Page 35 of His Twisted Game

I raised a brow. “You say that like you’re unique.”

She studied me. “I can’t tell if you said that to be nice or to be mean,” she said.

“Explain.”

“Are you saying that everyone has moments like I do? Or that I’m being self-absorbed?”

“Both.”

She laughed, and that warmed me, but I frowned, forcing those emotions out. She was only a test for me, a measure of my power and control. I straightened and she looked up at the ceiling.

“I want to do something right for once,” she said. “I’m finally trying to follow my dreams. Taking that chance, you know?” She shook her head. “But all I seem to do is fail. Miserably. I gave up so much but I can’t even get my dream right.”

Her forehead creased with tension. I shifted my weight against the bathroom counter, resting my gaze on her. The tears flew down, the trails damp against her cheeks. Tension dropped in my stomach. I wanted to hold her, to make her stop crying, but she wiped the tears with the back of her hand, making them stop on her own.

That was good. She didn’t need me. And I wanted nothing to do with her.

“I don’t know why I’m telling you this,” she said. She pushed herself up into a standing position. “It’s not like you would understand.”

She paused, waiting for me to disagree. But what could I say? That I knew exactly how much it killed her to go to medical school when all she wanted to do was to work at the library? How she had worked her ass off to get the best position for her degree, and yet she was barely making more than minimum wage? And now, I was dangling the managerial position in front of her, like a bone in front of a dog, waiting for her to bite.

She was only a game to me. A way to gauge my manipulation skills.

But she still had a chance.

I stepped out of the bathroom for a moment, freeing myself from those oppressive emotions. Wandering to the lounge of the VIP section, I found bottles of water and brought them back to the bathroom. Fiona’s cheeks were pale compared to the makeup she had wiped off. She spat her toothpaste and tossed the disposal toothbrush into the garbage hidden under the counter.

“This is so embarrassing,” she said.

“Pathetic,” I said.

“I know.”

“Sad.”

“I know!” she pretended to scoff.

It should have felt good seeing her like this. Making that progress, knowing that she was sharing this because she was starting to trust me. And therefore, I was closer to controlling her. But that wasn’t as rewarding as it was supposed to be. What else could a woman like Fiona take? How many times would she pick herself back up before she finally fell for good?

What could I do to show her what it meant to be vulnerable like that?

Like how she made me.

This was only a game. Give a little, take the rest.

“Everyone has problems,” I said.

“Then what’s yours?”

“I’m a blood-thirsty leader of an assassin company.”

She blinked her eyes several times, then laughed hard, holding her stomach.

“Is that an inside joke for cattle ranchers or something?” she chuckled. “That’s a good one. You had me there for a second there.”

I tipped my head to the side. She thought I was joking.

“Come on. Tell me. I told you I wanted the library. But what doyouwant?” she asked, shoving my shoulder. “Tell me. What does Mr. Feldman truly want?”