights ago, Havoc.”

Her jaw clenches, but she doesn’t respond.

“Yeah, you came so fucking pretty for me, didn’t you?” he purrs now, voice dropping.

I can see the scathing remark building up behind her tongue, but she doesn’t get the chance to leak her pretty poison before my brother steals the show.

“We should massage you!” Tiger blurts, near a shriek, and I jump a little before turning a raised brow on him.

I don’t mind that idea. Not at all.