Page 108 of The Bonding Games: Part 2

Cooper has frozen, foot paused mid-air as he blinks at the sight in shock. My stomach does a concerning spin, but I’m not sure what kind of person it makes me when I really don’t think this punishment is unwarranted.

Ezla makes me do and think crazy things sometimes.

“Since you loved to suck your master’s cock so much when he was alive,” Tate provides with a manic grin, and I don’t know whose half-choked, half-laughed sound comes from behind me, but I almost let out one of my own.

With no way to breathe, Player 87’s face purples, and I’ve never seen anyone look both so horrified and angry before. He thrashes more desperately, but those attempts are quickly weakening.

“Very poetic,” velvet and sin purrs, and I snap my head to the left, my brothers following my gaze.

With my quick scan behind Ezla, I catch a surprisingly neat death, only a hole through Player 84’s chest . . . That sounds really bad to think, but when I know the usual results of the storm that is my Bonded, it really can’t be described as anything else.

Her brown and red eyes land on me, and my heart jumps. I know we definitely need to talk things out later—all of us—but at least she’s acknowledging me again. She lifts the bloody organ I now notice in her hand, staining her glove and the arm of her suit. “I brought you a gift.”

I gape at the heart in her hand.

“You are the one Player 84 affected most during Game 4. He kept you from me and from your brothers.”

My mouth opens and closes. I rub at the back of my neck. “I, ah—”

Ezla’s eye twitches, features tightening. “Do you not want it?”

“No, no!” I rush out, raising my arm for her . . . gift. “Of course I do, Love! I was just a bit . . . shocked, is all.”

Her eyes slit. “Hm.”

I try to keep my face even, not allowing a single muscle to twitch as she places the heart in my hand. It’s not that I don’t appreciate the gesture—the reasoning behind it has my heart warming, honestly—but I mean . . . I’m holding a goddamn human organ. A still-warm one.

Even though I keep my shiver of repulsion in, Ezla doesn’t miss a thing. “You hate it,” she states.

Before I can respond, Tate jumps up, and it reminds me of Player 87, who I haven’t got the chance to have my piece of yet. Time’s fast running out, and there’s a burning need to make the Exot pay for the way he hurt my Bonded, the way him almost managing to kill Ezla nearly killed me and my brothers as a result.

So, as Tate snatches the heart from my hand and licks his lips like it really is the best gift he’s ever seen, sending relief through me as I swear Ezla’s eyes seem to brighten a fraction, in a way I’ve never seen before, in response when he stalks right up to her and rumbles, “I’m so fucking hard for you, baby. This is the best gift anyone’s ever given anyone,” I turn towards Player 87, features hardening to steel. Manifesting the Avri in my armoury stick into my curved sword, I stride over to him.

Catching my gaze, Cooper steps back without a word, and I lower to a knee beside the Exot’s head. Once I’ve leaned in close enough so only he can hear, I whisper harshly, “You made a mistake coming after my Bonded and brothers. I don’t kill unless directly attacked. I consider myself an extremely fair man—a good man. But for her . . . I’d do anything.”

He’s hardly moving, but I know he’s not dead—the announcement for his elimination hasn’t found us yet—so I know he can hear me. I know he’s listening, that these words are the last he’ll ever hear, my blade, the tip of which I position directly over his heart, one of the last things he’ll ever feel.

“You have no idea, no fucking clue, how that feels. You have no idea how consumed I am by her for me to completely disregard my morals for her. No idea how strong my love is.” He doesn’t make a sound as I slowly start to push down on the hilt of my sword. He can’t with the organ stuck in his mouth, suffocating him to death. “And you tried to steal that from me.” My teeth grind, and my eyes prick at the memories that rush at me. “The agony you caused . . .” The breath that leaves me is harsh and unsteady, my grip on my armoury stick the same as I press down harder. “You tried to destroy my family . . . but all you succeeded in doing was killing your own.” If you could even call what Aider, Troy, and Player 84 were that.

I jam the curved blade right through skin and bone, spearing the organ beneath.

Panting raggedly, my neck drops, arm tensed and shaking.

“Player 87: Eliminated.”

Recollecting myself, I close my eyes, taking a few moments to myself.

But I’m reminded I don’t have a few moments when that robotic voice echoes through the maze again:

“Nine minutes remaining.”

Shit.

Head snapping up, I demanifest my Avri, only giving myself a millisecond to absorb Player 87’s unseeing eyes before I push to my feet and turn to my brothers and my woman. I don’t have time to read their facial expressions, to know what they think of me after that, because Ezla turns on her heel without a word and commands, “Let’s go. Now.”

***

“One minute remaining.”