Breathless (The Game Series Book 3)

by Cara Dee

  “Don’t play dumb, Shay,” he told me grimly. “If I wanted something playful, I would’ve asked to borrow Kit. Another thing I don’t want is to defeat you and send you into a tailspin of panic because of some grief you haven’t processed about your old man.”

  I scowled out of sheer reflex, but something dropped into my stomach and spread a painful worry through me. The rattling at the back of my mind grew louder and refused to be ignored.

  Was he right?

  Nausea crawled up my throat, and I averted my stare to my lap.

  Losing wasn’t an option. The mere idea didn’t exist in my head, and it suddenly frightened me. Because logically, I knew it should be there. It wasn’t like I was some undefeated champion of the universe. I was undefeated among the peers I’d competed and trained against in a small league of fighters; I was undefeated at a single underground club that hosted illegal matches, and it was solely because I had all this training and most of the idiots I faced in the cage came straight off the streets. Their resumés consisted of bar fights, basically.

  Someone who definitely deserved to be viewed as a threat in this sense was Reese. I knew that. I was comparing my years in and out of dojos, training centers, and tournaments with someone who’d put his own combat skills to use in a dangerous field. He’d gone through the roughest training imaginable and then spent years and years as River’s personal security detail in some of the most hostile countries in the world.

  What was wrong with me?

  An abrupt onslaught of emotions threatened to consume me, and I could only press a hand to my mouth to prevent any noises from escaping. My vision blurred quickly, and there was no stopping the tears from spilling over.

  Jesus Christ, I was a mess.

  When Reese left his seat and rounded the desk, it was as if something broke in me. For the first time, I felt the switch in how he went from being Reese to being Daddy, and I kind of just threw my arms around his neck when he squatted down by my chair.

  The relief at having him here was almost crippling. He would help me sort this out; I was sure of it. All I had to do was be honest and open.

  “I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” I croaked.

  He squeezed me tightly, in the best way. “There’s nothing wrong with you, baby boy. Grief manifests itself in different ways. You know that.”

  “But we all went to a grief counselor for months.”

  “Maybe that helped too.” Daddy inched away a bit to cup my cheeks and brush his thumbs under my eyes. “There’s no expiration date on grief, though, and having gotten to know you, I’m willing to bet you put a lot of your focus on your brothers.”

  I sniffled and shrugged. Perhaps it was possible I’d focused more on TJ and Levi, but not entirely. I’d known back then—partly due to Aunt Mel reminding me a hundred thousand fucking times—that if I didn’t take my recovery seriously, it would come back and bite me in the ass. And I told Daddy as much.

  “She sounds like a smart woman.” Daddy smiled softly and combed back my hair with his fingers. “You know who I think you should talk to more?”

  I shook my head.

  “Kit. He lost his parents too, not that long ago.”

  I knew that. It was a good idea.

  “He ratted me out, didn’t he?” I mumbled.

  “He did, and thank fuck.” Daddy’s eyes filled with affection and mirth. “Don’t hold that against him. He was worried.”

  “I won’t. I get it.” I sniffled some more and dropped my forehead to his shoulder. “What’re we gonna do, Daddy? I don’t know how I’d react if I lost a fight either, but…”

  He hugged me to him again. “But what? Tell Daddy.”

  My thoughts were all jumbled. I kept thinking back on my childhood, how much better everything had become for all of us when Mom and Dad met. He’d taught me so many lessons, and one of them stood out. Because of his work with children and martial arts, he’d always been quick to teach about competitiveness. It was okay to be competitive, but your biggest opponent should be yourself.

  “Dad always said that if you spent your life competing against others, you’d never be satisfied,” I said, lifting my head again. I wiped at my cheeks too. “It was better to compete against yourself. Beat your old records, fight to become a better version of yourself. Upgrade yourself, he said.”

  Daddy nodded with a dip of his chin. “Good advice.”

