Page 25 of The October Trials

God, I fucking hate him.

10

Cage

Stop thinking about her. Stop thinking about her. Stop thinking about her.

I take my place beside Archon, leaning back into the carved Legion symbol on my seat, and let my eyes drag over the contestants.

There are five of them left.

Even just starting, they already look like drowned things dragged up from a well, gray-faced under the stutter of the dying chandelier up above. The house is eating them slowly, like it does with every soul that dares to enter.

In the corner of the ceiling, the intercom groans to life, and mother’s voice comes through.

“Round three is now commencing.”

Archon stands at the head of the table. He lifts a black and silver chalice, his society rings clicking against the metal. “This next round is simple, survivors. Truth or dare. When your name is called, you pick your poison. Do you suffer physically… or lay it all out to bare mentally.”

Down the table, the redhead who cozies up to my little bird lets out a long, ragged exhale. Beside her, tattoo boy’s shoulders drop half an inch.

I can’t help but smirk.

Truth or dare. They think it’s a simple game from their childhood. I can see the stupid, pathetic relief fluttering across their faces. They have no idea what they’re in for.

I let out a low laugh, and it scrapes against the quiet of the room.

Christian snaps his head toward me, glaring daggers like they could do anything to hurt me. I’ve had worse—way worse—from the time before I could even walk.

“Shut the fuck up, Cage. Not everyone gets to sit here fucking giddy because our daddies run the place.”

“You’re right, Christian.” I tilt my head, watching the pulse jump in his throat at my sudden change of voice. “But your politician daddy should’ve told you there’s a right and wrong place to speak.”

“L-leave my dad out of this,” he clamors.

Archon clears his throat. He looks at me over the rim of his glass. “You have an opinion on the game, son?”

The word son is a test. It always is.

“Actually, I do.” I meet my father’s hardened stare head-on. “Let me run this round.”

Archon raises an eyebrow, a thin, razor-sharp smirk cutting into the corner of his mouth. He likes the hunger in me, thrives on it. He likes that I want the knife in my own hand instead of watching someone else carve.

“Take it then,” he says. “And don’t disappoint me.”

The air in the room drops five degrees.

Holy shit, I didn’t think he’d actually let me. I’ve been peeking into these games for years, and this is the closest he’s ever let me get to them.

Does that mean he… finally trusts me?

I stand, pushing my chair back and walking to the center of the mahogany table. “Sloane, let’s start with you. Truth or dare?”

Christian grits his teeth, a blazing fire flashing in his eyes for me to pick his girlfriend first.

“Truth?” Sloane swallows.

She thinks she’s being clever. She thinks she can just open her mouth and pay in a few syllables.