Glorious Rivals(4)

“You’re going to want to get in a sharing mood real quick, little brother.”

Grayson narrowed his eyes, but ultimately, he allowed Nash to get away with pulling rank. “As of fifteen years ago—several years after our grandmother’s supposed death—Alice Hawthorne was apparently alive and well. She came to the old man, revealed herself, and asked him for a favor.” Grayson paused, thinking about the grandfather he had known, the Tobias Hawthorne who’d come out on top of every challenge, every confrontation. The one who’d trained them to do the same. “Also fifteen years ago,” Grayson continued, “one of the last things that Lyra’s father said to her before putting a bullet in his own head was: A Hawthorne did this.”

“A. Hawthorne. Alice.”

“You’ll tell the others.” Grayson did not phrase that as a question. “There may be more than one game being played on this island.”

“Do we call it off?” Nash said, steady as ever. “This year’s Grandest Game?”

“No.” Grayson didn’t even hesitate. “Either there is no true threat and calling the game off would be premature, or there is one—and we need to take this opportunity to identify it.”

The first step to neutralizing an opponent was to make them show their hand.

“So you’re playing,” Nash said. “Phase two.”

“I’m playing,” Grayson confirmed. Not to win—but for her.

Nash ran the back of his hand over the five o’clock shadow on his jaw and smiled slightly. “What does she need the prize money for?”

Grayson’s brothers had all always been too perceptive for their own good. “She wants to save her family home.” Grayson thought about Lyra refusing his jacket and threatening to give him hers. “Suffice it to say, the lady will not accept a dime from me.”

Lyra needed to win the money. Grayson needed to do whatever he could to help her.

“She got a nickname for you yet?” Nash cocked a brow.

Grayson’s lips twitched. “I’m pretty sure it’s asshole.”

“I like her already.” Nash grinned and put his hat back on. “And speaking of family, I have something to tell you, and you’re not gonna like it. When we went to escort the eliminated players off the island, Gigi never showed. Little sis is MIA—and so is Xander’s boat. Seems Gigi took it and left a note. And apology Twinkies.”

Grayson frowned. “We’re on an island. Where did Gigi get Twinkies?”

“My understanding from Xan is that it was more of an IOU.”

Grayson kneaded his forehead. That sounded exactly like his sister, and Grayson didn’t need Nash to tell him that Gigi had taken being eliminated from the Grandest Game hard. “I should have checked on her.”

“Alisa’s already working on tracking down the boat. We’ll find little sis. In the meantime, you’ve got a game to play—and another sister to watch out for.”

Savannah. Nash’s reminder had Grayson thinking about his sister’s roughly shorn hair—hair that looked very much like it had been cut with a knife. And then Grayson thought about the player with whom Savannah appeared to have allied herself in this game.

The person who had, in all likelihood, borne the knife.

“Savannah doesn’t want me looking after her,” Grayson commented with all the calm he could muster.

“The ones who need the most looking after never do.” Nash slapped Grayson on the back. “And on that note, we fixed a room up for you at the house.” He held out a large, bronze key. “Find it and get some shut-eye, little brother. Phase two is not for the weak of heart.”

Chapter 4

ROHAN

Rohan never slept deeply. He hadn’t since he was a child. Memories lingered in deep sleep, like shadows with a mind and hunger of their own, so Rohan slept lightly—always aware, always listening, always on guard.

And yet…

He woke in Savannah Grayson’s bed to find himself alone. Let your guard down, did you, boy? the Proprietor’s voice said somewhere in his mind. The formidable Ms. Grayson was nowhere to be seen—and neither was Rohan’s room key.

He knew immediately what Savannah was up to. The sword.

The weapon in question was a longsword with words etched along its silver blade: From every trap be free, for every lock a key. Each team in phase one had been given its own sword—just one. Rohan had made a point the night before of keeping possession of the one he and Savannah had been given. They might have been allies, but theirs was an alliance with a ticking clock.

Ultimately, the Grandest Game could have only one winner, and for Rohan, everything was on the line. He would win. Savannah just hadn’t realized it yet. She’d doubtless stolen his key to search his room for the sword and claim it as her own.

Propping himself up on his elbows, Rohan smiled wolfishly. Good luck with that, love. He decided to return the favor, searching Savannah’s room while she was gone. With skilled hands, he tested every floorboard, pressed at every molding with fingers both dexterous and strong, removed pillows from their cases, sheets from the bed. He flipped the mattress, searching it for slits. When that turned up nothing, Rohan made his way into the attached bathroom.

Sitting on the marble counter was a mask made of swirling, silvery blue metal. Three teardrop diamonds hung from the corner of each eye. The design had suited Savannah at the masquerade ball the prior evening. Rohan ran the pad of his index finger over the delicate strings of diamonds. Precious gemstones, frozen tears.