by Ella Miles
The image doesn’t bring me any comfort because I don’t believe that Ares killed Odette. The image fades.
“There are cards on your table. If you would like to enter the game, sign your name in blood, and then bring your card to the stage. Place it in the bowl in my beautiful daughter’s hands.”
A bowl is placed in Rialta’s trembling hands.
Oh, my beautiful Princess, how I’m going to enjoy breaking you.
I turn to my table as men at surrounding tables start rushing to put their names in the bowl in Rialta’s hands. Stupid fools think they have a shot at winning this game. All that awaits them is shame, pain, and probably death.
I grab one of the cards in the middle of the table. I prick my thumb with my pocketknife and sign my name on the card.
A movement catches my attention out of the corner of my eye.
“What are you doing?” I demand.
“Entering,” Caius says coldly.
“You don’t get to enter. As your leader, I forbid it.”
“You can’t stop me.”
He stands up. I do as well, getting in his face.
“If you want to remain in the Retribution Kings, you will do as I say. Sit down.”
“No, Odette was my sister. I deserve retribution as much as you do. If we both enter, we have twice the spies in this game, twice the chances of winning. I have to do this for Odette.”
I breathe loudly.
I don’t like it, but I can see his grief hiding in the shadows. He’ll let it explode out of him if I don’t let him enter. He needs this as much as I do.
I step out of his way. I’ll let him enter, but it doesn’t mean I’ll let him win. Rialta is mine. Mine to win. Mine to torture. Mine to destroy.
Caius walks up on the stage, and I turn to the rest of the guys. “Don’t even think about entering.”
Then I follow him up on the stage.
Rialta doesn’t notice me at first. She’s too upset about Caius entering, recognizing that this a bloodshed game as much as it is a game for her heart.
But then she spots me.
Her breath catches. Her heart pumps louder. Her lustful gaze quickly turns to rage as her jaw tightens.
I stop right in front of her.
Her eyes widen in shock, and a deep frown mars her pretty lips.
“Did you find Odette?”
I don’t answer her. Instead, I hold my hand out over the bowl.
She blinks, not registering what I’m doing until I release my grip and my card drops into the bowl.
Her eyes look deep into mine, not understanding why in the hell I would enter. It takes her a moment, her eyes racing back and forth, trying to read my face.
Odette’s dead, her eyes shoot into me as she realizes.
I give the tiniest of nods. I’m not even sure she notices, but her reaction is real, authentic. She didn’t know that Odette was dead. Whatever role she played, she didn’t know that Odette was killed as a result.
What game are you playing, Princess?
I can see her mind whirling with thoughts, trying to figure out my endgame, but quickly her gaze shifts.
Hope—I see hope in her eyes.
She wants me to win. Wants me to play hero. Wants me to save her.
If she thought I was cold before, she has no idea who I am now. Odette made me a better man. Without her, there is nothing left of me but a cruel, cold heart. I’m a man set on revenge, revenge Rialta can help me with. If she’s waiting on me to play hero, she’s going to be waiting a long time.
I lean in and whisper, “I call these the Retribution Games. I’m about to kill everyone that had anything to do with her death. Sorry if a little blood splatters on your pretty tiara, Princess.”
She shivers as my words cover her.
Be afraid, Princess, be very afraid. You think I’m better than the rest of these pricks, but you’re wrong. There is nothing left but the devil’s soul inside me, and I plan on unleashing it upon the world.
1
Ri
Entering the game won’t heal Beckett. It won’t heal Caius. It won’t heal any of them. They think they can get revenge on me, my father, or anyone else who might have been involved in Odette’s death. Maybe they should, but it won’t stop their pain, their grief.
How do I know?
I feel like somehow I’ve already lived through something like it, like I already know their pain. It probably has to do with the fact that I’m standing on stage in a dress I didn’t pick out, and holding a bowl full of names of men, one of who gets to marry me. My choices, my life, have been completely taken away from me.
I understand a little bit of grief. I didn’t lose my other half; I just lost myself.
More men put their names into the bowl, and every time I pray that none of the other Retribution Kings enter. Sure, I’d love to up my odds of ending up with one of them. Any of them—Hayes, Gage, and even Lennox—would be better than a complete stranger, but I don’t want them to risk their lives for me.
“Any other participants?” my father steps forward and says.
I hold my breath, waiting to see if anyone else will enter. I’ve barely paid attention to who has entered, except to ensure that none of my guys did.
My guys—ha. They aren’t mine.
“Good, then I must ask anyone who didn’t enter to leave.”
I exhale my worry. At least Hayes, Gage, and Lennox are safe.
The room fills with the sound of chairs scraping and good wishes murmured as the room clears out. Soon, only the guys who have decided they want to compete for me are left.
My father walks to me and takes the bowl from my hands. He quickly counts the number of cards and then sets the bowl down on the floor.
“Thirty-three,” my father says with no reaction to the number.
Thirty-three, my heart moans. How many of them are going to survive this game?
The world will be better off with most of these monsters gone.
I just need two to survive.
