The Games We Play

39. Thirty-Eight - Tess

Thirty-Eight - Tess

Mr. Collins doesn’t move. He remains unconscious in the bed. I see so much of Ryan in his features as he’s sleeping. They have the same strong jawline, the small wrinkle between their brows. Mr. Collin’s is deeper, more pronounced, but as he sleeps, it’s nearly invisible. I take his hand in mine, running my fingers across the skin. These hands are the ones that fucked me in the dark, the ones that carried me to my room and held me up as he pinned me against the wall.

Was any of it real?

I shake my head, dispelling my doubts.

No, I felt it—he felt it. There is no way this could all be fake. I run my fingers across the X on my chest. It’s real; what I feel is real, and when he wakes up, he’ll still want me. Right?

Standing, I call for Roxy to follow me, and she whines, dropping her head to her paws, and refuses to come. She lies beside Mr. Collins; I lean down and pet her head. Then, I gently close the door and sigh, fighting the urge to break down on the floor. Mr. Collins passed out shortly after he gave me his vague directions. I had to pull over and put the address for the abandoned farmhouse into the GPS to get us here. His pulse was so weak by the time we arrived I thought for sure I was too late.

I walk into the kitchen and nearly collapse onto one of the stools. The sweatpants and shirt from Mr. Collin's bag are two sizes too big, but I’ll take anything over the red dress.

“You need sleep,” Mallard, the Doc, as Mr. Collins referred to him, says as he pours me a warm cup of something that smells herbal. “This will help.”

“He’s sleeping enough for the both of us,” I say, wrapping my hands around the teacup.

“He’ll wake up. He lost a lot of blood, but I’ve seen men pull through worse for less.”

The warm liquid feels nice as it coats my throat. “For less?”

“Revenge. Spite. Too stubborn to die,” Mallard shrugs.

“And what does he have to wake up for? His son is dead. My…father…killed him—he shot him right there in front of us like it was nothing.” My hands shake with the memory, and tears burn my eyes. I sling the teacup across the room, and it shatters on the far wall. Mallard sighs and walks over to grab the broom from the closet.

“No. Don’t. I’ll get it,” I mumble and slide off the stool, stealing the broom before he can grab it.

“Your father shot Ryan, yes. But he wasn’t Xane’s son.” I pause at the name. It’s the one he gave Dad at the auction. But Scott said his name was Lima. What did X say when I called him Lima?

“Tonight was the first time I gave anyone my name. You were the first person I ever told. ”

“Wait, Mr. Collins was Ryan’s Dad. I grew up with him. I was at every birthday, just like he was. Are you saying Ryan was adopted?” Not that it would make a difference.

Mallard pours me another cup of tea and arches his brow before handing it to me. “Until last year, you knew Lance Collins. The man in the bed down the hall is his twin brother, Xane Collins.”

“Twin?” I ask, more to myself. He looks just like the man I’ve known my whole life—well, minus the muscle. But anyone can go to the gym and get ripped if they want. A year ago, is when Mr. Collins took the new job and was traveling all the time. It was when he and Ryan grew apart—holy shit. “But Dad said he killed him when he showed up at the house. Did he kill Ryan’s dad? Why? They were friends.”

Mallard lifts his shoulders with a deep breath. “I don’t know it all, only what parts Xane has told me and the hushed whispers I’ve heard. Supposedly, they grew up together. Their fathers ran in the same circles, which after, two nights ago, you know what that looked like. Your dad inherited the family business when your grandfather passed away three years ago. Your aunt was passed over for the inheritance, and this caused a war nobody saw coming.”

“Wait. I have an aunt?” I stare at his caring eyes, and he gives me a patient look.

“She’s as bad as Darius, I’m afraid. She created her own organization of sorts. A selective group of hitmen who could take on any task for the right price. They gave her power and protection merely by doing work under her hand.”

