Playing Heart Games

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VIOLET

My tears dissipated slightly.

I blinked, really noticing the boy crouching in front of me.

He looked like a supermodel.

The top four buttons of his shirt were undone, the black material rumpled. His sleeves were rolled up to reveal a tattoo stretching over his left forearm, several silver rings and a watch that looked like it cost the same amount as a mansion.

The way his shirt fitted to his frame outlined muscles. And his face—it was perfect. High cheekbones, perfectly shaped lips, tan skin and pale blue eyes framed by thick dark lashes. There were diamond studs in both ears and his hair was bleached white-blond, and designed in a crew cut, so it was trimmed at the sides.

He looked beautiful.

And dangerous.

"Revenge?" I echoed.

He frowned, like he hadn't expected to say that, then he gave a lazy shrug. "Sure," he drawled, his features settling into amusement. "Revenge."

"How?" I rasped.

"That's a secret curls," he said. He tilted his head, raising a perfect eyebrow, "Do you want in?"

I hesitated.

Revenge.

Something like that was the opposite of everything I usually did.

I stayed safe. I didn't take risks. I didn't make things difficult for people.

But Mark—

"Yes," I said, my voice firming, "I want revenge."

A mischievous grin stretched over his face, and it was both the most beautiful and the most terrifying thing I'd ever seen. "Then let the games begin."