Page 672 of The Bonding Games: Part 1

“Goodbye, Bonded. It has been a pleasure.”

***

After heading to my room, I change into my Avri suit, slotting my armoury sticks into place with a harmonised click!

But I do not pick up my helmet.

Never again will its black taalk visor be used to cover up what my father has done to me, nor to hide my face because of his sick obsession with me.

Walking out into the hallway with a calmness I admit is a tad hard to maintain, I head to the living room, where the natural scents of my Bonded—and Tiger’s chocolate scent patch—fill the air.

His voice greets me the moment I round the corner.

“Daughter.”

“Father,” I respond shortly as he takes me in from his position on the couch, not allowing the fine tremble infecting my insides to enter my voice or my physical appearance. “It is rude to walk into Players’ Bonded chambers.”

“Ah, but you are not just a Player. Not like they are.” He gets straight to the point, dull brown eyes that are nothing like Cooper’s full-of-depth ones boring into mine. His legs spread. “Come sit.” He pats his thigh, and I stare at him with an emotionless display on my face which I work to convince myself is my current state. It usually works. But it could not possibly when he says, “If you want your Bonded”—he all but vomits around the word—“to live, you will come and sit on your father’s lap like a good girl.”

Nostrils flaring, I march over, keeping my voice low as I hiss, “They mean nothing to me—”

Crack!

I do not allow myself to stumble or rub at my burning cheek as I dump myself unceremoniously in his lap.

Which he does not like. Not at all.

“Behave,” he snaps, yanking me around like I am a doll, and I cannot stop myself from slamming my elbow back into his gut, relishing in the audible woosh of the air evacuating his lungs all in one go—before he yanks my head back by my hair, and my eyes water as I bite back a pained gasp.

Fuck, maybe I should have put on the damn helmet.

He keeps me like that, and I am considering the most torturous ways to pay him back when his lips brush against my ear as he whispers harshly, “I know you are lying to me, Daughter. And you know far better than to lie right to my face when I can smell them on you.”

I growl, but I am now far too concerned about what he has got up his sleeve that I have not yet figured out to do much more than that.

“I am not an idiot. But you must think me one if you truly believed I did not know about your relationship with your little harem.”

“Why the fuck do you care? You tried to have me killed. Which, for your information, was a lousy attempt—”

He chuckles . . . then chuckles some more.

My lips thin, irritation bubbling up inside me.

“Kill you? Oh my, Ezla, your intelligence really is lacking as of late.”

My blood boils so hot I wonder if it will somehow evaporate.

“Why would I want to kill you, my dearest? I love you.”

Nausea swirls in my stomach. But again, I do not respond. I want him to get to the damn point, and I know it will only slow the process if I interrupt him.

“I want to keep you. I was . . . growing very lonely . . . becoming much more jealous of my possession’s attention being taken away from me so much . . . as well as all that attention on her . . .” He strokes a hand down my side, and I stay completely still, hoping my body heat will scorch his skin off. “I decided to remove you from the Games, yes—but not in the way you think. In fact, everything went according to plan in Game 1.”

If I were motionless before, I am a taalk statue now.

“What?” I grind out before I can stop myself.

He hums. “Yes, Ezla. You were always meant to be bonded. I knew it would take quite a few men, so you ending up with five Bonds was not surprising. And I knew you would need to be a little . . . off-kilter.”