CHAPTER ONE

The scent of blood lingered in the air, a familiar odor that always made me feel queasy. It seemed to seep into every corner of the room, radiating from the pile of rags that had been dumped in a silver drum on the far side of the room. The metal arrow pulled from Mel's chest was buried beneath them. Brody—the tall, curly-haired guy who'd driven like a bat out of hell to get her here—had shoved some type of pain pill down her throat seconds before the others had begun playing operation.

He swore they were meant to alleviate her pain. I didn't know him well enough to take any of his promises at face value.

If being an unwilling contestant in this screwed-up game had taught me anything, it was to trust few and doubt everyone. Either Brody genuinely wished us no harm, or he wanted us dead.

I was choosing to give him the benefit of the doubt since he was the one who ultimately sewed my best friend back together with utmost care. He was also helping the guys, and they wouldn't have let just anyone in on their plans. We weren't even in the know. At least not fully. I looked Mel over just long enough to check if her condition had worsened. She was lying on a small loveseat that had been placed near the back wall of the warehouse. Her eyes were closed, her porcelain skin a paler shade than usual.

Brody had covered her up with his hoodie, and Maverick had replaced her bloodied top with his, so the bandaged area wasn't visible.

She'd done an incredible job of keeping her composure once we arrived here. Other than an occasional hiss through clenched teeth and enough swearing to make a sailor red in the face, there wasn't a single indication of how badly she was hurting. Not when the arrow was being pulled free, or as her wound was disinfected and sutured.

I hoped with everything I had that she received the healing energy I was sending, ignoring the pessimistic voice inside my head that insisted life didn't work like that. It was the only thing I could do for her right then. As I huddled deeper into the corner of the sofa, I couldn't remember a time I had ever felt more useless. The way I was feeling all around was foreign to me. I could barely think straight.

It had been more than twenty-four hours since I was injected with Helios . Now that the effects were fading, I was left with an empty, hollowed-out feeling. The neon-colored drug had temporarily fortified a brutal hold over my senses, amplifying everything ugly and bad just as I had begun to regain my memories.

I'd never been so angry. Worse was the raw, unyielding sense of betrayal. Helios twisted it all into a bloodthirsty rage. I got a reprieve after removing Troye Sainte's head. That was also the exact moment I knew something was seriously wrong with me. Otherwise, I wouldn't have felt ecstatic about decapitating a man I once considered a friend.

I wasn't here because I wanted to be. I didn't find this thrilling or have any desire to make it my new sick hobby. I was here, forced to kill because I had no other choice if I wanted to keep me and my friends alive.

Now I had this mess in my head to deal with as well.

It all started back at the asylum. Being confined in that cramped, sterile room started to shatter a mental barrier that I didn't know existed until I was held down and injected with a drug that splintered it even further.

The inner workings of my mind were now fragmented, like a puzzle with mismatched pieces that couldn't fit together. Some memories remained clear and vivid, while others were frustratingly fuzzy.

Everything I had learned since reuniting with Liliana and Melantha left me feeling even more confused and conflicted. The longer I dwelled on these emotions, the stronger the urge became to unleash them in a loud scream.

But I couldn't do that.

I needed to keep myself together, for my own sake and for Lana, Mel, and even Dion.

So far, none of them showed any signs of remembering anything, or at least If they had they were choosing to keep it to themselves. I understood the reasons behind their silence; I was struggling with those same thoughts. I longed for clarity, but I couldn't risk jeopardizing the fragile bond that held our group together.

It pained me to have secrets from my friends, even if they were necessary in this twisted game we found ourselves in. Our group was our only means of defense against the unknown forces at play. If keeping a million secrets meant we could all survive this ordeal, then I would do it without hesitation. Their safety and well-being were all that mattered to me.

Casting a sidelong glance towards the long metal table the others were huddled around, I tried to focus on what was being discussed. I wanted to join them, but I remained seated, not trusting myself to go over and speak just yet. Dion sat at the opposite end of the sofa; his gaze fixed on some distant point in the room. His mind seemed consumed by chaotic thoughts. He twirled his glasses between his tattooed fingers with a repetitive motion. I felt compelled to say something to him, but I couldn't find the right words.