  “Yeah. And he also said loss was part of life. He wasn’t the type of father or instructor to set the bar too high. So…I don’t know, but I don’t think I would panic. It’s not some coping mechanism or something I’ve gotten into my head because my father didn’t want me to lose.” I swallowed hard and stared at my lap, wondering if I had somehow put Dad on a pedestal, and for as long as…no. That couldn’t be it. It sounded so bizarre in my head.

  “What was that cringe for?” Daddy was too perceptive and noticed everything.

  I cleared my throat and grimaced. “He was always a champion to me, and I just hope I haven’t subconsciously thought that for as long as I stay undefeated, he lives on in some weird way. It’s stupid.”

  “It’s not stupid,” he argued patiently. “You went through something horrific and traumatic, Shay. In hard times, we sometimes cling to whatever we can. Nothing weird about that.”

  Well, I found it weird.

  “It’s a bit weird,” I muttered.

  He chuckled quietly. “You’re weirdly adorable.”

  Dammit! He made me smile so easily, even though I tried to hide it.

  “We’ll fight tonight,” he said and kissed my cheek. “If I notice you can’t handle it—and if you notice you can’t handle it—we’ll signal to each other, and you’ll throw the fight. Okay?”

  I nodded. Better safe than sorry. “What’s the signal?”

  “We can discuss that in…” He checked his watch. “Approximately one minute. I reckon that’s how long it’ll take us to sneak back to the cabin and catch some cuddles. I think we need it.”

  I couldn’t help but poke at him. “I wouldn’t trust you to know how long a minute is.”

  He let out an infectious laugh and stood up.

  I stood up too, and I felt lighter. I loved this whole being-open-and-honest business. Most of all, it was indescribably amazing to have someone to share stuff with.

  “Daddy?” I slipped my hand into his and brushed some invisible lint off his tee. It was easier than eye contact for the moment. “I like being Little with you.”

  He let out one of those contented sighs and wrapped his arms around me. “You know how to make my day, my sweet, feisty, wonderful boy.”

  Christ, the things he made me feel.

  Fifteen

  Reese Tenley

  The tiki torches around the fighting cages were a nice touch.

  Standing on the porch outside our cabin, I tightened the drawstrings of my sweats as more and more people trailed down to the cages. Blankets and lawn chairs filled the space around the event area, and I was glad to see KC had joined us. He’d been on the fence, according to Ivy, and he’d been listed as “maybe attending.” He was one of our two members who were in a wheelchair, not that it stopped him from being a cunning Top in mental sadism.

  One of these days, I was going to put River and KC in the interrogation room with Shay and enjoy the show.

  “Daddy, you’re not wearing anything other than the sweats, right?” Shay hollered from inside the cabin.

  “Nope. You almost done?” It was time to join the others.

  “Yes, Sir. Just wanted to make sure.”

  It was interesting getting to know his quirks about fighting. While he was frighteningly lax about protective gear, he was almost militant about the one piece of clothing he wore. Regular sweats didn’t work for him; he’d bought us matching pairs of three-quarter-length black sweatpants instead, stating that they were the perfect combination of comfortable and easy to move around in. Now that I was wearing a pair myself, I supposed I could s
ee the benefits. They were loose but not baggy, and they weren’t in the way. They didn’t have pockets either.

  It hadn’t been all too comforting to find out that he wore just “a bit more” protection during the illegal fights, especially since he’d spent more time talking about these pocket-less sweats than anything else.

  The more I grew to care for the boy, the more I disliked thinking about those damn fights.

  Shay stepped out and closed the door. He looked…excited. There was a spark in his eyes that made it clear how much he loved this. And had it been just for the fun of it, for the competitiveness, I would’ve relaxed. All my life, I’d been an adrenaline junkie, and to see that Shay got off on that thrill too was an immense turn-on. But at least the times I’d jumped out of an airplane, I’d worn a parachute.

  “Do you get this excited when you face brawlers who fight dirty?” I asked.

