Page 16 of The Games of Madmen

“Taste the drink, Brenda,” I urge, handing her the glass. “Tell me what you think.”

With a skinny, shaking hand, she reaches out and takes the glass. Sipping the drink, her face contorts, and she spits the liquid back into the glass.

That’s not very ladylike. Revolting, even.

“It’s disgusting.” She holds the glass out and then releases it before I find purchase, sending it crashing into the hard, wood table below. The glass smashes on impact, spilling the sweet and sour abomination all over the table.

A defiant smirk lifts Brenda’s lips on one corner. Damn, a brave little spitfire she is. I think I might take this one for a ride.

“How is Angelo supposed to try it now?” I say in a mocking tone.

Z meets my gaze, amusement dancing in his fierce eyes. He knows we don’t need new cocktails from the US. We need clubsinthe US.

But he enjoys the games we play.

Grabbing Angelo by the scruff of his neck, Zahkar forces him to the table and pushes his head down, scraping his face through the glass.

“Drink up,” my brother purrs.

Ignoring Brenda’s horrified screams, Z doesn’t let up, even when the liquid on the table is now mixed with a heavy amount of Angelo’s blood.

“Zahkar,” I call out, but he doesn’t even flinch. Madness has momentarily stolen him from me. I shout louder at him. “Zahkar!”

Like awakening from a dream, he turns my way and releases Angelo, offering me a shoulder shrug when I raise a brow at his enthusiastic torturing.

It’s been a while since he’s let loose.

“We’ve been in this business since before you were even getting your cock polished for the first time. And we’ve been fighters longer than that,” I tell Angelo bluntly. “I know all the tricks and seen people throw fights before.”

“I didn’t. I swear.” Angelo gurgles on blood dripping into his mouth from his busted lips. The cuts on his face resemble something that’s just been put through a blender.

Running a hand through my unruly hair, I sigh, looking up at the ceiling. I hate people who pull this kind of shit, but it’s made a thousand times worse when they’re caught and still try to lie about it to my motherfucking face. It’s disrespectful.

“You lose three fights to weaker, smaller men, and then manage to easily defeat one of the best fighters we host here?” Zahkar grinds out. “Just so happens your woman places a large sum of money on you to come out victorious? I hate lying cheats.” With that, Z grabs his sledgehammer and motions for Mika to hold out Angelo’s hand.

“What the fuck, man?” Angelo cries out, whimpering like a fucking baby. “Don’t do this. I’ll pay you back. We can work something?—”

Lifting the sledgehammer, Z brings it down hard, crushing Angelo’s muffled attempts to talk his way out of the consequence of his actions.

Bones crunch on impact and it’s oddly soothing.

The table cracks and I make a mental note to order a new one.

Angelo’s screams are noisy but satisfying.

“Your mistake wasn’t the money, Angelo,” I say coolly, interrupting his pained fit. “It was thinking we were fools.” I shake my head in disgust, gesturing for arealdrink from Nikita, not the bullshit she gave me earlier.

She rolls her eyes, and I tuck away that knowledge in my brain for later. She will regret that. No orgasms for her tonight.

“He must think we’re weak,” Zahkar snaps as he grabs a handful of napkins off the bar. Brenda screeches when he shoves them into her mouth. Once he’s stuffed them past her lips, he strokes his palm down her face and to the hollow of her neck at the base of her throat. “Shhh, sweetheart. I’m only into your tears when they’re caused by me choking you oryouchoking on cock. My brother’s or mine, you get to choose.”

He’s so fucking magnetic. Sometimes I just stare at him for hours because why the fuck not?

“Do you realize how many fighters come through our doors, begging for the opportunity we gave you?” I ask, forcing my gaze from my brother to the cowering piece of shit on the floor. He cradles his damaged hand to his chest like a newborn.

Fucking pathetic.

Sweat is dripping off him, the fear seeping from his pores to escape the pain.The Sharkisn’t powerful, ruthless, or deadly.He’s a fraud.A fucking trickster who thought he could play us for fools inourestablishment. Do our names not strike fear in these assholes like it used to?