by Kira Graham
“Llllaaame!” Gia yells when I start to shuffle sideways, doing the crab walk while I hold my fists out in front of me and bob them to the rhythm.
“Nu-huh. Dad said that if you can maintain and slide into the moonwalk, you’re the winner!” I yell, my thighs burning like hell because it hurts to maintain the position in four-inch heels and also grind to the beat.
Lucky for me, I’m a strong woman and I have a kitten to win—or I’d probably give up. I’m just finishing off and straightening into the moonwalk when Gia cackles and goes into her dance and, you know, I hate her. I’ve never been able to master the robot. Like ever. And it’s right up there in the winning categories according to the family dance rules. Bitch.
“Whatcha feelin’ now, huh?” Gia taunts, following the most amazing robot with a side shuffle that is so perfect I feel my hopes slide slowly through my grasping, greedy fingers as the seconds pass by.
Taylor is my idol, and my favorite song of hers is “Me,” which is what Gia chose this time because she knows it’ll kill me if I lose to her while dancing to this song. That’s why I’m sweating like a pig in this ridiculous dress as I start to hammer-dance, shifting my feet from side to side, my hands on my hips as I shuffle.
It isn’t easy to do it to the beat of the song, but those are the rules. The battles aren’t about who can dance best using rhythm—it’s about who can pull off the worst dances, keep rhythm and still look cool doing it. Like Daddy said, if it was easy it wouldn’t be called battling. And I’m an expert battler. Being the smallest in our family, I’ve had to fight for my survival since I was a kid.
“Is that all you’ve got?” Gia screams, though I notice she’s starting to flag as she bounces into the twist.
But, see, I hit my peak and immediately leap into Gangnam Style which, if I say so myself, is the ultimate closer and definitely wins it for me as the song ends and Gia huffs to a stop, her lip trembling.
“Yes!” I yell, victorious and so freaking happy I could spit.
“No fair! You always use that one to win,” Gia whines, stomping her foot while tears fill her eyes.
“Give it a rest, loser! I won. I won. Where’s Jaja?” I yell, so high on this win that I can barely see straight.
Take that, assholes. I told y’all I’d be the first person in this family to win two hunts.
That is until I turn, my smile still in full force, to see two men standing in the lobby of the building, one holding Jaja. Now, that in and of itself is problematic for me, seeing as he looks like he’s practically in love with the little furball. Another thing that’s a problem when Gia and I stop dancing, me victoriously and Gia more having a tantrum, is that they’re both smiling and the one holding Jaja, well, he’s hot. Like… hooooot hot, I think, my legs slowly coming to a stop, my smile sputtering out.
“That’s my cat,” I huff, stalking forward with a smile and holding my arms out.
Problem three. He’s still smiling and still stroking Jaja, and then he bombs me.
“Your cat? I could’ve sworn this is my building, and since this little cutie is in it, I’m pretty sure… this is my cat,” he says slowly while the other man laughs and looks between us, his brown eyes twinkling.
“Uh, no. That is clearly my cat,” I huff, trying to ignore how handsome the man is while glaring at Jaja for purring like… well, a kitten.
Screw you! This isn’t funny.
Gia snorts beside me, completely amused by all of this now that she’s lost, and I watch in stupefied horror as Hottie snuggles Jaja and croons to him while smiling down at me, looking so pleased with himself I’m ready to scream. Firstly, it hasn’t escaped me that they’ve been standing there watching Gia and me dance. What a bunch of pervs. Secondly, I think I may be a little mortified because, while I’m awesome at battle, I’m not deluded enough to think it makes us look cool.
It doesn’t. One of the points of battle is that you have to be willing to do it, wherever, whenever, no matter who may be watching, videoing you, or laughing their asses off. Ask me how that worked for me in high school when my brothers and sister were always ragging on me and daring me to win my lunch money back.
Not well. Suffice it to say, I didn’t have that many friends. Except for Kat, but she doesn’t count. She’s Russian-American and she doesn’t give a shit what anyone thinks.
“Your… Look, asshole. I clearly just won that cat, fair and square,” I grumble, not giving a shit how hot he is.
