Page 627 of The Bonding Games: Part 1

“Hurry. I want us to be there last as it will raise the anticipation, but that does not mean we can be late.”

Obeying, the five of us speed after her, her heels clacking against the taalk floor as we move through the halls.

Once we’ve made it out of the maze that’s the T-shaped building, we head straight to the fancy-ass limo waiting for us, which must’ve been one of eight for the number of Bonded groups left . . . not that you can even call all of them that anymore . . .

Few actually died in Game 3—it’s always the Bonding Game with the least kills since it’s difficult to actually find people to target in the dark and with so many places to hide, saving both your own skin and our opponents—but there’s now twenty-one Players left, and two Evots are completely alone, none of either one’s Bonded group alive anymore. It’s awful knowing that if they do miraculously manage to survive on their own, they’ll now have to compete again in next year’s Games.

My mood dampens slightly, and I have to force myself to shake it off. As disgusting as it is, if I linger on it, it’ll ruin any chance of my own happiness, latching onto the depressing things like that. And sometimes to be happy we have to be selfish.

But that doesn’t mean I won’t be thinking of all those Players and their unnecessary deaths; we will grieve and learn to live joyous, full lives when we survive the Games and all this is over. Yet right now, there’s no room for that. We have to focus on getting ourselves out alive before we think about all those who didn’t.

“Tiger.”

I blink, realising I’ve frozen in place, and I offer my brother a sad smile, not able to immediately pick myself back up with those lingering thoughts refusing to leave my head.

“It’ll all be okay,” Scotty tells me, reading my mind like always, his hand that’s fallen on my shoulder giving a comforting squeeze. “We’ll get through this. I know it’s fucking shitty. Horrid. But we’re still here, and maybe . . .” His voice lowers, and I snap to attention. “Maybe if we win . . . first place, I mean . . . we could ask for a prize that changes things.”

My eyes widen in understanding, and a mixture of hope and doubt roll through me.

Winning first place means that Bonded group gets to ask for anything, any prize, while the other winners all walk away with a fat lump of cash to last them lifetimes if they’re a Bond. I’d never considered if we survived that we’d be the ultimate winners, and neither had Scotty. We’ve always been good, but not that good.

Not until Ezzy.

I hadn’t even thought about the fact we actually have a chance to win the entire thing now—my head’s been in the clouds. Wifey-shaped clouds. But now I acknowledge the fact we could win. No, fuck that—we will win. Deadly Nightshade wins every single year, even if not in name, and she’s a Bonded now, which will give her standing to solidify that win and get her the fuck out of this hellhole . . . along with five unexpected bonuses.

Holy shit.

We’re going to win The motherfucking Bonding Games.

I’d say something in response, give my opinion, if I weren’t so worried about the possibility of someone watching us right now. We all know whatever is used to record us for live TV in the Games isn’t visible, so who’s to say The Council’s not watching at this very moment? Who’s to say they’re not always watching?

The thought has a chill settling deep in my bones, and I hastily shove it off. That is really not a line of thought I can linger on if I want to get an ounce of sleep at night.

Once in the limo, a quiet settles over us, and I’m about to cut through that shit when Ezzy says in her usual unfeeling tone, “You all look very handsome.”

Everyone gawks at her.

“Was that not a satisfactory compliment?”

“What?!” I shriek, waving my hands around wildly. “No, no, Wifey! That’s not it at all! We know that means a lot coming from you! I am honoured! Wifey thinks I’m hot, everyone!”

“I did not say that.”

“You didn’t have to.” I wink . . . then try again with more emphasis in case she didn’t catch that because it’s hard to tell when she keeps staring at me without a twitch of her expression.

“Is there something in your eye?” No inflection in her voice again.

I push my lips out. “It was a wink, Ezzy. Are you not seduced?”

She stares.

“Thank you, Love,” Scotty says before I can think of more creative techniques to woo DN, Cooper, Tate, and Alby following with their own thanks, my bestie a deep shade of pink while he does so. Cooper is attempting to play it cool, but he’s unable to hide that cheeky little smile peeking out, and Tate palming his dick and thrusting his hips forwards like he’s imagining his hand is Ez’s pussy tells me exactly how he feels on the matter.

And now I’m thinking about Nightshade’s pussy.

Bad boy, go down, I tell my cock that’s risen again in enthusiastic greeting to the world.

“Hm,” Wifey utters cutely.