Playing His Own Games | ✔︎

chapter one | behind closed doors

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"The mark of fear is not easily removed."
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Eight years later
Mason

"SHIT," I MUTTER TO myself as I pull up into the gravel driveway underneath the carport, my eyes sliding over to the clock on the dashboard: 8:05. I turn off the ignition and leap out from the car; I'm five minutes late.

The two story mansion almost leaves an imprint in the sky on these sorts of nights. Shadowed by the towering forest behind it, with leaves and pine needles blowing across the front lawn, I can imagine I could convince little kids that it's haunted. Who knows? Maybe it is. My dad certainly haunts it.

The wind is picking up; the cold stinging my face as I shove the key into the lock and twist it, a part of me hoping they won't know that I've come home. That's the childish side of me though.

Through the corner of my eye I see the silhouette of my fourteen-year-old stepbrother, Jared Pierce, rise from the dinner table and rush into the foyer to greet me. I know he won't have anything nice to say. He never does.

"Dude, you're in so much trouble." He flashes me a mouthful of pearly white teeth, leaning carelessly on the wooden banister which follows up the spiralling staircase. "Viktor is pissed."

I feel a muscle in my jaw twitch. I want to pound the little shit. Strangle the attitude out of him. But the painful memory of what happened the last time I broke his nose stops me.

"Fuck off, Jared." I stuff my keys into my pocket and pull my leather jacket tighter around my body as though that will protect me.

Jared's smirk widens. "Language, Mase. Your dad won't be impressed to hear you speaking to me like that."

I scowl at him, getting in his face. To his credit, he doesn't back down. "Do you enjoy walking on this earth?"

Jared stiffens, his dark eyes narrowed. "So what if I do?"

I give him a gentle shove. A warning. Our faces are inches apart. "If you do value your own life then I suggest shutting up. I have some mates that will back me up, so watch it."

He locks his jaw. "Are you threatening me?"

"What the hell do you think? Jesus, you're such a dumbarse." I roll my eyes, lip curling into a sneer.

"Not as dumb as you," Jared retorts, his teeth clenched. "I don't come home late stinking of alcohol and cigarette smoke."

"Right. Sorry, I forgot. You're lame." I smirk as heat rises to his cheeks, pleased to have received a significant reaction.

"Jerk," Jared mutters as he stalks off towards the dining room, leaving me standing alone in the shadows of the foyer, my stomach clenching with anxiety. Blood thunders in my ears and my chest feel tight. Maria, the girl's house I was at, suddenly doesn't seem worth it.

"Mason!" my father calls from the dining room. His tone is light but from years of experience, I can hear the warning hidden underneath the depth of that single word. My name. I'm in deep shit.

My mouth is too dry to respond. My fingernails surge upwards, biting into my palms and I feel my feet move against my minds will—towards his voice. I enter the dining room, drinking in the scene; the illusion of the perfect family. Mother, father and son sitting around a square table, exchanging small talk and light smiles. I feel sick looking at them all.