Their Vicious Games(59)

“What?” I blurt out.

“You can push through some parts of the hedge wall. We used to hide in the walls a lot when we were playing, and it grew back around the dead spots,” Graham explains.

I mean to push off the kitchen island, now that I have actually helpful info I can take to Saint. Instead, I take his bowl from him and set it to the side. I grab his wrist and pull him until he stands, frowning at me. Hooking one leg around the back of his thigh, I draw him closer. He’s not that tall. Like this, we’re nearly the same height. I can feel he wants something from me, but that he won’t ask or assume, not like Pierce. It makes me feel powerful and I grow heady off that feeling; it’s been so long since I’ve felt anything but afraid.

“What are you doing, Adina?” Graham whispers. I can count every dark lash that sweeps across the freckled skin of his cheeks. Beneath that scruff, he certainly inherited the Remington cheekbones. I rub my fingers against the grain, feeling it scratch pleasantly at my skin.

What would it feel like against my lips?

“I don’t know,” I whisper. “I’m exhausted, Graham.”

“Not so well rested, then,” he murmurs. He tries to lean back, and I lash out, grabbing at his threadbare T-shirt.

His hands land on my thighs, big and warm.

I feel out of body. Out of my mind.

And I crave closeness, intimacy, not having to pretend, in this space that feels like a war zone, with violence thrumming through the air. I want something to ground me and he’s here, and I can see it in his eyes. That he wants me.

I reel him in, licking my way into his mouth before he can say another smart-ass thing.

Kissing Graham is very different from kissing his brother. Pierce’s fingers dug into my scalp as he tilted my head just so. But Graham waits. Graham waits for me to tug him between my thighs and he only ever keeps his hands on my legs. His stubble rubs against my cheeks, the feeling foreign and welcome. His lips are thinner, his hands are bigger, and he takes it slow. Everything with Pierce was hard and fast, and this… this is molasses.

This is pleasure and it’s real, and it’s far more terrifying.

“Shit, Adina,” he whispers into my mouth. He tastes like cornflakes. He tastes like Suburbia, and for the first time, I miss it, my chest concave with how much I yearn for the familiarity, this feeling of home.

“Do you use Bath & Body Works?” I murmur into his mouth.

“What the fuck is that?” he asks.

I breathe heavily, breaking apart as I slowly drag my fingers over his jaw and close my eyes. “You’re nearly perfect,” I whisper.

“My father would beg to differ,” Graham laughs hoarsely.

And suddenly, all the threats, the powerlessness, return as I realize what I’m risking, doing this with the wrong Remington.

And suddenly, I don’t want this anymore. I can’t want anything to do with him.

“Don’t tell Pierce,” I say, letting him go.

Graham jerks away, staring at me as if I was the accomplice to the worst crime.

“Adina,” he says, and then he stops like he doesn’t know what else to say to that.

“This… can’t happen again,” I decide.

“No, it cannot,” he agrees.

I slip off the kitchen island before I can give in again, and I leave him wanting, because boys are allowed to want.





CHAPTER 20





“THE RAID… IS A METAPHOR.” Leighton paces in front of us, the dichotomy between the eight of us and her starker than ever. She is in her silk and satin, and we are in black military-grade fatigues. “Life is about searching for something worth living for. Searching for reason. Searching for purpose. We can spend all our days searching aimlessly. But you, young ladies, are not aimless. Life is made of decisions that will take you closer to or further from your goal. You are always constantly looking for the right direction… left or right? And if you don’t make that right decision, you can’t double back, as there will always be someone on your heels, ready to slit your throat and take everything from you. That is the Raid.”

It doesn’t sound like a metaphor.

Leighton’s gaze flashes over to me like she can read my thoughts. I redirect my stare at the ground, nudging my boot into the grass. I’m already sweltering, sticky sweat frizzing up my hair out of its gelled-down state.

“Pierce,” Leighton calls, raising her voice suddenly, and that changes everything.

The girls straighten up, all exploding into whispers, as the Remington in question jogs down the steps and across the grounds, dressed in blinding whites, like he’s about to step onto a tennis court. When he arrives in front of us, he claps his hands together and smiles brightly, eyes flitting over each of us. When our eyes meet, his grin widens.

“As my aunt has explained to you, the Raid is metaphor for obstacles you may face in the future. But we, as Remingtons, do not go into that future unprepared,” Pierce says, and then he leans forward to look Hannah G in the eye. Her lashes flutter, cheeks pinkening. “And neither should you.” He winks, and then turns away like he has no idea what he’s done to her. He’s enjoying this.

“In prior years, only the top three ranked were allowed to select defenses. Everyone else had to rely on their cleverness. However, this Finish is different. My nephew is… different,” Leighton says, weighing that word on her tongue. “My nephew will be the one to arm you. As the winner of the Ride, Penthesilea, you will be the first. In continued practice of rewarding those who succeed, you will be assigned two.”