The Games We Play

42. Forty-One - Tess

Forty-One - Tess

I sit with the weight of an elephant crushing on my chest as I wait for his answer. By his expression, I think fucking was the only thing he wanted to do, but I have to push aside my wants and get answers. There is still so much I don’t know, and I need to know everything about my prey.

“Yes, I knew your mom. Yes, my brother and I grew up with your father. Well, Lance did, and then he told me everything he witnessed,” Xane starts like he’s contemplating his words. “Your mother was the daughter of a powerful man in Russia. During the… auction , she was the most sought… prize .”

My stomach churns, and suddenly, the hatred mom had for dad—for me—it all makes sense.

“Your grandfather bought her as a gift for your dad as a way to bring him into the fold. ”

I set my tea down. Xane pours more whiskey and offers me the glass. “Thanks,” I mutter and cough as the strong burning sensation slides down my throat. He takes the glass back and pours himself more.

“My father worked for your grandfather. He was his most trusted ally. I grew up in a twisted world but was kept hidden. Dad saw potential in having two sons with the same face and only letting the world know about one. It’s all I knew, and while I don’t agree with everything they do, it’s who I am, and I never got out. Dad taught Lance and me how to kill. It came easier for me. I have this ability to—” He struggles to find the words. “It’s like I’m watching everything from the side of the room. I’m the one who pulls the trigger or whatever the killing blow is, but I’m not the one in control. Killing haunted Lance, so he went a more technical route.”

The thunder grows quieter, farther away as the storm moves, and Roxy’s pacing slows to a jog. “Did Ryan know—about you or any of this?”

Xane inhales deeply, and I could kick him for strutting in here, only dressed from the waist down and in sport shorts to top it off. It would be so easy to slip them off.

“No. If you look up Xane Collins, you’ll find an obituary where he died in a submerged car accident at eighteen. I didn’t want any traces of me or my family if anything were to happen. I met him once, Ryan when he was born, but I kept my distance. I make a lot of enemies, and I never wanted to risk bringing any of it home to Lance. His wife didn’t know about our world, and when she found bank statements for large sums that Lance couldn’t explain, she left. I keep tabs on her, make sure our demons don’t find her.”

“If Ryan didn’t know you were you—then?”

Xane downs another glass. At this point, we’re going to need more whiskey. “I was blinded by rage, hate, and hungry for blood to avenge my brother. There are decisions I regret, and how I went about it is one of them.”

“Like me?” I say, barely above a whisper, but I must face the truth. I wanted to rip the bandage off. I just wish it didn’t fucking hurt so much.

“I should,” he responds. His answers are getting quicker as if the whiskey is releasing him from his worry about how I’ll react. “But no. I regret not telling Ryan his dad was dead and pretending to be him for the last year. It wasn’t the plan at first, but he never questioned me. Guess I was hardly around for him to catch on that something was amiss. The lake house was me wanting to spend time with you as myself. It was a selfish and ridiculous idea. I thought for sure Ryan would catch on then.”

“He just wanted his dad to spend time with him and care.” I draw my knees to my chest and stare at the wall with 90s floral wallpaper across the bottom half. I hastily wipe the tear that slips free, thinking about my best friend. Xane hands me another glass, but I shake my head. I want—no, I need to feel this loss. He’s gone, and I have to accept that.

Changing the subject, I say, “Doc told me about November, my aunt, and she kept your identity a secret. What happened? What started all of this?”

Xane sets the glass down and stares at his hands. “I was someone only the richest people could sway to. I’m very good at what I do.” He smirks like he’s lost in a memory. “When the contract came up for Darius Wallace, I didn’t hesitate. He took over your grandfather’s business, and it’s disgusting what they do. I failed. I thought I had him. I was so sure—but he came for Lance as retribution. Guess he thought that’s who tried to kill him.”

“Doc doesn’t believe that,” I state. “He thinks it was her, my…aunt.”

X nods, and I swear I see tears welling in his eyes. “She played me. Pinned Lance’s death on Darius and got what she wanted in the end. Turns out she planned to sell me off to the highest bidder after I took Darius out. Fucking bitch. Scott was a wild card I don’t think she anticipated. Somehow, your dad convinced him to change sides and leaked our intel to Darius.”

“I bit his ear off,” I say with a chuckle, and Xane looks at me with equal amounts of shock and pride. I shake my head, failing to see the whole picture. “That doesn’t make sense. November would’ve had to know Darius was alive to pin your brother’s death on him.”

He sighs and sags back onto the couch. “There’s a lot that doesn’t make sense. But yes, she would’ve known. Then she killed my brother to light a fire in me. She knew I’d stop at nothing for my family…including using an innocent child of Darius to get it.”

My skin heats, and I press my cheek to my shoulder, unable to look at him. “You were going to kill me,” I say. It’s not a question because I already know the answer. “What changed?”

He studies me for several seconds, his eyes roaming over every facet of my body. Roxy whines as she walks over and lies on the couch between us, huffing like she’s exhausted.

“The storm’s over,” Xane says, running a hand over Roxy’s fur.

“It is,” I respond, still watching him, waiting for his answer.

“We should—” He gets up, but I can’t lose this moment. He promised me answers, and I need to hear this one.

“X,” I say, and he stills, his hunter-green eyes not meeting mine. “You promised me answers, even if it’s not what I want to hear,” I remind him.

He blinks slowly and stares at the hallway that leads to our separate bedrooms. “You’ve had a long couple of days. Maybe we should—”

“X,” I repeat his name, and he drops his chin to his chest.

“I’m older than you—by a lot.”

“That’s not an answer.”

“I’m dangerous, and being close to me guarantees you’ll get hurt. Everyone I care about dies, and I can’t let that be your fate.”

I stand and walk over to where his hands are braced on the couch, suspended between running away and staying grounded. He looks up at me, and the smell of whiskey is strong on his breath. “What changed?” I repeat, determined to get the truth.

He swallows and stands until I have to tilt my head back to keep his gaze.

“Puppet,” he whispers, caressing my cheek. “You saw the monster in me and still chose me.” He takes my hand and places it over the P on his chest. “Your jagged and gnarled edges fit perfectly with mine, and I realized that night in the clown house I’d want no one else again.”

The heat from his body envelops me, and I know this is the moment you see in movies where the decision is made to be all in or go our separate ways.

“I don’t want to live without you,” I admit, relying on the alcohol to give me courage. “But I won’t stay where I’m not wanted,” I add, so there is no confusion about what will happen if she pushes me away.

His eyes soften, and he tucks my blonde hair behind my ear. “You won’t get a white picket fence with me. I’ll never want kids because that’s another thing they can use against me. I spend most of my life bouncing from hotel to hotel and hunting the next target. I’m not someone to settle down with or plan a future. I live day by day as if it’s my last. How can you want any of that?”

He brushes his trimmed facial hair along my palm, and I rub my thumb across his cheekbone. I digest everything he told me. Honestly, I never thought about my future or where I saw myself in five or ten years. I just wanted to feel alive after years of being numb. X did that. Xane showed me what it means to live. Could I ever go for the traditional life after this? Do I even want to?

He leans in, pressing his forehead to mine, and inhales deeply. My eyes fall closed as I feel every part of his body that is touching mine.

“How could you want a nomadic life with no end in sight?”

“Because I want you,” I say aloud, and he groans like my admission physically pains him.

“I’m trying very hard here to protect you, Puppet. Please,” he begs.

I grip his chin and force his eyes up. “Xane,” I say his full name with the same emotion I gave my masked stranger. “I want you and everything that comes with it. Like hunting down the ones who are going to pay for what they’ve done.”