Ever since we arrived and he realized that his girlfriend wasn't with us, he had been like this. I couldn't bring myself to tell him that Morrigan was most likely gone forever, and it was all because of the very people who had trapped us inside this warehouse. But Dion was extremely intelligent; I'm sure he had figured out by now that she was no longer with us, even if he didn't know the whole truth. All I could do was offer my silent sympathy for his loss.

My thoughts were a whirlwind of confusion and fear, but they came to a sudden halt as a bottle of water materialized in front of me. The abruptness of the gesture startled me.

"Take this."

I tried to focus on his deep voice, but the fluttering in my stomach made it difficult. I turned my head to look at him and took in his lean, muscular body and sharp cheekbones before meeting his gaze.

I couldn't hold his stare for long; instead, I lowered my eyes to the bottle of water he was offering. This was now the third one he had brought to me since Mel was taken care of. The first came with some sort of granola mix when I collapsed onto this couch, mentally and physically exhausted. The second came when I woke up from a nap a few hours ago. I drank them without hesitation, trusting that Kyrous wouldn't give me anything unsafe.

The trunk of the now-dismantled car had been a modest treasury of necessities--water, simple foods, and a first aid kit, all stashed away with foresight and meticulous planning behind our ordeal. Melantha being impaled by an arrow was likely an unforeseen variable.

"Where did you guys get all of this?"

"Doesn't matter. If it's going from my hands to yours, it's safe."

A faint smile played on my lips at his directness. He had a way of oscillating between concise words and profound silence, a hallmark uniquely his own that communicated everything that needed to be said.

"Thank you," I said softly, reaching for the bottle. I was careful not to let his fingers touch mine, fearing that would be enough to reveal all my secrets.

He stayed close by, observing me intently. I understood that he wanted to make sure I drank the water. His silent and serious demeanor was both reassuring and unsettling. Even before regaining some of my memories, his presence had been a constant. At the Sanctuaries we slept in the same bed, sharing other moments behind closed doors.

I usually had a strict rule about keeping men at arm's length, but with him, it was different.

From the beginning of this twisted performance, I felt like I had already known him on some level. There was an unexplainable familiarity that went beyond superficial attraction. His captivating eyes drew me in, becoming a source of conflict within myself. They were a striking, deep shade of amber that almost appeared black in certain lighting. His dark hair was styled with length on top and trimmed closely at the sides.

Each tattoo that adorned his knuckles, traced up his arms, and wrapped around his neck seemed to have its own story to tell. Whenever I gazed upon him, I couldn't help but feel giddy like a schoolgirl with euphoria. And then there were the more intense desires that would surge to the surface when he was near or when we were alone together. I struggled to ignore these desires, but it was a difficult task, and I hadn't been very successful.

He seemed to have an uncanny ability to persuade me, and I wasn't sure if I truly didn't want to give in or if he just knew how to manipulate me.

Since I had begun to remember him, his prolonged silence was maddening.

Did he know I knew?

It seemed impossible for him not to. He never missed a beat, no matter how insignificant the details were. Part of me considered the possibility that he had lost those memories as well, but deep down I knew I was being naive. While I couldn't pinpoint any specific events between us since I arrived here, there were small hints that made it clear he remembered everything. He and his friends acting as if we'd all just met on that shuttle bus, was slowly beginning to make sense.

"You should be with the rest of us." His rough voice cut through my oppressive thoughts once more.

He was right, of course. Sitting here wouldn't do them or me any favors.

I chugged enough water to chase away the scratchiness lingering in my throat before rising from the sofa.

"What about him?" I recapped the bottle and nodded in Dion's direction.

"I'm only here for you."

Our height difference forced me to tilt my head back to maintain eye contact. I peered up at him, finding nothing. It was beyond frustrating.

His penetrating stare was as cryptic as ever. I might as well have been studying a wall of stone covered in hieroglyphics. It seemed to be the opposite for him, despite my best efforts to remain guarded. The way he looked at me, it was as if he could see all the truths I was trying to keep hidden, everything I wasn't ready to confront or reveal.

I took a few steps in the direction of the table and then paused when he remained exactly where he was.

"Aren't you coming?"

"I'll be right behind you," he retorted in his usual tone, a combination of ice and grit.

