Page 20 of The Bonding Games: Part 2

Lighting up like a supernova, his arms band around her middle, and he plasters her back against his front, resting his chin on her shoulder. HC shifts to get comfortable, and in one of her rare moments, she’s a little tentative as she does, as if she doesn’t quite know what to do with herself, how to handle the embrace.

A bit of jealousy crawls through me, though it’s far more subdued than Tate’s petty grumbling. To be fair, he does attempt to be inconspicuous about it, however, luckily reading the room. I think we’re all aware this time is coming to an end, even before Ezla says, “I must go soon. Father will be expecting my return. I do not want to draw him over here if he becomes suspicious about what is taking so long.”

Swallowing past the lump in my throat, my mouth opens, but nothing comes out.

I don’t know what to do here, what the right thing to say is. Mine and my brothers’ relationship with our Bonded was rapidly changing before all this shit went down, and a wrecking ball has crashed into us at the worst possible stage. We haven’t had the time to discover how our relationships with her have changed after our intercourse with her. Just over the past few days, there’s been so much anger and confusion and pain, and I can’t always tell what’s real and what’s for the cameras. Vengeance is naturally cruel, and maybe oddly, I love that as much as all her other qualities. There’s no part of her I dislike. But that doesn’t mean I’m enjoying it when she’s spitting venom more viciously in our private training sessions than she ever has before, and I can only hope it’s as fake and untruthful as what comes out of me.

“Speak, Cooper. I know you all have things to say, and I do not like to mess about. Spit it out.”

Huffing, my palms press to my thighs as I rise to my feet. Not sure why what comes to mind is so fucking difficult to get out, but I’m now standing here like an idiot while Ezla raises an expectant brow.

I groan. “Can’t you just . . . read my mind?”

Her lips curve almost teasingly, and my heart skips a beat. “Where is the fun in that?”

Tipping my head back to the glossy white ceiling, my cheeks puff out before they deflate with my exhale. Then I look back down at Ezla.

“Can I have a hug?”

Tate snorts at once. Loudly. “You serious? That’s all?”

Glowering, I cross my arms over my chest, heat slowly blooming in my cheeks. “What? Some people like to ask for permission.”

He only makes an undignified sound in the back of his throat in response, and when I look to my left, Scotty, the motherfucker, is no better—rubbing a hand over his mouth, he does a shit job of hiding the curve to it. Even fucking Alby has his chin dipped as a small smile tugs at his lips, and Tiger’s grinning like a lunatic, displaying all his pearly whites without a care for my embarrassment.

“Fuck the lot of you,” I mutter. Yet as I shake my head, an involuntary smile plays about my own lips, because it feels bloody good not to have to argue with them right now for any possible recording devices, for me to be able to stand here and not have a reel of insults and harsh scoldings prepared for any of my brothers if they get too close to our Bonded.

That’s mostly happened with Tate, and I’m very aware he’s almost lost his temper and made me Scotty’s twin multiple times recently when I’ve had to drag him away from Ezla or look at her with disgust before him. He’s allowed more leniency as we agreed he, Alby, and Tiger could put on a show of gradually losing their feelings for believability, but sometimes, he goes too far, and I won’t risk him pulling a damning reaction from Ezla that has her getting into trouble with that inhumane piece-of-crap Joseph.

Gracefully leaving Tiger’s lap, whose lower lip is now stuck out once more, Ezla strides towards me, and I stiffen all over.

When she stops right in front of me, my throat bobs, and I run a hand over my head, feeling like a complete moron for asking this.

“Well?” she prompts impatiently. “I do not have all day, in case you have forgotten.”

And fuck if that doesn’t get me moving.

Closing the distance between us, I crush Vengeance to me. One hand presses to her back while the other finds her tightly braided hair to guide her cheek to my chest, and I let out the breath I didn’t realise had been stuck in my lungs.

So slowly, lithe arms come to wrap around me in return, and the organ in my chest jumps before working double time. Shifting, I press my nose to her deep chestnut strands, inhaling her spicy-sweet scent like a fucking drug addict.

But the moment doesn’t last near long enough before Tate yanks her from me with zero gentleness and a greedy sound.

“Tate!” I snap, reaching for Ezla, hand seizing her upper arm.

“Fuck off, it’s my turn,” he grunts, boot slamming into my calf.

I hiss, kicking him right back. “No it’s bloody not.”

“You’ve already had her for, like, ten fucking minutes.”

“More like ten motherfucking seconds, you dickhead—”

My winded curse sounds out in time with Tate’s as we find ourselves next to each other on the ground in the next second.

Ezla struts away without a glance back at her handiwork.

Tate recovers in an instant, licking his lips as he watches her ass moves in that skintight red-embellished black suit of hers. I freeze on my own back beside him, absolutely no better than him as I remain at the perfect angle to take in her curves.