Page 111 of Dark Little Game

He nods. “Roman’s cousin got him a bottle that costs four hundred a pop. This doesn’t even taste like alcohol. Roman told me his cousin’s description was that it tastes like the tears of the gods, or something.”

I snort. “Give me that.”

I take a little taste, swallowing as the vodka burns down my throat.

“Good, huh?” Wes says.

“Tastes like vodka. May as well be paint thinner, as far as I’m concerned.”

Wes laughs, giving me a little shove. “Don’t tell Roman you said that. He’s got a lot of pride for this shit.”

As I hand the glass back to Weston, he looks at my wrist. It’s exposed as my long-sleeve rides up a little on my arm.

He brings his fingers up, thumbing the thin, black leather bracelet on my arm.

Weston frowns.

“You’re wearing his bracelet?” he asks.

I bite the inside of my cheek, looking down at it. “Oh. This?”

Weston’s looking at it as if I had a deadly spider on my wrist. “Hunter’s worn those for years. He’ll probably pull a knife on you if he sees you wearing that, just so you know.”

I breathe in deep, giving Wes a nod.

Funny thing about that: he was there when I took the bracelet, right from his arm.

In bed with me.

And Hunter has already pulled a knife on me, anyway, before he shoved it into my headboard and came all over my chest.

“Every secret’s in?” Noah says as he makes the rounds again, shaking the box near me and Weston.

“Put it in yesterday,” Weston says, taking another long sip of his vodka. “Wrangle everyone in here. It’s time for secrets.”

Over the next five minutes, everyone streams into the room, one by one. As we wait, Weston keeps running his fingers through his hair and taking huge sips of the vodka until the glass is polished off completely.

And then he gets up, goes to the kitchen, and comes back with the glass completely full, again.

When he looks at me again, I can tell he’s already on his way to beingverydrunk.

He’s been doing that too much lately.

“You okay, Wes? You don’t have to drink the whole bottle, you know.”

“I watched you drink plenty of my whiskey the other night at the fair.”

I nod. “I had some fun, but drinking glass after glass of pure vodka is a little different than that. You seem… upset.”

Weston’s eyes usually look kind, but right now there’s something dead behind them.

He gives me a glance and for a moment I think he’s going to brush me off again.

But instead, he pulls out his phone.

He navigates to a group text message, and I see that it’s between him, Hunter, and their father.

There are two texts from their dad, from an hour ago.