I withheld a sigh and moved past him, ignoring the heat that seemed to jump off his solid frame. Like a shadow, he followed without a sound. I should've known better than to bother asking. Ever since we'd been dumped in this forsaken place, he always seemed to be no more than an arm's reach away.

Lana looked up from whatever she was studying as I approached, flashing me a brief smile. Kyrous moved from behind me and wordlessly took position on the other side of the table, right beside his brother.

"Are you okay?" she asked, concern evident in her brown eyes.

"I'm fine," I replied, offering her a brighter smile in return.

I couldn't tell if she remembered anything simply by looking at her. She had a remarkable ability to compartmentalize her thoughts and push through any challenges without missing a beat. I had always admired that about her. And it wasn't just Lana--Melantha who shared the same strength of will. As I thought about it, I realized this was something we were trained to do. In a way, it helped us survive in the dangerous games we were forced to play.

I looked down at the table and saw the impressively detailed map Brody had produced an hour or so ago. "Where did this come from again?"

He ran a hand through his thick mass of brown curls. "I've had this bad boy for a while, was just waiting for the right moment to bring it out."

"This lovely group of gentlemen had a plan this entire time and now they're letting us in on their elaborate scheme," Mel suddenly spoke up.

I looked over just as she opened her eyes—the grey in them a little darker than usual--and tossed me a pained smile. "Don't quote me on that. It's the gist of what I've gathered while in and out of sleep." She swung her legs over the side of the loveseat and stood up. Even with her colorful hair in a messy ponytail, and swimming in Maverick's hoodie she was strikingly beautiful. My heart clenched as she made her way toward us. It was obvious she was in pain. There wasn't anything any of us could do about it. I quickly masked my emotions and focused on the map before she could see them.

Mel hated being fussed over regardless of how warranted it was.

"What's the big building you circled?" I asked partially to distract myself, but more so because of genuine curiosity.

"That's where we need to go," Maverick explained. "It's a town hall of sorts."

A town hall? Unlikely. Nothing here was as it seemed. The entire city was one big stage for sadistic games orchestrated by unseen puppeteers. I retraced the lines that had been drawn to the building and noticed it was blocked by another. "What's this place in front of it?"

Lana was the one to answer this time. "They don't know."

"Really?" I was surprised by that. So far it seemed like they knew every in and out of this place.

Charon chuckled and shook his head. "Yes, really."

"You mean you guys aren't all-knowing with answers for everything?" Mel joked, placing one hand on the table.

"Unfortunately, no. We're pretty close, though," he countered in the same manner. "This building was under renovation until recently. It finished its test runs when you three were brought onto the show."

I wasn't sure I believed him, but I kept that to myself. It was just as likely they didn't want us to know yet. We'd have no choice but to face whatever challenge it presented head-on without hesitation, or risk dying in some horrific manner.

"Something you want to say, Puppet?"

I glanced at Lana, then Ciaran, who was staring at her with a perceptible glint in his eyes.

"Not particularly. Just not sure I believe everything I'm hearing."

I wasn't surprised to hear she was having a similar thought process to mine.

"What's with th e cynicism? Don't you trust us? At the very least you should trust me."

She scoffed and planted a hand on her hip. "Trust you ? That's the worst joke I've ever heard. I have a small inkling that you know exactly why we're in here, which means so does your band of merry men."

"You could give us a better moniker than that," Maverick objected.

"I know more than you think I do," she stated, still staring at Ciaran.

I wondered if she was referring to the photos she'd found. I still couldn't make sense of those.

"I doubt that baby, and no matter what you think you know, I can promise you it isn't the truth," he replied, his tone soft.

"You mean the truth you don't seem to wanna share?"

We all stood and watched, no one else saying a word. Since I couldn't exactly come out and say her suspicions were unfounded, I bit down on the inside of my lower lip, concealing any emotions that may give me away. It was a skill I had honed from years of dealing with my socialite mother. As I thought back on our interactions and relationship, it only made me more conflicted. I loved my parents, despite their outdated beliefs, and it hurt to think they would put me in such a dangerous situation and even place bets on whether I would survive.

It was a betrayal I never could have imagined from them. That was starting to feel like a running theme. If this show didn't tear us apart, our secrets would.

"We need to focus. We're running out of time," Ciaran stated evenly, ignoring Lana's accusation entirely.

