Page 183 of The Bonding Games: Part 1

She must’ve said that to the other four, too, because they all glance at her—before their eyes snap back to the Game Master as she strides forwards, releasing me and Tiger, much to my disappointment. We all march along like loyal soldiers behind her.

“Daughter.”

Even his voice makes me sick as we stop in front of him, the old snobs surrounding him gaping at us before rushing away in a babble of noise, casting terrified looks along with ones of concerning worship back at Ezla.

But there’s also some wrinkled noses, their probing stares clearly zoned in on the scar on HC’s face, and I glare at them furiously, this close to losing my motherfucking shit. The number of times I’ve wanted to go against who I am and cause some permanent bodily damage today is insane.

“Father.”

Ezla’s tone sounds even deader than usual, and I loathe the man before us even more for it.

On TV, some may think looks charming with the tidy beard, brown hair speckled with grey, and the wide smile he’s always sporting. But he never has to me, even before I put together what he’s done and still doing to my Bonded.

Another wave of barbarous wrath crashes over me at the thought, and I take a steadying breath, needing to cool my rage before it gets all of us hurt—or worse.

How we’re the only ones who can see the sickness beneath his mask is beyond me.

A mask which is currently cracking in multiple places, the Game Master’s hand tightening around his champagne flute as if he’s struggling not to break it into a thousand tiny pieces as he takes in Ezla without her helmet.

“You look lovely.” His smile is all teeth, and I can almost see razor-sharp points on them, dripping toxic chemicals.

“You do not.”

Tiger slaps his hands over his mouth to try and hide his snicker, but as happy at her insult as I also am, I’d prefer she heed her own warnings to us. Because with the way her father’s eyes flash with a dangerous fury, it’s clear he’s quickly losing his composure here, just a hair’s breadth away from tipping over the edge.

Those ugly eyes then move over the rest of our group for the first time, and my muscles tense further. It’s clear he doesn’t like what he sees, and I don’t miss the judgment in his eyes when his gaze lingers on Tiger and Alby especially, something protective roaring to life inside me in response.

Before I can say anything that will get us killed, Vengeance speaks: “These are my Bonds.”

Satisfaction momentarily dampens the ire rampaging through me, and a smirk crawls over my lips that’s both ridiculously pleased Ezla just called us her Bonded and a little smug as a near-comical contorting of her father’s features ensues. He’s never looked like this before on live TV, and the way he glances inconspicuously around the room tells me he’s looking for cameras, but I’m assuming they’re back to the ones used during Bonding Games because I can’t see any myself despite knowing they must be in here somewhere to have this being recorded live.

“How . . . marvellous,” he grits out, and I don’t like the fucking way he’s looking at my girl. I definitely don’t like the envy I catch mixed in with the wrath before a mask comes over his features once more.

Fucking. Twisted. Envy.

I knew things were even worse than I initially thought.

The Game Master wants his own daughter.

And fuck knows what he’s done to her when he’s had eighteen years with her all to himself.

Nausea turns my stomach over, and the rage that had cooled a tad bubbles back to the surface ten times hotter, blood converting to lava.

Maybe that’s part of the reason Ezla had to wear the helmet, too; maybe her father is so disgustingly possessive he wanted neither her voice nor her face to be known to the world. Just him.

“Cooper,” I greet, adopting a neutral tone as I hold my hand out for him to shake, just because I know it’ll piss him off—he can’t pretend to be anything other than charming before all these people, even if he looks at my hand like a fussy eater would a mushroom.

“Game Master,” he returns, gripping my hand firmly, obviously attempting to scare me with the way he crushes it.

Game Master? Seriously? Fucking narcissist.

I smile sharply and squeeze the motherfucker’s hand back ten times harder.

He grunts, murder flashing through those bland brown eyes again.

Let go, Vengeance hisses in my mind.

“Firm grip,” her father remarks.