My father walks to me and grabs my elbow, leading us toward the center of the stage. The lights are still blinding me to the crowd. I can’t see any of them, but I know all of their eyes are on me.
I want to shiver, but I won’t allow them to see my fear. I’ll figure a way out of this. I hold my head high, my eyes piercing the darkness, trying to strike each of their hearts with daggers.
“The deal is simple. It’s the same one I offered Nicolo. You prove worthy of my daughter, and you get the honor of marrying her. You get my blessing. And if you produce a male heir, you get my kingdom the day the child is born.”
There is a collective gasp; even I catch my breath. This means whomever I marry is going to fuck me over and over relentlessly until we produce a male child. And if we have daughters, I can’t think what someone might do to them.
Fuck, I have to find a way out.
It’s one thing to hurt me; it’s another to hurt an innocent child.
“What about if we knock her up with a boy before we marry her?” someone dares to heckle from the crowd.
My father gives a stern look. He pulls out a gun and fires into the crowd.
The crowd goes silent. I have no idea if he just shot someone or just shot fear into them.
I don’t dare move. He won’t shoot me; he needs me. But there is no way he could tell who he was shooting, so he clearly doesn’t care.
Please, let Beckett and Caius be alive.
“The terms are the same as I had with Nicolo. Sex is forbidden until I give you permission. She is off-limits in that way, and I’ll be checking.”
The screen behind us turns back on like this is a presentation he planned with visuals.
The room is beyond silent as a man speaks from the speakers behind me.
“Spread your legs and scoot down to the edge of the bed for me, dear.”
Don’t look, a voice from deep inside whispers.
But my mind twists with too many images of what my fa
ther could be playing.
“That’s a good girl.”
Every hair on my arms rises. I’ve heard that voice before.
My hands clench as my breathing shallows.
Don’t look.
I have to look.
Slowly, I turn around to face the screen. And it’s as evil as my worst nightmares.
I’m lying on a bed, the same bed I stayed in last night. My legs are spread on the edge of the bed, and there’s a man dressed as a doctor between them. My father and two other men observe from the door.
“Hymen looks to still be intact,” the doctor says, removing a gloved finger from my body.
I stare at myself. How old was I?
Eighteen? Nineteen? Younger? I can’t tell.
But there is no fear in my eyes. No tears as I lie on that bed, which I can’t say is true now.
I feel the tears welling. The violation pulses through my body even now.
The screen pauses.
“Rialta is to remain a virgin until I say otherwise. She will remain that way to ensure her offspring are worthy of my kingdom. Don’t fuck her without my permission. I’ll know.”
I blink, and a tear escapes, rolling quickly down my cheek. I should brush it away before turning back around. I don’t want these guys to see my shock, but I leave the tear on my cheek.
My father knows I’m not a virgin; he’s seen the proof himself. Hopefully, that sex video will keep me from having to do another one of those virginity tests that apparently filled my youth.
I need a drink to get through the rest of this. Before my father or anyone else can stop me, I dart down the stairs. Only once the darkness consumes me do I wipe the tears from my face. On the main floor my sight is better than onstage. I walk to the first table, where there are several vacant seats and leftover drinks.
I pick up the first and down it, barely registering the scotch’s burn as it goes down. I pick up a second and down it, too, as my father continues talking.
“This game is to find out one thing—who is worthy of my daughter. Who is strong enough to lead my family. Each week we will meet. I’ll draw a name. That name will take part in creating the game, the rules. But ultimately, I’ll be the one deciding how the game is played.” He drones on talking of rules, expectations, logistics, and on and on.
The alcohol has barely hit my stomach when it hits me.
I grab one of the pieces of paper, jot my name down, prick my finger, and smear my own blood on the card. If they have a chance to win me, to win my father’s kingdom, then I want the same chance.
I storm back onstage, determined to not let my father stop me. He wouldn’t dare let on that he doesn’t have complete control over me, not in front of them.
He doesn’t react. Even his eyebrows don’t so much as raise as I walk over to the bowl and drop my card into it. I look him dead in the eyes.
“I get to compete too. And if I win, I get to choose who my husband is.”
He only gives me the slightest of nods. I know I have no chance of winning. He’ll rig it so I don’t, but I have to try. It’s all I’ve got.
Then I walk back off the stage, my head spinning as memories come flooding back.
2
Ri
“Rialta, time to go,” Dario, one of the security guards, says to me suddenly.
I don’t fight Dario as he leads me away from the now empty ballroom. The lights are on, so I can see the vacant seats and empty alcohol glasses.
I pause when goosebumps crawl up my spine as I look at one particular table. It’s the only table with five empty chairs—the table that Beckett and his crew sat at.
“This way,” Dario says, grabbing my elbow and guiding me out of the ballroom. He leads me out to the back of the waiting limo.
I slide in and jump when my father speaks, “That was foolish.”
“No, it wasn’t,” I snap back.
“Now you will have to compete the same as them. These games will be deadly. There is no guarantee, even with your skillset, that you’ll survive them.”
I frown. My skillset? What is he talking about?
