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“More discreetly than you did,” he snorts. “Being caught means getting a zero in the game. Caden exchanges dice, typically—especially early in the game. He has slick fingers.”
“What doyoudo?”
“Let’s say my chance cards are particularly lucky.”
I shake my head. “You had fake chance cards made?”
“When we were eleven, Hawk made us moon our nannies on New Year's Day. We all had chores for over a month. So, yeah, I have fake chance cards. I’ll show you later.”
Unbelievable.
“I would never have guessed you’d have a game like that going on.”
It goes against everything I had assumed about any of those guys.
“Oh, it’s a long tradition, coined, what, fifteen years ago? The first time we were all stuck in a big house without much to do.”
I imagine nine-year-old Less and the others, glaring at each other at the same table. “And you kept it going.”
He shrugs. “No reason to stop.”
“What else do you play?”
“Chess, polo, football, soccer, fencing, swimming, Scrabble, Pictionary. You name it, it’s a competition.”
“It’s too adorable for words.”
“You’re confused,” Less replies, holding his hands up. “It’s a perfectly manly way to determine who among us is the best—only slightly less bloody than ancient tournaments, really.”
“And I’m winning,” I remind him, with a grin.
“Oh, we’ll see. You need another nine games before that’s established, poison.”
I’m poison now, and it feels like I won all over again.
“I’m not bad at chess,” I muse.
“And here’s your first mistake. Your strength is that no one knows what you’re good at,” he whispers. “Make everyone think you suck until you show them otherwise.”
“How devious.”
As he pulls my chair, I wonder if we’ve ever had a conversation quite like this. Ever. One where I get the impression he’s on my side of the board.
“Thanks for the advice.”
“You can thank me later.” His voice dips as he speaks close to my ear. “When I cash in on the wholewhatever I wantthing.”
A delicious shiver travels up my spine. “And here I thoughtwhatever you want already did cover everything.”
“It won’t hurt to remember you’re oh so grateful to me while I’m fucking you like a whore, poison.”
Six years ago, those words would have been like an injection of venom right through my chest, eclipsing everything else, reminding me that I’m nothing but a convenient hole to him.
Now I’m starting to understand I got that wrong. When he called me a whore, I heard worthless—and everyone else’s actions seconded that statement.
But I’ve seen the way they all worship, adore, and care for my sister—Sebastian and Nic, but also the rest of them.
And a few of them also fuck her.Like a whore.
