Page 47 of The Bonding Games: Part 2

Cooper doesn’t even look his way as he snatches up the pill pot, turning it this way and that before uncapping it and tipping a few of the small white tablets into his palm. “What are these? These aren’t Avritabs.” His forceful demand isn’t as strong as it usually would be when a fine tremor runs through it.

Squeezing my eyes shut, I breathe in Ezla’s hot-cinnamon scent, shifting her weight in my arms so I can press my nose into her neck. I need to feel her, to know we have her back, that everything will be okay. I have to fix this.

“Scotty? Scotty, do you know what these are?”

When my lids open back up, Cooper’s expression has hardened, but there’s a sheen coating his darkened eyes. His shaking hand is held palm-up, three oblong tablets quivering in its centre.

“I . . . I’m sorry, Cooper . . .”

“You lied,” he grits out. “You said—” His voice breaks, and he tries again, “You said they were from the infirmary when we asked you how Ezla got something like that.” I had. I’d wanted Ezla to share the information that she revealed to me with the rest of the group herself. Because knowing she has tablets like this on hand, knowing the implications, the visible evidence that her father doesn’t just hurt her through the link between them, doesn’t just violate her body in the most intimate ways, but destroys it with his fists and whatever else he sees fit in person, and often and bad enough that she needs to be healed over and over again . . . Devastating doesn’t even begin to encompass it. “You . . . Why?”

Swallowing thickly, I say, “You would have done the same. In fact, you did—you realised who was hurting our Bonded first, but you didn’t tell us until later. Just the same as you, I decided that was her business. That’s sensitive information, Cooper. I know you understand that.”

Nostrils flaring, his fingers curl around the tablets, his tortured gaze rolling down to Ezla’s lifeless figure in my arms. Then his head drops in defeat.

Alby’s made his way back into the bedroom at some point, and Tiger and him stand side by side, almost leaning on each other for support. His nose is red, and he sniffles, evidently having heard and understood everything that’s been said extremely well. Pushing some raven hair out of his face, he whispers hoarsely, “W-what do we d-do now?”

“Trash the place,” Tate seethes. And stepping forwards, he absolutely does.

He doesn’t hold back at all, and I take minor satisfaction in the gentle hum of his Avri swords as he swings the two of them around savagely, shredding anything and everything that’s not taalk—the ornaments, the bedding, the glass and knick-knacks in the bathroom . . . But really, I just want our Bonded as far away from this wretched place as possible.

Turning around, I hug Ezla to me. Tiger, Cooper, and Alby follow my lead, and I leave Tate to it, trusting that he’ll meet us on the rooftop, because if nothing else, I know he’d never put our Bonded at risk by harming our only known possible way to wake her. And we get the hell out of this home of horrors.

***

It was hard to get back into The Bonding Games Headquarters’ central building without anyone seeing us and Ezla’s limp form, but we managed it. I know she would have hated to be seen in such a vulnerable state, and I just want her to wake up and tell us she’s pissed at our stupidity, to dig her unimpressed glare into us and remind us that we should never do anything without her orders. Hell, maybe even lie and tell us how little she cares for us, because at least then, I could actually acknowledge the fact that they are lies through the bond.

But she can’t do any of that. And when she wakes, because I will make sure she does if it’s the last thing I do . . . I have no idea if a denial of her feelings would be false this time. I have no idea what state she’ll be in, if her father’s left her on a blank slate as he said or he’s managed to warp parts of her to his liking already.

Tate’s got her now, and he’s meant to be letting her go, but he doesn’t seem to want to. I completely understand him there, but Cooper, and even Alby and Tiger, all of us helmetless again after putting them back on for our trip back here, look moments away from exploding, needing that closeness with our Bonded right now, and I really don’t have the capacity to deal with a full-blown argument in this moment.

“Love you, Havoc. We’ll . . . we’ll wake you up.” Tate’s voice is gruff, and his storm-grey stare bores into Ezla as if he’s expecting her to jump into action any second now.

When she doesn’t, his hold on her tightens, his intense expression faltering. But luckily, after another silent moment passes by, he gently sets her down in the middle of our Bonded bed without me having to ask.

Alby hiccups, tears tracking down his face. “I-it f-feels like sh-she’s go-ne,” he somehow manages to get out. “Why—why is she s-so still?”

Eyes stinging, I move over to the bed without a word, climbing onto the silk-covered mattress to start removing Ezla’s suit and helmet and everything else that Tate brought out with him after he’d trashed Joseph’s bedroom—which included six softly glowing bonding cubes he’d found in a leather satchel in one of the drawers that we’ve now tucked away in our own for safekeeping. We’d quickly put everything on over her pyjamas, ones it’s a miracle she even has with all the lace nighties and other clothes I know for a fact she didn’t pick herself, but now we need to make her as comfortable as possible. So, carefully, I remove her helmet, then her armoury sticks, Cooper silently moving over to help me reposition her. I don’t have anything to say to reassure Alby or the rest of my brothers, and I hope they won’t fault me for my lack of response to him.

He, Tate, and Tiger close in to help undress her, and it’s not long before she’s in that barely sufficient underwear again. Wiping his under-eye, Alby whispers, “Sh-should we take those off? I don’t—I don’t want to invade her privacy, but that looks like . . . like the G-Game Master, like J-Joseph, picked them.”

Rubbing a hand harshly over his stubbled jaw, Cooper looks away, and Tate lets out a rumbling growl at just the mention of that vile man.

I think after today, Joseph has become something else entirely. We all hated him before, truly and utterly, with a loathing I had no idea a person could even harbour, but after today . . . I can’t even comprehend it. It’s a miracle we managed to leave that . . . that abomination in as good a condition as we did. He’ll likely need to go to the infirmary, but that was nothing—absolutely nothing—compared to what I want to see done to him.

The Game Master’s death will not be an easy or quick one. I’ll make sure of it.

“I’ll take them off,” Tiger volunteers, attempting to ease the tension in the room with a flash of his teeth. But his grin doesn’t last long, and it’s just another blow today that has me wondering just how much more I can take.

It’s silent for a while as we watch Tiger strip her, and Cooper helps, shifting her cautiously as if he’s afraid he might break her. In any other circumstances, the thought would be humorous, but right now, Ezla almost looks . . . fragile. The sight of her like this is fucking killing me.

Tate heads into the hallway, taking her pyjamas and underwear with him to put the former in the washing machine to remove the scent of him from them and to dispose of the latter, before returning a few minutes later with his own pyjama top and a pair of boxer briefs for a better fit over his much larger shorts. For once, he doesn’t look moments away from pouncing on our Bonded, even with her nakedness. He only works with Tiger and Cooper to clothe her, not making a sound.

When they’re done, we can only stare. I don’t know what to do here, and I’m trying hard to not think of this as all my fault yet again, but it’s hard when I know I’ve failed to protect Ezla. And that makes me feel even worse, guilt pressing down on me as I remember how unmistakably hurt she’d been by my self-destructive behaviour recently, the constant blaming of myself for everything. She’d be really fucking pissed at me right now if she were awake.

Cupping the back of his neck, Cooper’s head drops back to look at the glinting black ceiling. “What the fuck do we do?”

“I’m staying in here. All day, all night. I don’t care,” Tate says roughly, then proceeds to strip himself down to his underwear without any warning, dumping himself down on the bed beside Ezla once he’s done. He doesn’t touch her, as if afraid he might hurt her, simply fixes his eyes on her face unwaveringly as he lies on his side. “Havoc will wake up.” He says that like the determination in his voice will bring her back to us, and if he keeps repeating that enough times, maybe I’ll start to believe it too.