All Chapters of THE THIRTY-DAY GAMBLE: Chapter 41 - Chapter 50

"Am I winning yet, Benjamin?"Jonathan’s voice was a sandpaper rasp. He didn't open his eyes. The steady, rhythmic beep-beep-beep of the heart monitor was the only thing keeping the silence from swallowing the room. He lay propped up against the starch-white pillows of the Hayes Private Clinic, looking like a discarded doll. His skin was the color of a gutter in winter."You're alive." I sat in the hard plastic chair, my fingers digging into the leather of the stolen ledger. My neck was stiff. My eyes burned. "That's not winning. That's just not losing. There's a difference.""Is there?" He finally cracked an eye. The pupil was still blown out from the Loyalty. A black hole in a sea of red-rimmed white. "You stayed. I woke up, and the first thing I smelled was your cheap laundry detergent and the blood on your shirt. That feels like a victory to me.""I stayed to watch the light go out." I stood up. I walked to the edge of the bed. The smell of antiseptic was so thick I could taste it

"Is the suit too tight, Jonathan? Or are you just having trouble breathing because I’m the one holding the remote?"The penthouse was a tomb of glass and shadows. Rain lashed against the floor-to-ceiling windows, blurring the city lights into jagged smears of yellow and white. Jonathan didn't move. He stood in the center of the living room, exactly where I’d told him to wait an hour ago. He was wearing the charcoal Tom Ford I’d picked out. No tie. Top three buttons undone. He looked like a masterpiece waiting for a vandal."The suit is fine." His voice was a low vibration. A ghost of his former authority. "But the clock says eleven. You’re playing with fire, Benjamin.""I like the heat." I walked a slow circle around him. My footsteps were silent on the silk rug. I stopped behind him, leaning in until my breath stirred the hair at the nape of his neck. "You look so obedient. It’s almost boring. Where’s the man who bought my life for a thirty-day bet? Where’s the monster who stalked me

"You’re shaking, Benjamin."Jonathan’s voice cut through the steam of the communal showers. I didn't turn around. I couldn't. My hands were pressed against the tile, my knuckles white, my skin stinging under the near-boiling spray. The world was vibrating. The lockers, the floor, the heavy thrum of the pipes—it all moved at a frequency only I could hear."Adrenaline." I forced the word out. It sounded brittle. Like dry leaves. "Big game. Scouts were there. I had to deliver.""You did more than deliver. You were a blur. I’ve seen you play for three years, and you’ve never moved like that. You looked like you were trying to outrun your own shadow." Jonathan stepped into my peripheral vision. He didn't take off his suit. He stood there in the humidity, his expensive wool coat soaking up the moisture, his eyes fixed on my back. "Turn around.""I'm busy.""Turn. Around."I didn't move. He grabbed my shoulder and yanked. I stumbled, my feet slick with soap, and hit the far wall. The impact

"Where is she, Nathaniel?"Jonathan’s voice didn't shake. It didn't rise. It just cut through the salt air of the Northwood docks like a razor. He stood at the edge of the pier, his black wool coat flapping against his legs. Beside him, I didn't feel like a scholarship student anymore. My fingers were curled into such tight fists that my nails drew blood from my palms. The jittery energy from the withdrawal was gone, replaced by a cold, heavy weight in my gut."You're late, Jonathan." Nathaniel Price stepped out from behind a rusted shipping container. He was holding a glass of amber liquid. In his other hand, he trailed a silver chain. My heart hit my teeth."Olivia!"She was slumped on a wooden crate. Her work uniform was torn at the shoulder. A strip of gray duct tape covered her mouth. Her eyes were wide, wet, and darting toward me. She tried to scream, but it came out as a muffled, desperate vibration."Don't move, Benji." Nathaniel smiled. It was the same oily look he used in th

"Get in the shower, Benjamin."Jonathan’s voice was a low vibration in the small, tiled space. He didn't look at my face. He looked at my hands. They were still shaking. The knuckles were split, weeping a mixture of Miller’s blood and my own sweat."I can't." My voice broke. A dry, jagged sound. "I can still feel the bone. The way it gave. Under my weight.""It’s over. He’s in surgery. You’re here." Jonathan reached for the taps. The pipes groaned. Steam began to swirl around us, thick and suffocating."I broke him because he was right." I didn't move. I stood in the center of the bathroom, my football pants sagging, my skin a map of purple and green bruises. "I’m exactly what he said. I’m yours. I’m a weapon. I’m not—I'm not the kid who used to help my dad with the crops in Ebonyi. That kid is dead.""That kid was a victim waiting to happen." Jonathan stepped closer. He reached for the hem of my undershirt. He pulled it up. Slowly. Over my head. He tossed it into the corner. "The wor