Abella Sterling (Female P.O.V)

October 15, 2074

Softly groaning, I flopped onto my back and watched the rotating blades of my ceiling fan. Maybe they could help me fall asleep because nothing else had so far.

I glanced at my bedside table, and the blazing red numbers of my alarm clock stared back at me.

2:15.

A frustrated growl built in my throat as I blindly reached for my spare pillow. Just as the tormented sounds burst past my lips, I mashed the soft fabric over my face letting it capture them all. For over two hours since getting into bed, all I had done was toss and turn.

At this point, I should give up on the idea of sleep, but there was still one thing I hadn't tried- exercising.

If I ran on my treadmill for a while, that would surely burn off my excess energy and allow me some much-needed sleep.

Excited to put my sure-fire plan into action, I got out of bed, grabbed my sneakers from underneath and headed to the door.

Just as I went to open it, a sudden realization hit me. The machine was in my spare bedroom. The very same one that Saint currently occupied.

I sharply inhaled as a scintillating image of him popped into my head. It was only for a few seconds, but it was enough to leave me breathless.

His large body lay in the center of the queen size bed, looking warm and inviting amongst the sheets. The thick white cotton rode low on his narrow hips, leaving his torso bare. Every muscle rippled as he brought his arm up and rested it behind his head, further disheveling his dark locks. With a smile toying on his lips, he stared straight ahead.

Much to my dismay, the image stopped there, but it didn't dissipate. The visual branded itself on the back of my eyelids, and with each blink, it enticed me into going anyway.

Saint being in my apartment, meters away and still way out of reach, was dangerous. Dangerous for my sanity, my heart, and my hormones.

After taking a few calming breaths, I opened the door and stepped out into the hallway.

Knowing my brother was in the adjacent room kept my feet moving towards the kitchen. Far away from the temptation that was Saint.

My footsteps slowed upon seeing the light emanating from the kitchen. It seemed I wasn't the only one awake at this time. I stopped in the doorway, seeing Saint hunched over his laptop.

When the screen darkened, he saw my reflection and turned around.

"Can't sleep?" He asked, removing an earbud from his ear.

"Nope. What about you?"

"Nah," he said, shaking his head. "So I figured I would watch the game footage to see what else the killer has in store."

"I did the same after Quinton told me the news." I softly confessed, remembering the endless hours I played the five deaths that took place in the game on a loop. That's it, only the deaths instead of the entire gameplay. It was torture, and only half a bottle of wine had allowed me to sleep through the night. "I tried not to, but my curiosity got the best of me."

Secretly, I was hoping and praying the cops were wrong about this being a serial killing. Even though my gut told me they weren't.

One death was a coincidence. Three was a guarantee.

"It seems we both like to torture ourselves with what's to come."

"It seems so," I muttered, going to the fridge and grabbing a bottle of water from inside. Glancing over my shoulder, I held it up silently, asking if he wanted one.

He nodded.

I grabbed another bottle and handed it to him as I joined him at the island counter.

It was silent for a beat, both of us lost to our thoughts until Saint spoke. "Will you tell me how your dad got involved with Luther?" He asked.

I didn't answer straight away. Instead, I unscrewed the bottle cap and took a long swig while collecting my thoughts. It wasn't an easy subject to speak of, and allowing Saint more in-depth knowledge of my family secrets wasn't a step I could take lightly. When I could no longer stomach another sip of the cold water, I lowered the bottle from my lips and set it aside.

"After my uh..." My mouth opened and closed a few times, the words refusing to come.

Saint must have sensed my struggle because he said, "You don't have to tell me. I'm sorry for pr-"

"No, no," I interjected. "It's just that it was a rough time in my life and my family's. And we're still struggling to heal from it, especially my father."

"We don't have to talk about it if you're not ready."

"No, I need to. Maybe you can help because clearly, I'm shit at it."

He said nothing to refute my statement, but instead of taking offense, I went on to explain.

"After my mom passed away from cancer, the bills piled up. My dad emptied their accounts and sold everything we owned, but it still wasn't enough. We moved into a crappy two-bedroom apartment and made do with it. But there were countless nights I would find him drinking and going through the endless stack of overdue bills. One day he reached his breaking point. He went out one night and didn't return until the following morning." I released a shaky breath before continuing, "When he got back, he was so drunk he couldn't even make it up the stairs into our apartment. He just slept there."

I chuckled briefly as the memory played in my head. At the time, I had been worried sick until he popped up and said two words.

I won.

That's it before handing me a ball of wadded cash and falling asleep again.

"It that when he met Luther?" Saint asked.

"No, that night he won, but soon his luck turned for the worst. He started losing more than he was bringing home. And as the debt grew, those around him distanced themselves. When it came time to pay what he owed, he couldn't, so Luther offered a deal."

"What kind of deal?"

"He would work off his debt by doing some small jobs."

"That's awfully generous of him."

"Yeah, but the problem was the jobs were never enough to cover his debt."

"What did he have him do?"