  He quirked a brow before he snorted in amusement. “You mean at the underground club? There’s very little space for anyone to fight dirty. They check you for weapons and stuff before you enter the cage.”

  How fucking reassuring, but I’d been talking about hits to the throat, balls, and head.

  I took a breath and just barely managed to shove aside the worry and irritation that flared up. “You don’t need a rusty shank to kick someone in the back of their head, boy.”

  Shay thought that was an invitation to mock me, and he puffed out his chest and widened his arms a bit as he spoke in a darker voice. “And I don’t need to be good at martial arts to disarm those slow motherfuckers, boy.” At my hard stare, he deflated and smiled and hugged my bicep. “You’re sweet to worry, Daddy, but maybe you should come to a fight and see for yourself. The men I fight in those cages are nothing but juiced-up morons with anger issues, and if you’re as good as you say you are, you know whose moves are the easiest to predict.”

  Of course. Fighters who acted on emotion, but that wasn’t the point. Actually, it was worse.

  “That’s worse,” I repeated out loud. “A hundred idiots to lower your guard, and then a single trained fucker comes along and dropkicks you before you can blink.”

  To my frustration, his smile only widened.

  “You may be trained, and you may be a fucker, but you’re not single.” He grabbed my hand and dragged me off the porch. “Come on. Dropkick me before I can blink. I dare you.”

  That little son of a—

  I sighed aggravatedly. And I cursed myself for letting it go. But he could trust me to circle back to this subject another time when we weren’t about to face each other in a fighting cage.

  “Speaking of single,” he said, threading our fingers together, “how come you and River don’t date outside of kink? I mean—for love and stuff. You just want the BDSM component.”

  I’d never said that to him, and I could bank on River never having said that either, which meant Shay had talked to others about us. It had been true in the past, though not out of some principle. We’d just grown comfortable in the presumption that we’d never be that interested in anybody.

  “That’s not a rule, sweetheart.” I noticed he wasn’t making eye contact. It was usually for a reason. “What made you ask?” I halted my steps before we came within hearing range for anyone else, and I cupped the back of his neck.

  If he gave the slightest indication he was interested in more, I’d pounce right away. Fuck River and his advice to “pace ourselves a minute.”

  Shay shrugged and kept his gaze on our feet. “I think we should make the fight more interesting.”

  I thought we should stay on topic and discuss dating, aka slapping cuffs on his wrists and shackling him to us for the foreseeable future. If he could also tell me that he’d developed a sudden hatred for living in DC, I wouldn’t complain.

  “Interesting how?”

  He cleared his throat and shrugged again, and his squirming was so fucking cute that I wanted to squeeze him to me. He was about to make my day again, wasn’t he? I could feel it. He was a smart man, and he couldn’t be blind to our chemistry. He wasn’t typically afraid either. It was one of the many things I loved about him.

  “A bet, of course.” He lifted his gaze to my chest. Progress, I reckoned. It split me into two, which was normal around this boy. There was always a battle between the comforting Daddy and the hell-raisin’ Sadist. “If I win, I can take you and River out on a date.”

  My chest swelled and seized up at the same time. “And if I win?”

  His timid stare shifted a little higher, and he chewed on the inside of his cheek. “If you win, you and River have to take me out on a date.”

  I dipped down and captured his mouth with mine. Best bet I could ever agree to. “You’re on, little fighter.” I deepened the kiss after that and brought his hands around my neck, then hugged him to me and reveled in the feelings he’d awoken in me.

  This boy had changed everything.

  “You deserve a reward for taking that initiative,” I murmured. Fuck, I had to stop kissing him. The others were waiting. “Maybe a session with the Sybian and some nipple torture.”

  Shay shuddered and nodded quickly. “Yes, please.”

  The Sybian would get interesting, and nipple torture was a given. Nipples, ass, and balls were his most sensitive pleasure points.

  I’d become obsessed with studying him and learning his zones.

  I bet I could get him off just by squeezing and rolling his balls in my hand.

