4- The Game I’m Playing

“You can’t help yourself. You’re just like your father. But for my sake, you can behave. Can’t you? It won’t take too much out of you, will it? Just push down the evil in you. You don’t have to be like him.”

My mother’s pleas that she had whispered into my ears as she tried to choke me while I slept echoed through my head.

I ignored it.

Her words barely meant anything to me.

The only thing that meant anything— was Ael.

“Get off my bike.” He had on a helmet that hid his face, but his voice was unmistakable. Flat. Cold. The way it usually was in the morning.

I stood from it, smiling. “It’s five thirty am. I told you to meet me at… six am? You’re quite early but I don’t think you were coming to wake me up—”

He moved fast. Faster than I could blink. His hand reached for my shirt and pulled me away from the bike. In that split second somehow, I knew that he was no longer joking around.

That just because he hadn’t broken any bones before didn’t mean he couldn’t break any now.

“Ael, please. Let’s talk about this—”

He started the engine and drove off.

“First.”

I stared at the empty spot where he once was, the smile on my face dying almost immediately after.

Why was he so stubborn? Why did he never listen?

My eyes fell to the paper that had fallen to the floor. Must have belonged to him from the writing on it.

Friday nights. Midnight. The Warehouse on Dockside. Call 112-345-900.

I folded the paper carefully and tucked it into my pocket.

I did my morning run, meditated then hurried to school for my classes. They ended quite early before I headed to the basketball court.

I didn’t have to take off my shirt for them to believe me. “What? You can’t play cause you’re hurt?”

I laughed nervously. “Seems so. Sorry, Coach.”

Coach's eyes narrowed. He'd known me since freshman year— had watched me play through sprained ankles, a fractured wrist, a concussion that should have kept me out for a month. I'd never missed a practice. Not once. “Who did this to you?”

“No one.”

“Bullshit.” He stepped closer, arms crossed over his barrel chest. “I've seen you take hits on the court that would put most men down. You don't show pain. Ever. So whoever did this—” He gestured at my face, my ribs, the way I was holding myself. “—must have done a number on you.”

I smiled. “I’ll work better when I feel better.”

Coach sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “You're my best player, Ambrose. You've got scouts looking at you. Real scouts. If you throw that away because of some personal shit—”

“I won't.”

“You'd better not.” He tossed me an ice pack. “Sit out today. But I want you back tomorrow. No excuses.”

“Yes, sir.”

I sat on the bench, ice pressed to my ribs, watching my team run drills without me. I don’t know how long I watched it before I heard his voice beside me. “Can’t even miss a practice day, can you?”

I didn’t bother to smile at him. “Eimi. You should be on the court.”

Eimi Saito was the only Omega on our team. Male. And the only person who'd been constantly persistent in seeing my naked body. “Can’t be on the court when you’re not there, baby. Makes me feel like a part of my soul is missing.”

“Maybe you lost it with one of the entourages you fuck.”

“Careful, golden boy. No one’s supposed to know you’re an asshole except me.” He dropped onto the bench beside me. His scent was sweet. Savoury. Like a mix of pineapples and oranges. I hated it. “What’s going on this time? What did the Old Witch do?”

Eimi knew unlike everyone else that my Mother was not only the wife of prestigious conglomerate Chairman Kim but a mentally ill woman struggling with severe bipolar— and ex-wife of a psychotic mafia boss that was still on the run.

He knew this only because of his family’s affluential background.

Anyone high enough at the level of Chairman Kim could find that information if they dug deep enough. “She didn't do anything. Leave it alone, Eimi.”

“You work so hard to prove yourself to the Kalopsia but her behaviors—”

I looked at him.

He stopped. Not out of fear. Never fear. This time, he hummed, trailing a slow finger over the edge of the ice pack I was holding against my ribs. “You and I both know how badly you want to join the club. I could get you in if I tell them we’re dating.That stepbrother of yours will never really amount to anything—”

I grabbed his hand.

The thought of crushing it spread through my mind.

It would be so easy. One sharp twist, a satisfying crack, and Eimi would never touch me again. Never speak Ael's name in that dismissive tone.

But my entire life was already on such a tight leash. All of my records, no matter how perfect they were, weren't enough to erase the stain of my father's blood in my veins.

One wrong move— one slip— and I'd never be able to prove that I wasn’t like him.

I released Eimi's hand.

He chuckled. “For a second, I thought you were about to show the world who you really are, Neven, but I guess it’s not today. Will you at least consider fucking me as a distraction—?”

“I don’t want diseases, but thank you for the offer.” I smiled the way I did when I wanted a conversation to end. “Run along now. That's as much time as I can be seen with you.”

He stood, stretching lazily. “Think about my offer, baby. The Kalopsia doesn't just let anyone in. With your stainless record, we could really use you. So be careful who you walk around with, okay?”

I watched him rejoin the team.

I stayed on the bench until practice ended, then grabbed my bag and headed for the locker room. It took me minutes to change and head back outside before I called the number on the paper. “Still up for this evening?”

I wasn’t stupid enough to believe that joining the club wouldn’t turn me into their slave with Eimi as my personal master.

But if there were any masters I wanted.

It was Ael.

And he was joining the Kalopsia with me whether he liked it or not. If I had to find where he went to every night and bring him back, I fucking will.