THE GAME

Alina's POV

The private dining room felt smaller than it should have been.

Three predators sat across from me like judges at a trial I didn’t know I’d entered, and my body was still vibrating from the sparring session. My muscles ached in that good way—the kind that reminded you that you were alive, that you could fight, that surrender had been a choice.

“You’re probably wondering what the game is,” Maddox said, swirling amber liquid in a crystal glass like he had all the time in the world. His dark eyes sparkled with something that felt like amusement. “Let me explain.”

Ronan sat perfectly still, his tailored suit looking immaculate, his  green eyes observing my every little reaction. “You have twenty-four hours,” he said flatly, “to decide whether you want to stay or return to your father.”

“That’s not a lot of time,” I said, reaching for a glass of water. My throat felt dry.

“It’s more than most people get,” Jaxon replied, his voice rough. He hadn’t staring at me since we arrived. “Most people aren’t given choices at all.”

“And if I choose to stay?” I asked, even though I feared the answer would be complicated.

Maddox leaned closer, his braid brushing against his shoulder. “Then you become ours. All three of us. No outside connections, no secrets. You’ll belong to us completely, Alina.”

The possession in those words should have terrified me, but Instead, electricity spiraled through my chest.

“That doesn’t sound like a relationship,” I said cautiously. “It sounds more like ownership.”

“Yes,” Ronan agreed, and there was something almost respectful in his tone. “But we’re honest about it. Your father hides his control behind love. We don’t hide anything.”

He was right. My Dad’s version of protection often felt like suffocation disguised as protection. At least these men had the decency to tell me exactly what they wanted.

“The physical photos are secured,” Ronan continued, sliding a folder across the table. Inside were pictures from the Inferno Club—me in that alley, me kissing Jaxon, me looking like I belonged to all three of them. “Viktor still has the digital copies, but the physical evidence is ours.”

“What does that mean?” I asked.

“It means you’ll be protected either way,” Maddox said. “But only if you choose us.”

They laid out the rules like they were discussing a business agreement. No contacting my father without their knowledge. No leaving the compound without security. No lies. Total transparency. In return, they promised complete protection—the kind that came from three men who had built a powerful world on loyalty and violence.

It sounded insane.

It also sounded like the first honest thing anyone had ever offered me.

“I need time to think,” I said.

“You have it,” Jaxon replied, and something in his face suggested he was finished talking. “Maddox and Ronan have business to take care of. I’ll stay with you.”

Two hours later, we were in my room with a bottle of expensive whiskey and absolutely nothing to do.

“This is torture,” I said, sprawling across the bed in borrowed clothes—black sweats and a loose tank top that hung loose on my frame. “Waiting for a deadline I didn’t create.”

Jaxon sat in a leather chair by the window, still fully dressed, still watching me like I might disappear. “You’re good at torturing people?”

“I’m good at avoiding it,” I corrected, reaching for the whiskey. “Come here.”

He crossed the room and sat beside me on the bed, and the atmosphere changed immediately. It felt charged, like anything could happen.

“Truth or dare?” I asked, pouring some whiskey into a glass.

His amber eyes sparkled with amusement. “You want to play games?”

“Well, I'm bored waiting. Unless you’re scared?”

He took the glass from my hand, drank half of it in one gulp, and handed it back. “Dare.”

“Kiss me like you mean it this time. Not through a cage. Obviously not in front of anyone else.”

"Are you sure, princess?" he asked.

"Yes," I replied.

He didn't hesitate any longer. His hand gently cupped my face as he kissed me slowly and deliberately, savoring the moment. His mouth moved against mine, and when his tongue brushed against mine, I tasted the whiskey on his breath. It felt like free-falling.

When he pulled back, I was breathless.

“Your turn,” he said, his voice rougher now. “Truth or dare?”

“Dare,” I breathed.

“Tell me something true. Something you’ve never shared with anyone.”

“That’s a truth, not a dare,” I pointed out.

“I make my own rules,” he replied, his hand still on my face.

I considered lying for a moment, but instead, I found myself saying, “I’m attracted to you because you’re dangerous, and different from what I'm used to. I’m scared of that attraction because I’ve spent my whole life playing it safe.”

His expression changed—first surprise, then something deeper. “That’s not scary, princess. That’s just being honest.”

“Your turn,” I said quickly, eager to move past my own vulnerability. “Truth or dare?”

“Dare.”

Without hesitation, I grabbed his shirt and pulled him down, kissing him hard. He responded immediately, his hands tangled in my hair, pulling me closer until we were a mix of limbs and heated skin.

I didn’t know if I was trying to forget, to prove something, or just to feel anything at all.

The warmth in my veins made everything easier—easier to reach, to want, to take.

Tomorrow I could hate myself for it. Right now, I just wanted to breathe without the weight of consequences.

When I finally broke away, flushed and breathing heavily, I reached for my glass.

“Drink with me,” I said. “Let’s play again.”

Three rounds of whiskey later, the room was spinning pleasantly, and I was loose in a way that felt dangerous.

“I dare you to take off your shirt,” I said, my words a little slurred.