  “Are you ready to fight Daddy?” I reluctantly ended our kiss after tasting him once more.

  “I, um, I guess so.” He drew an unsteady breath and pushed back his hair. “Now I’m all hard, though.”

  I grinned. “You’ll have some time to calm down before we begin.”

  “What, like a thirty-second-long minute?”

  I let out a laugh.

  Mere minutes later, we stuck our bare feet into the proverbial shoes of community leaders, and River and I stood in front of the cages with Shay kneeling between us with his eyes downcast.

  In the flickering flames from the torches, he was an unearthly vision. An obedient, beautiful little devil with all his tattoos and his trim body on display.

  Colt and Penelope joined us before I addressed our guests and participants.

  “Last month, we welcomed you all to The Games, a year-long competition where we’ll host a new event each month.” It sucked that we hadn’t made Shay ours sooner; he would’ve been perfect to chase down in the woods. Luckily, there would be more chances. “Some of you attended our first Game,” I went on. “Our Predators got to hunt down their prey in the woods behind us. Those of us who were stuck up here heard their screams.” The Sadists in the crowd grinned fondly. “We didn’t have the privilege of seeing the prey go down, however. So this month, we welcome you to The Cages and bring the fight to us, right here, where everyone can watch.”

  A low murmur of excitement and anticipation traveled through the crowd, and I gestured for Colt to run his safety speech.

  He took a step forward. “As y’all read in the event’s TOU online, each couple will have five-minute rounds in the cages, and you’ll adapt the fightin’ to fit your dynamic. Reese and his boy will compete first and demonstrate what it can look like when you come from a background of martial arts and physical combat.” He paused. “That’s not them settin’ the bar in any way. It’s them fightin’ on their own level. As participants, you will compete against your partner, no one else. Our four judges—Greer, Penelope, Macklin, and myself—will compile your score based on three things: the time it takes for someone to win, creativity and kinks applied to your fightin’ style, and overall authenticity and credibility of the fight.”

  “For instance,” Penelope chimed in, “I know a few of you are trying this out for fun, without caring for the actual fighting, and have mentioned taking on a more choreographed approach. You might score higher on creativity and kinks, but lower for authenticity. In short, the three components we’ll judg
e were chosen so that fighters of all backgrounds can score high and low depending on the discipline.” She gestured toward me. “I have a feeling we can count on a lot of authenticity from Reese and Shay, while they won’t bother demonstrating that many kinks.”

  She wasn’t wrong.

  Colt took over again. “The reason we’ve chosen five-minute fights is partly for safety. It’ll give the Top a chance to check in with their partner in between fights. So if both parties are still standin’ when your five minutes are up, you have another couple minutes to vacate the cage. That’s why we have two cages. When a fight ends in one, another begins in the second. It’ll also give our two Little helpers time to make sure the cage is ready for the next fight.”

  I glanced over at Kit and Ella, who were standing to the side with Luke, both Littles armed with disinfectant spray and wipes. Ella had war paint on her cheeks, and Kit had a utility belt packed with lollipops, candy bars, and juice boxes. They were fucking adorable.

  “If one fight ends without a winner, that couple moves to the end of the line to wait for their turn to try again,” Colt finished.

  As Greer joined us to give a reminder about our medical station, I bent down and instructed Shay to take River aside and tell him about the bet.

  I’d had Shay to myself most of the afternoon and early evening, and I could sense that River needed something too.

  Shay nodded in acknowledgment, then stood up and grabbed River’s hand and walked off with him. In the meantime, Greer stressed the importance of being careful in the cages if it started to rain. The entire state was in need of a heavy thunderstorm to clear the air, and of course, tonight was the night it was in the forecast. But so far, not a single drop of rain. We hoped to finish the fights and move the party indoors before the cages became too slippery.

  Then it was my turn to speak again, and no matter how much we prepared beforehand, it seemed we always had to go through fourteen fucking lectures before we could have fun. It was the downside of running a community, because you could never be selfish and just worry about yourself.