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Stilettos, while gorgeous, always pinched my toes. My feet were just a little too wide for the standard of women’s footwear. At least the sort of woman who could afford to spend twenty-five hundred dollars on a single pair of shoes.
Inside, the party was in full swing. I’d been thrilled when Dylan finally invited me over to his place—less so when I realized that his father was out of town, throwing my plan to meet him right into the pits of hell.
Hiram Wolff.
The name had been haunting me for years.
I just never thought I’d get the opportunity to—
“Are you thirsty?” a low, quiet voice asked.
I turned my head to find Dylan’s younger sibling, Kohl, offering me a bottle of water, their dark eyes purposefully on my face. We hadn’t officially met before—at least not in a one-on-one setting.
From the moment I laid eyes on them, all I could see were the differences between them and their brother. Their slimmer shoulders and handsome face. Blond hair and a distinctly South Asian nose.
Maybe they had different moms?
“Yeah, thanks,” I murmured, taking the water bottle and cracking the top before taking a long drink. “Come sit.”
Kohl looked between me and the stone steps uncertainly. “I really was just—”
“What, too good to sit with me? I’m a Legacy too, you know.”
Not that that fucking mattered.
None of this shit mattered.
Kohl snorted, sitting beside me smoothly. “Like I give a fuck about that. The Legacy system is just another way that the Architects give us the illusion that we have any control. Really, we’re players like the rest of them.”
I grinned. “Careful, your daddy would beat your ass to hear you talk like that.”
They shrugged. “Wouldn’t be the first time.”
“You are… not like your brother.”
It was the understatement of the century. Dylan lives and breathes the games, practically only got hard if he thought about killing somebody. But Kohl?
I glanced over at them, my face heating at their dyed blonde hair, pushed away from their face.
Kohl was something else.
“Thanks,” they said, stretching their long legs in front of them. “What the hell are you doing dating someone like—”
“Vic!” Dylan called loudly, staggering toward the pair of us. “What are you doing out here?”
He’d been drunk since I’d arrived. Normally, it wouldn’t bother me—what people did with their own bodies was none of my business—but Dylan wasmean.
And even meaner when he drank.
“Just taking a breather,” I hedged, my eyes flicking to Kohl.
“You’re going to miss the best part—the game is about to start—”
The Rat Race was the event du jour, meaning that the night was sure to be filled with a lot of screaming and blood.
It was my least favorite event in the Devil’s Playground—I’d always thought that if I was going to enter, I’d probably play Hide and Seek. Though given my mom and dad were winners of the event the year they’d played, I had to guess at least alittleof that was family expectation.
I didn’t like to have an audience when Dylan was like this, even if it was his sibling.