He’s holding my cat and ruining my victory, and if he doesn’t give the thing back, I have to start all over again—and, dammit, I don’t want to spend the next two months battling Simon and Gia for a win. Dad only allows us to battle three times a year, and the rules state, clearly, that he only does a hunt three times a year. And this year’s booty is a kitten. You can’t go out and just buy one! You can’t rescue one from a shelter. You can’t just get a cat. You have to wait for the events and then work for the prizes. Tonight’s event was a treasure kitty hunt, which was really successful until that little shit bit me when I found him, took off running, and forced me to chase after him. That’s how Gia found me. Son of a bitch.
“You can’t win something that didn’t choose you,” the guy says, shrugging when I gape. “You said he belongs to whoever he chooses. He chose me.”
“That’s not… even… he didn’t… shit!” I snarl, stomping my foot because that is one of the rules, dammit.
One that was working for me because I haven’t had a decent hunt in years. And these things are hard, people. They are so hard. And my family isn’t exactly fair in the games either. To be honest, we cheat a lot. All the time. It’s encouraged because it makes the hunts so much more fun.
“Yeeeep,” Gia drawls, laughing her ass off because she knows I just got beat and by a stranger.
“This isn’t fair. You’re not even part of the battles,” I huff, my mouth going tight because this isn’t fair.
“The rules are clear,” Gia says, sounding so satisfied with herself I want to slap her.
She’s a freaking loser, cheater—and now she’s getting her way when she knows, she knows, I won that cat first. I shouldn’t even have had to dance but I did. I did—and that’s my cat. I’m supposed to win the two-prize challenge and then claim victory! Dammit.
“Gia, shut up,” I hiss, looking at Jaja, who’s looking at me and appears to be smiling.
The freaking cat is smiling, and when he lowers his eyes a little and sniffs, I swear to God he just told me to kiss his ass. I should have known. He’s been a nightmare ever since I found him in the subway and opened that box. A nightmare.
“Nope. Rules are clear, Lu. The cat chooses. If there’s a sudden-death round, the cat breaks the tie.”
“But he’s not part of this. He isn’t even family!” I yell, desperation making me look at Jaja and coo, trying to get him to choose me.
What? No one ever said there was a time limit on this stuff. Right?
“We have to make an exception. When you let Brody play, you set a precedent for family exceptions.”
“Dammit,” I groan, regretting that day so badly and hating Gia for bringing him up.
Biggest mistake ever and not just because I wish he had gonorrhea but because it corrupted the game. It gave others the advantage, and never have I seen it so clearly as I do right now with Hottie grinning at me. Holding my cat. And the key to my biggest dream. The Sugar Cup. I want it. Neeeeed it. Must have it all for my own. Okay, so technically there isn’t a cup, but I made one, and I will wield it when I win. I will!
“Yeeeep,” Gia trills, giggling when I pout and look at Hottie, letting tears fill my eyes.
Maybe guilt could convince him.
“That’s my kitty,” I sniffle, putting it on hard in the hopes that he’ll feel sorry for me and hand the ball of fur over.
“It’s mine now. Question is…” he purrs, his eyes twinkling when my head shoots up and I scowl, dropping the teary act fast. “How much do you want this c
at… back?”
Chapter 3
Louisiana
“Let me get this straight,” Dad laughs, his belly dancing where he’s sitting at the kitchen table, sipping on a cup of coffee and presiding over the results of last night’s hunt. “You got the kitten—”
“It attacked her, as you can see from her arm,” Gia laughs, snorting like a pig because she’s an animal.
“You got the kitten, it attacked you, it made you chase it three miles, and you idiots ended up in the O’Dare building, participated in a battle, Lu won—and then you turned around and Cameron O’Dare was holding it?” he asks, his face turning red with amusement before he packs up laughing at us both, but mostly at me.
I pout, not sure whether or not I should be letting this old man live, and nod with a harried sigh while Mom cackles where she’s finishing up dishes and then shuffles over to the table, traumatizing my eyeballs with the fact that she’s still in her nightie. A hundred-and-thirty-million-year-old white rag that’s so transparent I can see her gross nipples. Where they’re warming her navel. Jesus.
