Endgame romance, p.1
Endgame Romance, page 1
Finding out you’re in love with three impossible boys isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.
The stepbrother. The boyfriend’s best friend. The sister’s ex.
Life would be complicated enough if we didn’t have to navigate a social circle populated with serial killers.
My father has gathered a loyal group of monsters around himself like a shield.
There’s the black widow, the arsonist, the mild-mannered poet with a penchant for blood, the crooked cop, and, of course, the Seattle Slayer.
Maintaining three new romances is nearly as dangerous a proposition.
Oh, and my biological mother? She knows about the boys, but not the killers.
My original kidnapper—the woman I thought was my mom—she knows about the killers and not the boys.
Some days, it feels like the entire world is a web of secrets and deceit—much of it spun by yours truly.
The girl I once knew as Dakota Banks is fading like a distant star.
The question is: how far will I let my father push me?
He might have an app that records and watches everything; he might have a plan of righteous revenge. But there are two things the Seattle Slayer doesn’t understand: love and loyalty. He thought he could drive us apart when all he did was push us closer together.
And together, we are stronger.
This is the endgame, Dad.
Let’s finish this.
Table of Contents Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
Signup for my Newsletter
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Author's Note
Orientaton Cover & Link
Stepbrother Inked Cover & Link
The Secret Girl Cover
Filthy Rich Boys Cover
Devils Day Party Cover
Keep Up With The Fun
More Books By C.M. Stunich
About the Author
Endgame Romance
Endgame Romance © C.M. Stunich 2022
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.
For information address Sarian Royal Indie Publishing, 89365 Old Mohawk Rd, Springfield, OR 97478.
www.cmstunich.com
Cover art and design © Amanda Carroll and Sarian Royal
The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, businesses, or locales is coincidental and is not intended by the author.
this book is dedicated to:
all of the readers who have sent me messages of encouragement.
I read them all, even if I don’t always respond.
your words of kindness fill my creative well and spill into my work.
art can be a solo exercise, but community adds spirit and pizzaz.
thank you for lending me yours.
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My hands are covered in blood—and not a drop of it belongs to me.
I realize then that evil doesn’t just happen overnight. Sure, some people are born wrong, but others are forged in hate and pain and circumstance. Against my better judgement, against my own will, I am becoming one of those people.
I’ve just killed a person.
This time, the iron reek that I’m smelling, it’s all my fault. This isn’t some comatose maid in a wooden box. This is so much more. This is me, Dakota Banks, losing every last part of herself. Every cell. Every molecule. My very essence.
Because I’ve done all sorts of things I regret in the last few weeks: burned down the theater, slept with my boyfriend’s best friend, slept with my sister’s ex.
But this is the worst.
Truly, the worst thing that I have ever done.
I look up, meeting Maxx Wright’s brilliant green gaze. He looks as shocked as I am, standing over the body of the person that just died because of me. Really, I was given no choice. It’s an ethics problem in real time, and I made the best decision that I could.
I move over to the bushes and throw up, but I can’t purge myself of this experience, these awful memories that are going to stick to me like cobwebs. Whenever I brush them away, the venomous arachnid that carries this nightmare in my psyche will simply weave a new web.
“Kota.” X puts his big, warm hands on my shoulders, and I turn toward him, lifting those bloodied palms in his direction. The color is oddly beautiful in the early morning light, and the woods around us are picturesque, a true fairy tale at the edge of an aristocratic kingdom.
That’s the thing about fairy tales though: they’re often dark. They have lessons to impart. I’ve just learned mine.
No matter how I play this game, no matter how clever or cunning, how intuitive, how tricksy I think that I am, Justin Prior is always three steps ahead. He got me to do what I swore I never would, the ultimate act that has, undoubtedly, made me his child in every sense of the word.
I’m not just his daughter in DNA now, but also the reflection of his image.
He’s replicating himself, using me as an extension of his revenge.
My phone buzzes and I slide it out of my pocket.
I don’t need to say who sent the text; Maxx knows.
Excellent work, princess. I’d expect nothing less. Congratulations. Take a trophy to celebrate your first win, and then deal with the evidence. Use your pawns if you please.
Pick a friend to live; pick a friend to die.
I chose a piece of myself to die instead, offered up a sacrifice on my chessboard just like Daddy Dearest has been teaching me.
Justin has just checked my king.
We’re in the endgame, Dakota. You’re in the endgame, and there are few pieces left on the board. Make your move.
Only, I should’ve known Justin better than that, shouldn’t I?
I just killed a guy. I just fucking killed a guy.
Maxx takes me into his arms, and I cling to him, but even that can’t fix the problem. Even his love and his touch, his kind eyes and confident smile, none of that can save me now.
There are footsteps approaching in the underbrush.
