Page 91 of The Bonding Games: Part 1

“That is why you will be with me.”

“What?” Tate spits, turning his scathing glower of death and destruction on my bestie.

“Do not look at him like that.”

My brain malfunctions for the second time today in the span of minutes when I process the fact that those words did not come from my mouth like they were supposed to.

But Ezla’s.

Or her helmet, I guess.

Potato, potahto.

She doesn’t give us much time to bathe in our shock, however, before she barks, “Ropes! Right now! Or I will make it fifteen!”

A cry of pure horror flees from my mouth and whacks into every ear in the room, no doubt, as I throw myself into action, legs pumping faster than a cheetah’s as I hurry to obey our Bonded.

“Wait, but shouldn’t we talk about the assailants from—”

“Fifteen for you, 38! None of you will speak of that!” Her voice is low, and something about the way she says the words in a hushed hiss has discomfort squirming through me, but, determined not to up my punishment, I toss myself at the bottom of one of the thick ropes hanging from the ceiling, my new family’s footsteps sounding behind me as they hurry over to their own.

I don’t know what happened at the club, why on earth those Exots killed everyone in there before attempting to kill us too. But I think Ezla may know a lot more than she’s letting on.

30

COOPER

I don’t usually get embarrassed. But I definitely fucking was when I accidentally called Ezla Vengeance.

At least it wasn’t HC.

Soon after I’d thought of Ezla as being like the flavour hot cinnamon, I’d started calling her that in my head, using “HC” as an abbreviation. But I’d also taken a liking to “Vengeance”.

Because she was mine.

Against my brother.

And by the few brief moments we’ve shared, I’m pretty sure she somehow knows, even though with how many Players she’s killed over the years, I wouldn’t have been surprised if she’d had no idea.

I’m not sure if I’ll ever be ready to talk about it with the guys, which is why I can never explain where that particular nickname stemmed from. I’d have to share exactly why I hated my sibling so much, and that’s a can of worms I don’t ever want to open again. Not with anyone. Not with anyone but . . . her, I realise.

Our Bonded.

My Vengeance.

There’s just something with her, something I know would make her understand. Way more than she should.

The thought makes my skin crawl and bile rise up my throat without warning as I wonder exactly what she’s been through, what she’s going through, if the signs I’ve recognised from my own experience are any indication. Signs I keep seeing. Signs that keep getting louder and louder. More and more obvious to me.

Red seeps into my vision, but it won’t leave even when I shake my head.

Distantly, I hear voices, but they sound like they’re underwater, and I knock my fist against the side of my head in attempt to clear it.

No use.

My Bonded . . . Vengeance . . . being treated the same way I was . . . possibly worse . . .

My eyes screw shut, and I shake my head again.