Vengeance (The Prince's Games Book 1) Rebecca Grey (first e reader txt) 📖

stop dead center. Droplets rain down on me running down my cheeks. They feel so much like tears, I start to wipe them from my face.

I can't... I can't even enjoy this, I realize. Deep down I know I deserve this. I deserve the life that everyone on this side of the wall has been given. But I also deserve my own chance at dying. I've done so much wrong. I've enjoyed every moment of bad. It's only fair that the Hybrids get their chance to kill me now.

It's what's so wrong about me spending any sort of time with this team of mine. They all feel like they do indeed have a little bit of humanity in them. Sometimes more humanity than I myself contain. Nausea riots inside my stomach as I refuse to believe it.

With a deep breath, I lower myself into the water, letting it cover my head. I scratch and scrub at my skin until my lungs burn. Even then, I stay under until I can't contain the air anymore and bubbles pass from my lips. I gasp for air as I break the surface. My hair clings to my neck and back.

A knock interrupts the quiet. Not just one knock a trillion rapid knocks.

"Nilsa. Are you okay in there? It's been an awfully long time. You haven't drowned, have you? Do I need to break down this door? Is it taking a long time to scrub away all the dead skin?" Hedda calls between each repetitive bang of the door.

"Hedda!" I snap. "I'm fine. I'm getting out now."

"Oh, very good. Very good. I'd hate for our Human to die on my watch."

My eyes sting with the need to cry, though I'm not sure why and I'm certain I won't allow myself. The tight pit of guilt in my stomach tenses, knowing that while I'm living in this brief moment of luxury, everyone else in The Bend is living in squalor. I get to be here and every other Human is hiding, fighting for their life. If they even exist at all.

My mind wanders to Davison as I step out of the tub and wrap myself up with a towel. All of my skin is red and striped with the marks my nails made as I scrubbed and scrubbed some more. Water trails me on the floor, leaving a line of puddles behind. I don't bother with my clothes as I make my way to the door.

I twist the lock and it clicks loudly. The knob turns before I actually move it myself, the door swinging open. Hedda stands on the other side, blinking at me with her gaze that always seems to eat me up.

"Excuse you, Hedda." I brush past her, hit with the rush of unheated air. "That eager to see what my skin looks like now?"

"Are you going to be mean to me if I say yes?" She places her hands against her wide hips, stepping back into the bathroom and into a puddle I've left behind.

"Probably."

"You know, Human," she starts and I can tell by her tone that I don't want to listen. I try not to, even as I head for my trunk and snap the clasps open. "You can drop your guard now. We all like you, even if you don't have anything nice to say."

We all like you. Now she's openly lying and mocking me? I'm supposed to just take her word for it. "If I drop my guard, I die," I say quietly, mainly to myself, mainly for reassurance.

"I'm just saying that maybe if you try to get to know us, or maybe if you let us get to know you, you'd have a little fun. And that's what tonight is for." She keeps talking, but the buzzing in my ears drowns her out. Hedda closes the door to the bathroom with her on the other side, but she's still yapping away.

Water drips down my legs as I look down at my trunk. A small fire of anticipation builds inside of me as I imagine what sort of weapons Genovese has packed for me. Big ones, small ones, brand new ones that work flawlessly every time? Maybe he was even able to procure a gun with ammo like Hedda? It's the one thing I've been looking forward to. I'm opening the trunk to find an outfit, but I'm excited for anything but the clothes.

So as Hedda's voice fades further, I pull the lid up. My brows pinch together, my heart sinking like a stone. Pinks, purples, reds, and otherwise 'girly' colors wait for me under my journal, that I’d hastily thrown inside it after Marcello had read it. None of those colors even happen to belong to any weapons. A small envelope has my name scribbled across it. I can't read it, so it does me little good.

"Fucking Genovese," I say under my breath. I toss the letter to the side and begin pushing aside fabric to see if perhaps the weapons are underneath. More materials covered in ribbons and lace greet me all the way down to the bottom of the trunk, where many pairs of sparkling shoes sit.

"Fuck. Fuck. Fuck!" I groan and hold up one of the gowns. The single dress alone weighs a thousand pounds with all the jewels that drip off of it. The damn trunk is heavy with gowns, not heavy artillery. I pick a dress and toss it aside, then grab another and throw it too.

Eventually I find some garments for an outfit not too different from my everyday wear and a new pair of boots. At least there's that... at the very, very least. But now I really do want to cry. Because now it feels like I certainly could die.

Maybe Davison feels the same way right now? Maybe I can find him at the party. He'll understand