They’re both sitting rigid and still, their gazes fixed on the priest at the front. Neither of them are crying, and a sudden blinding rush of fury fills me.
They did this.
They condemned their son to death.
They should be wailing, sobbing, beating their chests and tearing their hair. They should be begging for forgiveness—from god or the devil or whoever might grant them absolution.
I know heartbreak isn’t always visible on the outside, but in this moment, I desperately want theirs to be. I want to know that Marcus’s loss has destroyed them. I want to know that they’re fucking sorry.
Gideon’s brown hair blurs in my vision, his features going out of focus as tears well in my eyes. My hand is barely recovered from the last time I punched someone, but I feel my fingers curl into a fist, clenching so tightly that my nails dig into my palm.
A large hand settles over mine, and I jerk slightly, pulled out of my thoughts. When I look over at Ryland, his jaw is set so tightly that the muscles in the side of his face bulge. Tears track in a silent stream down his face, slipping off his chin to disappear into the black fabric of his suit.
Something about witnessing his pain brings my own pain closer to the surface, and I close my eyes as the priest goes on with his eulogy.
The words the priest is saying mean little to me. The life he’s describing, the picture he’s painting, doesn’t fit what I know of Marcus’s life. There’s no mention of the game, no mention of the night he almost died two and a half years ago. It’s a sterilized, curated version of his life.
It’s not real.
Anger churns inside me, and to keep myself from leaping to my feet and screaming at the entire crowd, calling them out as hypocrites, liars, and murderers, I focus on the feel of Ryland’s hand over mine. On the warmth of Theo’s arm as it brushes against mine.
The feel of them sitting beside me doesn’t lessen my anger, but it sharpens it.
Focuses it.
Marcus’s parents signed him up to play Luca’s deadly game. They gambled their son’s life on a shot at incredible power, and they lost.
I won’t let the same thing happen to Ryland and Theo.
Chapter 10
I’m quiet on the way back from the wake.
There was a reception scheduled afterward so the gathered guests could give their condolences to Marcus’s parents and mingle among themselves. According to Theo, deals and negotiations are probably being done even at a time like this, everyone jockeying for position as the dust settles in the aftermath of the game.
I couldn’t stomach the thought of that, though, so we left pretty much as soon as the wake finished.
Ryland’s eyes are red, and he hasn’t spoken since we left the church. Theo doesn’t look much better, but I can feel his concern for the two of us as he glances into the rearview mirror.
“You okay?” he asks, catching my eye.
“No.” I swallow, shaking my head. My fingers dig into my thigh. “I want to fucking end this. You said the game only ends when you either kill all your opponents or win their allegiance? Then I want to help you do that.”
Ryland glances at me sharply. “No.”
“Yes.” I turn toward him on the seat, my nostrils flaring. “You said it was too late to keep me out of this. I’m a part of it already. So let me help you end it. There has to be something I can do. Some way I can help.”
“No.” His voice is just as forceful as mine, his hazel eyes hard. “It’s one thing to let you see into this world. It’s another fucking thing entirely to make you a player in this game, Ayla. Carson already tried to use you against us once, and look how that fucking turned out. Is that what you want? Huh?”
“No! I want to keep that from happening ever again. I’m not letting either of you get fucking hurt!”
“It’s not your choice,” Ryland shoots back. “It’s not your goddamn call.”
“Yes, it is. You don’t get to tell me what to do!”
We’re both nearly shouting, our voices drowning out the music that plays softly from the speakers. I catch Theo darting a glance at us in the rearview mirror, and I press my lips together, turning away from Ryland and staring out the window as I blink back angry tears.
Part of me knows this is just all the anger and sadness that built up in me during the wake pouring out, needing some outlet before it chokes me—but I can’t accept what Ryland is saying.
I don’t give a shit what he says. I’m finding a way to end this, with or without their help.
We pull into Theo’s garage several minutes later, and as he cuts off the engine, his phone buzzes. He pulls it out of his pocket and answers, speaking softly as Ryland and I unbuckle our seatbelts. Then he hangs up and turns around to face us.
“Dammit. I’ve gotta head back out. My uncle’s being a fucking cock, and I need to deal with him before he gets my mom to sign over her share of the company.” He lifts an eyebrow. “Can I leave you two alone without you killing each other?”
Ryland makes a noise in his throat that’s not exactly a confirmation or a denial, and I huff out a breath—but Theo must decide those answers are good enough. He leans between the two front seats, palming the back of my head before pressing a soft kiss to the corner of my lips. His eyes bounce between mine as he pulls back, studying me carefully. “Be good, okay?”
I nod, my skin tingling from the soft kiss. My entire body feels uncomfortably alive right now, like there’s too much inside of me. Too many emotions to be contained in