“This isn’t funny!” I huff, even less impressed by this because the rules— dammit!
The rules are clear, and with Cameron O’Dare’s words, he has effectively trapped me in hell. Outplayed me. Screwed me over—and he didn’t even know it.
“It is. It really is. You should have seen her, Dad. She got so desperate she threw herself to her knees and begged,” Gia breathes, breaking into a fit of laughter when Mom sputters and then cackles like a crone.
“Shut up. I was drunk on dance victory,” I mumble, shamed to the core because of how low I have sunk.
But I have reason. I really do. You see, the rules. Those freaking rules are so clear. I just don’t know how Cameron O’Dare could have used a rule he didn’t know against me. It’s still shocking, and but for the fact that he’s rich, there were security cameras, and two witnesses—because I know Gia would squeal like a pig against me—I’d have kicked his ass and taken that traitor cat back.
“Nope. Just desperate and pathetic,” Gia laughs, shaking her head in mock sympathy. “He whammied her with clause four, Dad. It was beautiful.”
“Shut up. It was not! He doesn’t even know what clause four is,” I grumble, my disgust worsened only because I was strangely thrilled after it all went down, and, no, I don’t want to talk about it either.
“Clause four?” Dad asks, his brow furrowing in confusion. “He called a parley?”
“Yeeeep,” Gia crows, smiling at me cheerfully while I struggle with horror and a self-loathing-induced shame because I wasn’t all that put out by the parley.
In fact, I kinda liked it. Respect it. Am drawn to the thought of what Cameron O’Dare suggested. Sharing. He couldn’t have known that shared ownership of the cat/prize would be my one out and my one doom. See, the cat is his, but if he shares it with me, it’s half mine. That being said, you then have to complete another challenge because you can’t own half of a prize, especially not if it’s living, like a cat. The rules are clear. Two prizes. Two whole prizes.
The catch? And something no one thought about when it was written in, is that if you have a parley, you need to make the terms more detailed—because now I’m locked into one and I can’t get out of it unless he gives me the damn cat, or I concede. Which I can’t do because then I lose Luke, my first prize, and I’m right back at square one.
“Let me get this straight. He parleyed with her?” Dad asks, frowning when Gia laughs.
“Yes! And the conditions were clear. They co-own the cat, one Mr. Jaja Binks O’Dare. They’re going share-sies! I pointed out that the name is actually Jar Jar—”
“I get it!” I huff.
“Whatever. Like I was saying, they co-own. He was clear.”
“Well, shit,” Mom huffs, looking around the table with a worried frown just as we hear the door, and Simon and Paul walk into the kitchen.
“What? Who died?” Simon asks, coming to a dead stop when he sees all our faces.
“Some guy got the kitten, and he parleyed with Lu. Co-owners,” Dad says.
“No!” Paul yells, looking horrified.
“It’s true,” Gia laughs, still so smug I want to slap the look right off her.
“Fuck!”
“Language, Paul!” Mom yells, slapping the back of his head when he sits down beside her, his eyes grave.
“Well, then, Lu’s just gonna have to concede,” he says, shrugging until I gasp and shake my head.
“No. No way. You conceded four summers ago when we ended up with the parley, and Dad caught the deadlock on the rule. You’re still prizeless,” I mutter, stating a shameful fact that still bugs poor Paul.
Which it should. Every member of this family now has one prize to their name, all except Paul—and it’s just plain sad, to be honest. We’re a victory-loving people. We love winning. The reason Dad came up with this thing in the first place was because we could never learn to share or agree on anything. But there is one thing we all agree on, and that’s the beauty of the win. The ultimate victory. Being crowned victorious and having everyone know for all eternity that they lost, because they’re all losers. And I want it. I want it so badly I can taste it. Or that could be the acid reflux I get from my allergy medication seeing as the last prize I won was a dog. A huge freaking dog named Luke, whom I couldn’t give back—because that’d be a loss—even though I am deathly allergic to pet dander.