"When we go back out there, they'll have the highest bounties on our heads."

"How is that any different than before?" Mel questioned.

"Because before we were hunting you."

"Don't take that personally. We had an image to uphold," Charon added.

"And?" Lana pressed,

"And we're doing this together," Ciaran replied. "For someone to get to you, they'd have to take all of us out first. And that's not going to happen." There was an unspoken sincerity in his words that Liliana surprisingly didn't object to.

"None of you seem too concerned about your new position in this," she speculated.

He grinned. "Why would we be concerned when we're still going to win it all?"

Her lips slightly pursed, a palpable tension stretching between them.

I could tell she had more to say but decided to hold back. I didn't know whether to be troubled by their bizarre relationship or relieved. Honestly, I had no room to judge. Ky and I had done things behind closed doors almost from the moment we were confined by them. I had yet to share with her and Mel the kind of relationship he and I had, though one could wager they were already well aware.

As for Ciaran, his methods may have been a bit twisted, but he had protected Lana since we'd gotten on that shuttle bus together. It seemed he intended to keep doing so and I was in full support of that—for now at least . I rubbed the back of my neck, wondering how to bring up one subject that hadn't yet been mentioned. I had a growing list of questions about this person, specifically. It seemed eons ago now that Selena was with us.

I was certain the guys had their reasons for it, but I couldn't say why Mel and Lana hadn't breathed a peep of her name.

"What--?"

"What is it?"

Lana and Ky asked at the same time, his voice overshadowing hers.

She looked at him bemusedly, but his attention remained trained on me.

"It's not important," I replied to both of them, unsure how to ask what I wanted without making things more confusing than they already were. I lightly tapped the tabletop, bringing the focus back to our current dilemma. "The games are preplanned, right? And there are cameras everywhere. How will we go off course and make our own path?"

"The cameras are necessary for broadcasting the slaughter," Kyrous explained with zero connotation.

I smiled at him even though he failed to answer my question. There was a momentary lapse of silence and then Brody slightly shifted on his feet. "Uh, but you are partially correct about the games. Each challenge presented has a definitive answer."

Charon nodded once in agreement. "Only, survival isn't guaranteed or contingent on you figuring it out. If that were solely the case, the betting system would be less effective."

"Well, that part was obvious. The challenges crafted by complete fucking psychopaths weren't enough. They had to add in the whole kill or be killed spin too," Melantha remarked sarcastically. "By the way, how did you all pull this off? Us being here right now and the cars as a distraction?"

Maverick shrugged dismissively. "We know a few loopholes and have a couple of connections."

That sounded rather ominous. Judging by the way Lana was staring him down, she wasn't okay with that reply either. "Are one of you going to key us in on those connections , or?"

"I'd like to know too," Mel seconded.

"A Game Maker for starters," Kyrous revealed.

"You know the Game Maker?"

"We know a game maker," Ciaran corrected me. "There's at least a dozen per location."

Location? I started to question what he meant by that, but Mel spoke first.

"If you've got the need for someone like that in your corner then I'm assuming we can't avoid the games altogether."

"Your assumption would be correct," Charon confirmed. "We can forge our own path, somewhat. We'll still have to continue playing along. Half the board committed to the show of the century. Getting out of here scotch-free? We would sooner be shot dead and guns are one of the few weapon exclusions they have."

Lana's brow furrowed. "Exactly how long have you all been participating in these shows?"

When no one volunteered to answer, Ciaran swiftly wrangled the conversation. "Listen, it would be great to stand around and tell campfire stories, but this short reprieve was only possible because HQ needs to cover their asses and figure out how to handle us. If it makes you feel better the games will be a little simpler now."

"What is your definition of simple, Ciaran? Dodging grenades?"

Maverick and Brody both laughed.

"No, smartass. What I meant was we had a bit of assistance in choosing our route."

"From whom?" Mel asked, glancing around the table.

"Well," he began smugly. "It just so happens that we've got our Game Maker's son here with us. He's actually proven to be somewhat useful."

There was only one person inside the warehouse he could've been referring to.

Almost instinctively all of our heads swiveled in Dion's direction. He must have been paying more attention than I thought because he was staring right back, glasses no longer spinning between his fingers.