I try to keep a blank face. I don’t want him to know that I don’t remember much, even as the memories seem to be returning.
“Maybe you should change the game, make it less dangerous.”
My father huffs.
It was worth a shot to keep Caius and Beckett safe.
“Maybe I’ll die, and you’ll have no one to whore out and get heirs to your throne,” I spit out with glee.
He stares at his phone as he types. “Just stay alive.”
“Oh, how sweet. You care about me, huh, Father?”
He cocks his head as if I revealed something, but he doesn’t say what.
The car stops back at his condo building. Dario opens the door for me, while the driver opens the door for my father. We head into the elevator alone. Apparently, the guards aren’t allowed to ride in the same elevator as us.
The doors open into his condo. I want nothing more than to run upstairs and get out of this dress and heels. But that room…I can’t go back to the room where I was violated.
My father starts to walk away, loosening his tie, clearly done with this conversation.
“Did you kill Odette?”
He pauses and turns, looking at me with a savage grin. “Are you proposing a deal?”
“What do you mean?”
His eyes turn to slits as he muses at me. “I knew it.”
I stand taller, trying to not let him intimidate me. He won’t kill me, but he could hurt me.
“Usually, our deals are where I offer up information in exchange for you owing me a debt.”
I shouldn’t make a deal with the devil. I know that. But I need to know. Caius needs to know. Beckett needs to know.
“Tell me the truth.”
“I didn’t kill Odette. I found her. I conveyed that information to the Retribution Kings.” He turns to leave. “I’ll let you know when I plan on collecting my debt.”
“I won’t do it. I won’t do any of it. You can’t force me to marry another man.”
If Odette is really dead, if he really didn’t kill her, then there is nothing for me here.
I’ll escape.
I’ll run again.
The only reason I came back was to help Beckett find Odette. She’s gone.
“Do I have to remind you what’s at stake? Of who I have? Who I’ll hurt if you don’t?”
My eyes widen as terror spreads through my body. Who is he talking about? The condescending look on his face tells me he knows I don’t remember. Pieces are starting to come back, but not this.
He has someone I love, or is using my lack of memory against me. Either way, I can’t risk it. I need to be sure I’m not condemning someone I love to death if I leave.
A much younger face flashes in my head. A headache hammers through me like lightning and thunder, striking once and leaving a pounding in its wake. I’m running from him with a gash in my side, covered in blood. It could be one of my father’s security guards, but I don’t think it is.
“You weren’t the one I was running from,” I say, barely louder than a whisper.
“Why would you run from me? I keep you safe. At least until the wedding day. Then you aren’t my problem anymore.”
I rub my head, the pounding intensifying. I need to rest, to give my brain time to process all the returning images.
“You shouldn’t do so many drugs, Rialta. It can really fuck up your memories.”
I glare at him.
“I remember everything,” I say, having no clue if it’s true or not.’
“Then you remember our past deals?”
I raise my chin. “Yes.”
But do I remember everything? Will I?
He starts to walk away.
“Am I a prisoner here, Father? Or am I allowed to leave this castle in the sky?”
He stops. “Just stay alive until the game is over. And lay off the drugs. I
’d hate if you didn’t remember our history.”
I frown, having no clue how he knows my memories are still fuzzy.
“You started calling me Vincent instead of Father when you were five.” He turns and walks away.
My two guards step out of the shadows, prepared to follow me. I reluctantly walk upstairs to my room, pausing at the door, my heart racing. My legs tremble as I stare at the bed where I was violated by that doctor. What other atrocities have I forgotten?
“Is there a problem?” Dario asks.
I ignore him and step into the room. I slam my door in his face, before crumpling to the floor.
If Vincent truly didn’t kill Odette, then who did? Ares? Someone else?
Memories of my childhood, waitressing, attending college classes all rush through me. I try to find the person I love in my memories. There are friends, co-workers, a crush—none that I feel love toward. So instead, I shift my focus to the man who was chasing me. Deep grey eyes, sharp jawline, flared nostrils, a look of hunger on his face. I don’t know his name, his hair color, the build of his body. The clearest feature I see is his stare—hungry, vicious, and wanting.
Who are you?
3
Ri
The grey-colored eyes have been haunting me day and night. Who are you? I keep trying to convince my memories to reveal more. This guy is important. He was chasing me. I ran through Beckett and Odette’s wedding. I hid in the hotel. I was covered in blood. He could have had something to do with Odette’s death.
But I can’t remember more than the fear as I ran. I couldn’t stop. I swore I’d never stop. That’s how dangerous this man is to me.
Why would he target both me and Odette? Two princesses, heirs to turf and power and men. But we are only valuable alive. Why kill us? And is he coming back to kill me too?
Maybe because he’s dead?
I don’t have a laptop, a phone, or anything to search for him on. But maybe I don’t need an internet connection to find a picture of him. My best guess is that it was Nicolo, my dead fiancé.
The room is void of any pictures on the walls, but maybe I left something in one of the drawers. I pull open my nightstand drawer and rummage through notebooks, gum wrappers, a vibrator. Then I find what I’m looking for—a single polaroid.