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DECLAN

T he third annual Decadence Games are finally here.

A new submissive for a year.

And more scum obliterated from this earth.

I do a last check on the monitors in each room. We’ve already checked the voice-altering system.

Everything is ready to go, and the women are being led down to the first room now.

I keep my stare locked on monitor one as contestant one is ushered into the room.

She’s nervous. I can see her hands trembling in front of her.

Petite frame, long red hair, plump lips. But she looks like a scared rescue puppy.

I grumble as the door knocks.

“Yes?” I call out in annoyance.

I’m starting to sound like my dad.

“You excited?” Conan is rubbing his tattooed hands together as he tosses something black on my desk.

“Why?” I ask, holding up the black balaclava.

“Just in case you wanted to take me up on my offer. I just got a look at one of the contestants on my way up here. You might wanna look at the screen, brother.”

He nods to my computer, and I frown, scrunching the mask in my fist. Every time I go to check, something comes up for me to deal with.

The door swings inward, revealing Reggie, who smells faintly of woodsmoke and something sweet. A gasp escapes my lips as my heart threatens to leap from my chest, my mouth is agape in disbelief.

“It can’t be,” I mutter.

My sight begins to fade, but even through the haze, the intricate details of those flower tattoos are unmistakable.

There’s more. A lot fucking more than there was five years ago. It’s to her shoulder.

The hair. The purple and black curls.

Every memory of her floods my mind, each one accompanied by the sweet, lingering scent of her vanilla perfume.

Decadent.

I slam my fist on the desk in a fit of rage, sending my coffee crashing to the floor in a dark, bitter puddle.

“Look at the monitor,” I shout to her, even though she can’t hear me.

I won’t believe it until I see those blue eyes. The ones that haunt me.

The ones that show the pain deep in her soul. She strides confidently into the room, the click of her heels echoing, and my jaw clenches in response.

“Calm down before you have a heart attack,” Conan tells me, resting a firm hand on my shoulder.

With a sharp movement, I knock his hand away, a frantic rhythm of my heart echoing in my ears. Fuck, are the walls closing in on me?

My world stops as she looks up directly at the monitor.

It’s like she’s burning into my veins, and I stop breathing.

“No. This can’t be happening.”

I run my fingers through my hair.

“This is good, right? We’ve finally got her. We can find out why she did it? Who she is?” Conan says nervously.

I shake my head slowly, a pit forming in my stomach.

“This isn’t a fucking coincidence, Con. This is dangerous.”

This could be the end of us.

“Call Finn. Get him in here now,” I order Conan.

I switch my attention to pulling up the contestant’s sheets.

“Ebony. Not Brittany,” I scoff.

The measurements fit.

“Fuck!” I roar.

I can hear her in her words. As I scan the documents, I frown.

“This is fucking bad.”

Pushing myself away from my desk, I stand, resting my hands on the wood.

“What do you want with me this time… Ebony?”

That name sounds wrong. I’d bet it is another fake.

Running my finger over the warm screen. As her eyes dart around the room, she almost looks nervous, but she hides it well.

Except from me. I can read her. I know her body.

I’ve run my tongue along all of her curves.

“He’s on his way.”

Clenching my fists, I want to be the one who inflicts agony on her.

I deserve it.

I should be ecstatic. I’ve finally got her in my grasp, but my gut is telling me this is very fucking bad.