My clan obviously has zero self-control when it comes to competing, okay. I admit that. But you have to understand, we come from a long line of people who just don’t give a shit what you think. So. He came up with the yearly game. Three times a year, Dad has a treasure hunt. It’s hard, like seriously—we’ve only ever won five times in twelve years. Now, twelve years is a long time, and that should have been a lot of wins but there is always a catch. Always. The limit was two. The first person to find two prizes is the official winner, and no one else would be able to get another win, ever, no matter what.
That’s why this was so important to me. I wanted to win. Needed it. And I would have. If not for that bastard Cameron O’Dare. How dare he steal my victory.
“Because someone had to break the deadlock, Lu! For the good of the collective,” Paul barks, scowling when I sniff and shake my head.
“I’m not doing it. It took me twelve years to get one. One! I am not starting all over again from scratch and I am not giving away Luke,” I mumble, even though…
I’ll tell you a secret. I’m allergic to pet dander—oh, wait, I already told you that. Well, it’s true. I own a huge Great Dane that’s bigger than me, sleeps on three quarters of my bed, farts like he’s trying to recreate Hiroshima, and he’s a mouth kisser. But I have to keep him. Them’s the rules. I have to keep him until I win, and unlike most people—by that I mean Paul—I’m not willing to give up a win just so we can reset. Like I said, it took me twelve years to win, and I’m not ever giving that up.
I need to win. I will win. If I can figure out a way to get that idiot to give me Jaja.
“This is bullshit. I call bullshit, Ma! You made me give up my prize, and now Melody thinks I’m the weak one and she makes fun of me!”
“Oh, boohoo,” Gia snarls, rolling her eyes. “Besides, Lu is right. There must be a way to get that cat without her giving up—”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa. What are you saying? You realize if she gets that cat, it’s over?” Paul asks, sounding disgusted that Gia would let me win.
“Technically, I won! I caught it, I beat her in battle, and I won,” I say clearly, needing them to know.
“That true?” Dad asks, smiling at me softly until Gia rolls her eyes and snarls.
“Technically, yes. But you know what that means.”
“Nothing,” Simon and Paul both say, laughing when I grimace.
“Exactly.”
“Cheating,” I huff, looking at Dad. “But yeah, it’s technical because she put hands on Jaja at the same time I did
. After I’d already won him, just FYI,” I admit, hating it, but it’s true and fair.
“She did kick my ass at battle, though,” Gia says reluctantly while we all laugh.
“Not that hard, Gia.”
“Up yours, Simon!”
“Language!” Mom yells, slamming her hands down and coming to her feet, which has my brothers both slapping hands over their eyes while the rest of us laugh and Dad chortles. “So. We’re either done or stuck or we do something.”
“Like what?” I huff. “He was clear. He even texted me a visitation schedule,” I snarl, holding up my phone where his text is clear and open.
I still can’t believe this, actually. I just can’t.
“You gave him your number?” Paul gasps, looking shocked because I never do that.
Not after Hunter and that whole debacle. But I’m not talking about that because, like Mom said, if I pretend it didn’t happen, it didn’t.
“Actually, I did,” Gia says, grinning when they gape at her.
“You?”
‘Why?” Paul demands, sounding horrified. “Do you want her to win this thing? Twelve years, Georgia! Twelve years. And you’re trying to just hand her the win?”
“I can’t help it. His brother made a bet with me, guys, and you know I can’t refuse a bet. Not when it’s a hundred grand on the line,” she yells.
To which I have no argument because—hello?—a hundred grand is a lot of money. I’d strip down naked in the street and twerk for a hundred grand.
“A hundred…” Dad sputters, his eyes wide. “What the hell was the bet?”
“He said Cameron wouldn’t give up the cat, ever,” she shrugs, smiling. “And since I know Lu won’t either…” She smiles at me and sighs.
“Let me get this straight. You made a bet with some rich guy that…”
“That Lu would get that kitten,” Gia says, grinning smugly while Paul curses.
“Why?”
“Because. It seemed like… it could be fun—and anyhow, even if she gets that kitten, what’s the loss for me? I win a hundred grand,” she says, laughing maniacally. “I can’t lose. If she doesn’t? Well, we’re already screwed anyway, and she did technically win the battle. As far as I’m concerned, there’s no way for the rest of us to win, either way.”