"Luther would have him deliver a duffle bag full of packages to different locations."

"Drugs?"

"I don't know...Maybe. It's not like my father would tell me. But eventually, I took over paying my dad's debt and put an end to him being Luther's errand boy."

"That's good, but have you tried getting your dad some help?"

"Yes, multiple times! But it doesn't seem to last long." I paused shortly and took a few deep breaths. "I-I-I don't know what I'm going to do about him. This was the last straw. I don't want to turn my back on him, but putting Logan's and my life in danger can't happen again."

He slowly nodded as his eyes drifted to the other side of the kitchen, not really seeing the white cupboards lining the walls but deeply rooted in his thoughts.

After a few seconds, he lazily rubbed his upper lip and sat back.

"I need to tell you something." He said, still looking straight ahead, making me question if he was speaking to me.

"What is it?" I asked when his eyes finally found mine.

"I doubt this will improve your relationship with your father, but I still think I should tell you."

I sat up straighter and motioned with my hand for him to continue.

"He didn't exactly tell Luther that Thorn was you." He said.

"Then how did he know?"

"He guessed, and your reaction probably confirmed it."

That's just great.

I muttered an expletive at my sarcastic thoughts and sagged in my seat.

"I only caught half of their conversation, so I don't know the amount of the bet. Do you?"

"Yeah, and my dad foolishly believes it's for ten million bu-"

"I thought the prize was fifty million. That should be more than enough to pay it off. If you win, that is."

"When I win." I corrected, smiling for the first time since our conversation began.

"Yes, when. I'm sorry. I stand corrected." He chuckled, and I joined in.

When our laughter subsided, I continued, "You're right, the prize money is more than enough, but there's no way a man like Luther can resist passing on insider information to his other clients. Which means-"

"They'll come after him for the bad info if you lose. And if you win h-"

I laid my hand on his forearm. "Please don't say it." I softly pleaded, knowing the words would be my undoing. "I know I'm screwed either way."

From the day my father made the bet, I had spent every waking hour contemplating every scenario. If I won, there was a chance Luther would keep using me to make more money. It would become a never-ending cycle.

I chuckled humorously while picking at the bottle label. "Can you believe I was considering retiring this year?"

I wouldn't be in this mess if I had only committed to those plans.

"What stopped you?"

"I don't know, but now I wish I had done it sooner."

"Don't worry." His large palm came down upon mine, completely engulfing it. He met my gaze and offered a reassuring squeeze. The comforting touch spread warmth throughout my body. "I'll make sure you get your chance."

His promises and guarantees were starting to get to me. I didn't want to become too dependent upon them. After he completed his job, everything would fall back on my shoulders. I would need to fix my problems.

No one else would swoop in like a white knight and help me.

I flashed a smile and went to slip my hand from underneath his, only for him to catch my arm. He leaned forward slightly and inspected the watch on my wrist. "What's this?" He asked.

"A watch that tracks my biometrics. All of the players have to wear one, I believe."

His thumb slipped underneath the band, caressing my skin. My heart rate increased, and that thin barrier was useless at concealing it. Thankfully Saint either didn't notice or was gracious enough to ignore it. But that didn't stop his explorative digit from continuing its journey across my wrist. Every stroke was purposeful and slowly drove me to the brink of insanity.

"Can you take it off?" He questioned, still stroking.

My mouth ran dry, but I didn't lift one finger toward the water bottle.

"What?" I muttered momentarily, forgetting the topic of our conversation. My head swam as if I was under the influence. That was the effect his touch elicited from my body.

One side of his mouth curled up, pleased with his ability to turn me into a bumbling fool with one touch. He tapped his fingernail against the watch.

I lightly shook my head, clearing away the fog. "Nope, not until the competition is over."

"It sounds like something they make parolees wear when unleashed from prison."

My mouth fell open as I reeled backward. "Excuse me, sir. Are you implying I'm a criminal?"

A hint of a smile graced his lips as he tilted his head and looked up at me from underneath his long eyelashes. "Well, if the bracelet fits..." He trailed off, leaving me to fill in the blank.

"That's funny coming from you. With your checkered past and all." I retorted, shooting him a pointed look.

"Okay, you got me."

"Yes, I did."

Both of us lightly chuckled before falling silent. Upon realizing he still held my hand, a shuddered breath escaped my lips. Slowly I extracted it from his grip and resisted the urge to rub away the tingles shooting up my arm from his touch.

His body heat lingered as if he seared an invisible brand onto my skin. That marked me as his and his alone.

Somehow there was more chemistry in that one touch than in the entirety of my relationship with Mathew. Sad. If I had known this level of chemistry existed, I would have ended it sooner.

"I should try and get some sleep," I mumbled before making a hasty escape.

He nodded before bidding me a good night.

A deep, husky chuckle behind me unleashed an onslaught of butterflies in my stomach. I had a sneaky suspicion that that bastard knew his effect on me and, without a doubt, enjoyed every second of it.

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Thank you for reading!❤

8-26-22