Page 98 of The Bonding Games: Part 1

Guilt weighs down on me, and I have to crush that under my heel, too, knowing it will wreck me if I linger on it.

However, I could definitely do without the two men who used to bully me . . . and who’ve been abnormally silent enough to cause that to be in the past tense.

Unease sweeps through me.

I swiftly swivel my attention back to where it really wants to be and not on the possibly of a surprise attack while I’m sleeping, reminding myself that only my Bonded group can enter our chambers. My eyelids stretch out and my heart catapults when my gaze find the scene still playing out, too many emotions to count jumbled up inside me:

Reaching Ezla and the bloody pulp that’s become of the man on his back on the taalk floor, Scotty gently but firmly pulls her up, strong arms wrapping around her small waist, muscles defined with tension as he takes her away. It’s another sign of how far gone she is that she doesn’t easily and immediately break out of his hold, though it’s lucky Scotty’s still wearing his helmet from using the Simulation Hexagon because her flailing limbs do whack into it with enough force that I’d be worried about him receiving brain damage if he was unprotected.

“Ezla, Ezla, Ezla,” he coos as he keeps drawing her backwards, desperately trying to calm her down, me, Tiger, Tate, and Cooper warily moving forwards as one to form a sort of semicircle to block as much of her from sight as possible from any lingering spectators, namely Aider and Troy’s Bonded group. “Ezla, Love . . .” He falters as if he didn’t mean to let that slip but doesn’t relent, tightening his arms around her to make sure she can’t run while he settles into place in the little bubble we’ve made.

“Who is he?” Cooper murmurs darkly, and that finally catches her attention, her panting breaths distorted through the helmet that slowly turns his way as her body stills.

“The Showmaster.”

Shock bludgeons through me, my mouth dropping open. “That’s . . .”

“Fucker’s getting away,” Tate hisses, and we all turn our heads to watch the Exot struggle to his feet.

Ezla hisses like a viper, fingers flexing around Scotty’s forearm in a mindless rage, and he adjusts his hips awkwardly as she thrashes about, a faint colour tinting his cheeks.

Oh . . .

Cheeks following his lead, I snap my wide stare away.

Where it lands on Tate as he starts to march towards the fleeing Showmaster.

“No!” our Bonded barks out, and he comes to a screeching halt. “He is mine! My kill.”

He pouts but stalks back this way, his attention immediately snatched and held firmly by his favourite everything. “My, my Havoc, you do look good in his arms . . . like a wild lioness. I don’t think I’d mind fucking you with him.”

A strangled noise leaves me, and my blood heats so much it feels like I might get third-degree burns.

“Both of us in your tight little pussy,” he continues with a bite of his lip that Tiger attempts to mimic as he makes goo-goo eyes at Ezla, though he isn’t quite as successful as Tate. “We’d stuff you full so good, Havoc, baby. Would you like that?”

Scotty clears his throat, the red in his cheeks expanding.

“I would not.” Her composure is regained with her focus now on us, and warmth suffuses through me . . . in quite a few different places and in multiple different ways, until I’m full to bursting with it all.

I can’t help but notice she’s not moving. She’s just . . . letting Scotty hold her. And everyone is painstakingly aware of this.

Even if she does look ready to pounce at any given moment.

She’s never been held by one of us, not even in training since none of us have been able to best her yet, despite a few risky instances with Tate where I’d been concerned for his life.

Scotty’s hand splays across her stomach, almost spanning the entire width, and with the way his fingers flex, I’d say he likes that; it no doubt feeds into his desire to protect and cherish her if he feels like he can swallow her whole and keep her cocooned in his arms, even if she very obviously doesn’t need to be.

Everyone’s eyes, including my own, track that hand obsessively.

“No?” Tate licks his lips, storm-grey eyes doused in a fiery hunger as they slowly stroke over her breasts, before rising up to her onyx-and-crimson helmet. “You wouldn’t want our cum dripping from you? Wouldn’t want us worshipping you like you deserve to be worshipped . . . all night . . . all day?” My breathing escalates as he steps right into her, pressing her firmly between him and Scotty, whose middle finger I watch in a trance as it slowly slides along the thin belt-like Arvi encircling Ezla’s hips . . . and who also closes the gap he’d made earlier, pressing his hips into her snugly, torso cosy against her back, as if instinctively responding to the rising tension. “You wouldn’t want that, would you, Havoc?”

A beat of taut silence. Then, “No.”

“Hmm . . .” Tate flips his visor up, leaning down so his face is more level with her helmet. “What about our love? Will you except that?”

Everything freezes.

And I know he’s made a mistake in saying that.