Page 62 of Cruel Pleasures

A way to take my mind off my problems like I usually do.

But in this moment, it’s the principle of the matter. I’m angry with him… and everything else about the situation I’ve found myself in.

Archer’s large hand extends to grab mine. I snatch it away before he can.

“Don’t touch me.”

“Fine,” he says, shaking his head. “You don’t even realize what you’re doing. That’s the amusing part, minx. You’re on your own.”

I have no idea what he’s talking about. As I huff and seethe on the spot, an electric current of fury crackling through me, I really don’t give a damn. I let him walk away as I chew on my tongue out and draw blood.

For the next half hour, I’m aimless. I venture into the gardens and then another parlor where a server offers me champagne. I guzzle down two, still aching on the inside. Feeling like I’ve felt so many times over the past few weeks.

The grief that’s so stifling it makes me want to bust out of my skin. It makes me feel more helpless than I’ve ever been in my life.

Almost everyone in attendance shuffles off toward the theater for the latest round of the games. I fall into line with them, mindless as I move toward the theater doors.

For the next hour, I’m held captive as I witness more carnage. This time in the form of a life-size game board.

The players are arranged across the board and then forced to move through at the roll of a die. I’m left shrinking in my seat, squeezing my eyes shut as several of them meet gruesome and sudden ends.

There’s player eleven who foolishly makes a diagonal move across the board and then meets the fate of a giant bladed pendulum that swoops toward him and cuts his head clean off. He flops down onto the board, his blood spilling everywhere.

The other players are forced to go on like they’re not crossing over a man who’s just lost his head. Player eight’s square on the board drops open and she falls through the dark hole. Her screams echo for seconds to come. Others like seven and two strategically cross and make it to the other side. Player thirteen lucks out with a roll of the die that affords her the chance to skip the last two spots and cross the finish line.

I chug some more champagne to take my mind off the spectacle. Then another when Timothee stops by my seat and holds out his tray.

He clears his throat when all I’ve taken is the flute to guzzle down.

“Ms. Newton, the invitation.”

“Oh. Erm. Sorry,” I mumble. I snatch the invitation off his tray and then carefully slit it open. It’s a black card trimmed in gold with a single straight forward line typed on the inside.

If you want answers—and some pleasure—I’ll be waiting in play room six.

Excited chatter buzzes upon exiting the theater. Everyone has opinions about round two. More than once I overhear society members lamenting their choice. Their player has either died off or has had two poor showings in a row.

“I knew number eleven was a mistake,” Wesley Cromwell grumbles. “He was nothing but brawn with rocks for brains. Number seven. He was the true alpha among the pack. Just needs a little more muscle.”

“Sometimes it’s not the biggest,” Nolan chimes in. “Sometimes they’re just oafs. It’s the leaner ones you want to watch out for.”

I barely register what they’re saying. I’m wandering like a zombie among the living. The rich, powerful, incredibly selfish elite that continue to speak of these games as if entertaining sporting matches. I’m numb to the death.

Not even surprised they talk about it like a sports game.

Just like they’ve forgotten all about Talia when her blood has barely run cold. It’s as if they’ve concluded her death was an acceptable loss for their fun vacation to continue.

Numbed to everything in this moment, I blankly peer around at the others.

Archer’s toward the front of the crowd. He’s grinning wide like usual, his swag on full display as he throws an arm around Olivia Belini. He and many others disappear between the gold-trimmed doors that are the entrance of the Market.

So I was right.

He’s the fuckboy I’ve always sensed he was. He put on the good guy act to get in my pants. Now that he has, he’s moving onto the other women in the club that he can fuck. If he’s bringing Olivia to the Market, what else could he be doing?

He’ll probably offer her spice like he did me last night. They’ll be fucking within the hour.

I fish the invitation I’ve received out of my wristlet and then make a snap decision.