My body screams with my realization. “The woman that shot, X—Mr. Collins—Xane,” I stammer. “She called him Lance—she’s— ”

“Your aunt. And she wants what her brother has. The control over countries and nations by having their most powerful leaders in his pocket.” He pauses and readjusts in his seat. “At a young age, Xane stopped coming to visit Lance. He was always very vague about what he did and where he’d been. Xane was his dad’s best-kept secret, and only a select few people knew he existed or even that Lance had a brother. Two years ago, November ordered a hit on Darius. It was easy for Xane to get close to Darius if he pretended to be Lance. Like you said, they were friends.”

“So, what happened?” I question.

“Xane thought he was dead. He disappeared. Nobody found any trace of Darius until Lance was killed. November had… proof that it was on Darius’ orders.”

I lean back and run my hand over my hair, shoving it back out of my face. “You don’t believe her,” I state, but his tone leaves no room for uncertainty.

“She planned to use Xane to draw your father out. Nothing fuels these men like killing each other,” Mallard says with an exasperated sigh.

“But why did she call him Lance? And that one guy that worked for my dad called him Lima.”

Mallard smirks. “Xane wanted Darius to feel like he was being hunted by a ghost. So, he used his brother’s name and code name. November thought she hit the jackpot with Xane and kept his secret. The guy you mentioned was Sierra or Scott. He worked with Xane until your dad convinced him to flip teams.”

Murderers and monsters. Death and more death. “When does it end?” I’m so exhausted from just one night of this, but to have been going through it for years? One killing after another? The question I’ve been ignoring gnaws at my bones, and I can’t take it anymore. “I was his plan to get to Dad, wasn’t I?”

Mallard doesn’t meet my gaze. He pushes up from the stool, and I lean into the countertop.

“Yes,” a hoarse voice says from behind me, and I spin, nearly falling off the stool.

Xane—Mr. Collins—X, fuck, I don’t know what to call him anymore, looks at me with stony, unreadable features. Roxy licks at his fingers, then comes over to do the same to me.

“I used you, Tess. And you should hate me for it.”

He’s right. I should hate him. My blood should boil, and I should hate the sight of him. But as he stands there, his boxers hugging his toned muscles and bandages wrapping around his torso and shoulder, I don’t. He drops his chin and stumbles to the couch; Mallard hands him tea. I step off the stool to move toward him, but I freeze with the back of the couch separating us.

“I’ll give you whatever answers you need. Then, as soon as I’m strong enough, I’ll take you to get a new I.D. and to a safe house. You can start a new life and put this all behind you.”

Mallard glances at me over the rim of his glasses and gives me a solemn look before placing his fingers on the inside of his wrist and listening through a stethoscope. He checks the bandages, and Mr. Collins swats his hand away.

He’s sending me away. As soon as he is strong enough, he’s going to make me disappear. Like all of this was a wild dream. He got what he wanted, and now he doesn’t need me. He never wanted me. Out of all the questions I could ask, things about my mom and Ryan’s dad—did Ryan even know ?

None of those trump my own selfish needs. “Was any of it real?” I ask, my voice thick with emotion, and I don’t even try to hide the single tear that slides down my cheek.

Mr. Collins sighs as Mallard steps back and places the stethoscope around his neck. “He needs rest, Tess. Maybe this conversation can wait until later.”

I swallow the thick lump in my throat, and Roxy licks at my hand. “Right, okay. I’m just going to take Roxy out.”

I won’t put Mr. Collins through the trouble of taking care of me any longer. Frankly, I can’t handle another look from him with his cold eyes.

I’ve lived my whole life unwanted and tossed to the side, nothing more than a second thought.

Now, the one person who wanted me, chose me, and refused to leave me behind is dead.

In the end, even Ryan couldn’t stay. I’m left here, wanting, more than anything, to talk to my best friend and let him tell me how we will fix all of this because my problems were always his problems. He never let me tackle anything alone.

I breathe in the evening air. This place reminds me of the lake house: secluded, quiet, and far from everything that happened the last couple of days.

I’m an idiot for staying here the past two days, waiting for a man to wake up that doesn’t even want me. As I look out over the gently rolling green fields surrounded by wooded forests, who I am clicks into place.

I’m not the girl who let the darkness shove her into a hole while she waited around for life to happen. I’m not drowning myself in booze and living in a smoky haze.

I’ve changed.

And it’s time I show the world just who they’re fucking with.