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Today…that changes.
Today, I would be free again, and that jackass part of myself that howled for love would be well and truly slaughtered.
Good fucking riddance.
Grinning, I asked, “What do you want me to tell them? I’m ready to play. I think it will be good…for all of us.”
“That’s the spirit.” Victor slugged me on the arm. “Tell them that I’ve improved Emerald Bruises and increased the stakes. They’ll know what you mean.” He glanced at his diamond-encrusted Rolex—a stark difference to my chipped old Casio. “Announce that the game will begin at the drawbridge, and I have gifts for everyone.”
At the drawbridge?
What on earth did this game entail?
Almost on cue, a procession of guards suddenly marched over the daisy-splashed lawn, spilling from one of the many side entrances of the gothic stronghold. Two pairs of black-suited men carried a heavy crate between them.
“Ah, perfect timing.” Victor nodded at me and strode to the edge of the deck. He waited until the guards placed the heavy crates down and unwound their fingers from the coarse rope handles.
Smiling with gratitude, Victor waited until the men had retreated to their posts and then turned to his guests. “Friends, gentlemen. Can I have your attention, please?”
Beckoning me to his side, he grinned. “Henri has something he’d like to say. But please allow me to say something first.” Waiting until the fourteen or so guests ceased what they were doing and looked our way, he nodded at the scant jewels. “Sweetlings, please scurry along to the grounds behind the kitchens. You’re the last to prepare. Hurry now.”
Without a word of protest, the four slaves tucked their chins and vanished into the castle.
Once they were gone, Victor sighed happily. “My friends. I appreciate your loyalty, but you can welcome Henri back into the fold. Yes, he’s forgiven. Yes, he’s staying. And no, he’s not a cop. Let’s put the past in the past, shall we?” He shrugged. “Daxton was a snitch and got what was coming. As long as no one else betrays me, then we’re all one big happy family!”
The change in atmosphere visibly lightened.
A few men toasted me with their coffee cups. “Understood.”
Charles winked. “Welcome back, old chap.”
“All yours,” Victor murmured, stepping away and giving me centre stage. The clip of his shoes on the deck steps echoed as he strode toward the first crate and popped the two catches on the lid.
One by one, men left their tables, all coming to see what new toys Victor had brought. Turning to face the stunning gardens, gazing at the drawbridge in the distance, I froze as the heavy metal barrier cracked open. With cranks of chains and toil, the entrance—the one and only doorway into this place—descended, forming a bridge over the wide moat glittering beyond.
Sunlight spilled inside.
Sea spray twinkled in the sky as waves crashed against the cliffs.
It felt odd to see the outside world.
Frankly terrifying to be reminded of a place I’d forsaken. It suited me better to pretend the outside world had been decimated by some disaster—leaving us as the only survivors.
At least then the rules of old didn’t matter. The laws of society were eradicated which meant my decisions didn’t have consequences.
But it’s still there…
The world I never fit into.
Laws still exist, lives still go on…
He still lives on.
A chill scattered down my spine that my brother might appear at any moment and butcher me.
“Henri, if you don’t mind.” Victor interrupted my thoughts.
“Sorry.” Swallowing hard, I tore my eyes off the open gap in the wall and said, “Emerald Bruises is about to be played. It’s new and improved with even greater stakes than before.”
Men shifted on the spot and elbowed each other as Victor lifted an assault rifle.
My mouth went as dry as fucking cotton.
Jesus Christ, what the hell is this game?
Stalking down the steps, I snatched a gun from the closest crate.
Heavy, well-made, oiled mechanisms and…not real.
Not real?
Frowning, I looked up. “What the hell are we about to play, Vic?”
He smirked and began passing out weapons. “Paintball.”
“Paintball?”
“With a twist.” He laughed.
“Hell yeah.” Patrick, one of the guests I recognised, grabbed a gun and squeezed the empty trigger a few times. “New and improved, you say? Shit, this is gonna be good.”
“How’s it improved, Vic?” Ferdinand—the guy who had sick, sick fetishes—grabbed his own gun.
“Well, you’re all aware that usually the winner is decided by the number of bruises they leave on a particular jewel. We’ve used all manner of tools in the past. Paddles, rolling pins, canes—”
“Billiard balls are my favourite.” Charles interrupted. “Laying a jewel on the pool table, then scoring a shot with them lying in the middle. Dane had a nice array of round-shaped bruises all along his sides for weeks.”
“Lawn bowls was great for me.” Roland chuckled. “Using Molly as the jack and trying to get as many to whack into her as possible was addictive. And a good work-out.” He jiggled his large belly. “Definitely worked up an appetite.”
