“No,” he answered, scowling at shrubbery. “A friend of mine. She’s in way over her head and I can’t get her out of this alone.”Knowing it’d make it impossible for his softy of a little brother to say no, he added, “She’s arrant, Milo. From a small town, too. Just like Mama.”
There was a long stretch of silence before Milo let out a gusty sigh. “Tell me where.”
EIGHT
It didn’t take longfor Milo to show up, but it also didn’t take long for the Games to start. Not officially, but in the ways that mattered more than what happened in the ring.
Luis watched the room from his spot by the parlor doors. His arms were crossed and his expression forbidding. He didn’t bother putting on his playful mask or being friendly with his opponents.
All around him, he could see the subtle machinations being played out and the game board being set.
The gears of the syndicate worked with terrifying speed.
Blood Games were not just about who could beat the shit out of who. With a prize like Francesca on the line, as well as potentially millions of dollars in bets being placed, it was a lot more complicated than that.
Now that the official entries were in, the room was far too crowded to be full of just contestants and their proxies. There were gamblers, opportunists, and those willing to offer their services to the right bidder. Those services could be anything from digging up blackmail on an opponent to poisoning their synth.
It was a good thing he’d barely been able to drink the stuff for weeks. He didn’t touch the expensive alcoholic bottles, warmed to body temperature, that were waltzed around the room by red-clad servers.
Deals were being made, offers exchanged, and alliances negotiated. In total, seven bouts would be held over three rounds. That meant there were ample chances for people to throw or sabotage a fight, particularly in the first round.
Luis normally liked to work alone, but in this sea of snakes, he couldn’t risk it.
“You’ve got to befuckingkidding me.”
He lurched away from the wall and spun to face his brother, who glowered at him from the doorway.
Dressed in a hoodie, battered jeans, and his standard shit-kicker boots, he looked like he’d just left a frat house rather than squeaky-clean condo full of books he really lived in. A heavy gun was barely hidden beneath his hoodie, and he didn’t even bother trying to obscure the knife he kept strapped to his leather belt. The only thing missing was his spiked slugger, which was probably in the passenger’s seat of his car.
Despite Milo’s calm, responsible nature, he was a scary son of a bitch.
That had a lot to do with the angry expression he wore nearly every second of every day and, of course, the nasty scar that ran down nearly the entire right side of his body, starting at his eye. That eye was a clear blue-gray, and it could level judgment on a soul in a way Luis had never managed to replicate.
Unaccountably relieved to see his brother, Luis pulled him in for a swift slap on the back. “Finally,” he complained. “I was starting to worry you’d left me to fend for myself.”
Milo pushed him away. Looking even more pissed off than usual, he hissed, “What the fuck are you doing here, man? Wedon’t do Blood Games. We don’t run them, we don’t fight in them. Have you lost your fucking mind?”
“It’s not how it looks,” he replied, perhaps a little too defensively. That was probably because it was alittlebit like how it looked.
Stepping into Luis’s personal space, Milo grunted, “Yeah? You wanna explain that? Because right now it looks a lot like you’re paying for blood.”
Luis reached into his suit pocket to retrieve the envelope of Francesca’s sales pitch. Shoving it into his brother’s chest, he gritted out, “I came here looking for Easton. I heard he was organizing some Games, probably to make quick cash, and thought I could catch him here. But when I showed up, I found that the prize is a friend of mine.”
Milo arched a dark eyebrow. “A friend, huh? Since when do you have those?”
“I have friends,” he protested.
“No, you don’t.” Milo opened the creased envelope and pulled out the papers. His mismatched gaze moved quickly as he skimmed them. “You fuck, you play, and you make money. The only people you could passably consider friends are our cousins, and they don’t count because they have to like you.”
Normally he would’ve laughed that withering observation off, but something about it stuck in his craw. It hit a little too close to what Francesca had said as she tried to leave him the previous night.
“I wish we could really be friends. But I think we both know that’s not possible.”
He’d never cared about what people thought of his lifestyle before, but the idea that Francesca might have clocked him the same way Milo did — and not find him attractive as a potential mate because of it — made his stomach turn.
He’d never had interest in opening himself up to an anchor before, but that was the world that existed before Francesca. This new one was full of terrifying possibilities he both wanted and dreaded exploring. He knew that he had his thorns, but Luis also knew that once he decided on a mate, he would be an unstoppable force. He’d be devoted. He’d provide, nurture, protect, and fuck until Grim plucked him from the Earth.
It hadn’t truly occurred to him until that night that he might be the only one who knew that.