Someone—multiple someones by the sound of it—are coming this way.
What, I imagine, they’ll think when they stumble on us is anybody’s guess.
Me, with bloody hands and a knife lying beside my boyfriend’s foot. A dead man sprawled on his back. Two high school girls, one tied up, the other bleeding from the head.
“Shh, Kota. It’s gonna be okay,” X whispers as we exchange a look.
No matter what happens here, at least I’ve got him.
He knows what I’ve done, and he’s standing beside me anyway.
Maxx turns, and I follow the direction of his shifting gaze, expecting more cops. Or maybe a cadre of well-armed serial killers?
The faces that emerge through the trees, I definitely do not expect.
Also, an idea has just struck me, and I can’t shake it: no matter what happens here, I’m turning myself in.
Because you can’t trap someone in a secret if they refuse to keep it, now can you?
Prom night is an undeniable catastrophe.
A boy I love is missing (again), and the Vanguard house (which I grudgingly admit is also my house) is on fire.
My apologies for the excessive use of parenthetical thoughts, but really? Dual calamities to round out what was supposed to be a night of memory making magic, a respite, a chance to be sixteen even if under the watchful eyes of the Seattle Slayer.
Instead, Justin’s gifted gown is a gilded cage that succeeds at keeping me in, but does nothing to keep the horrible, repulsive, and rotten out.
Tess is alternately sobbing and making phone calls while she drives. Meanwhile, the three of us sit crushed together in the back seat of her Mercedes, the skirts of my golden gown frothing over the boys’ laps. I can’t breathe, a swarm of what-ifs poisoning my blood as I try and fail not to think of my youngest siblings, trapped inside an inferno.
Maxx, where are you? I wonder, aching for him even as I’m panicking at the idea of losing a family I never wanted in the first place. But now, here, I’m starting to rethink some of my behaviors. Too little, too late?
I sure as fuck hope not.
My
“Are the two of you dating behind my back?”
Bio Mom’s question hangs in the air like smoke, but it pales in importance when compared to either of our other two problems. I glance back at Chasm. He’s tugging on his hair and staring down at the phone in his lap, nestled amongst my tulle skirts like a jewel.
“Maxx had dinner with his parents, went into the spare bedroom saying he was tired, and then … disappeared.” Chas looks up at me and Parrish, his lips in a thin line. He isn’t wearing his lip rings since he’s in Seamus-approved mode tonight, but he’s just as pretty like this as he is with his lightning bolt colored hair and piercings. “You don’t think …”
I do. I am. That’s exactly what I’m worried about: did dear old daddy take another boy that I like to hold as a hostage? Then again, he already has Maxine; it doesn’t make sense. None of this makes sense.
“Please tell me they’re alive!” Tess is screaming, and the three of us cringe in unison. The person on the other end of the phone—a neighbor, I think—says that she doesn’t know, her voice weak over the Bluetooth speakers. There’s an ambulance, she says. More than one ambulance.
I close my eyes, leaning my head back against the seat. The drive from the hotel is, in reality, only a stone’s throw away from the ice palace. Tonight, it may as well be a cross-country drive for how long it feels. I’m in suspended animation here, unable to do or critically analyze anything until I get some answers about my siblings.
Please don’t let the kids die because I was too weak to protect them.
It isn’t fair to put this on my shoulders. Hell, we don’t know for certain that Daddy Dearest is behind the fire, but I’d bet my life on it. It reeks of his personal style, after all.
I lift my head up just in time to see Tess push the car into the sea of reporters, rolling down her window and telling the police officers on duty who she is. They usher us through the crowd and past the front gate. Tess hits the emergency brake, but forgets to put the car in park, so Parrish leans between the seats to do it for her as she takes off out the door, car still running.
We chase after her, stepping onto the gravel drive and looking up at the roaring orange and yellow flames that are eating away at the left side of the house. They look like hungry demons, consuming everything that gets in their path. Firefighters are on-site, spraying the blaze with massive hoses as smoke billows up to kiss the stars.
“Holy fuck.” Chasm says it for us as Parrish—his face stricken and hands clenched into fists—looks around for our shared siblings. They were all in that house tonight. Ben, Amelia, Henry, Kimber, Paul. Even GG. I highly doubt our new pet is alive.
In typical Tess fashion, she marches right up to the nearest unoccupied firefighter and snatches at the woman’s sleeve, commanding attention. For once, it’s an appropriate use of her awe-inspiring power. They speak in low tones, impossible to hear over the gathered crowd and the distant popping and spitting, cracking and shattering that comes from the blaze.
There’s a strange, still interim there where Tess turns, silhouetted against the light for the briefest of seconds. This is it, a make-or-break moment for everyone in this family. If the kids are gone, then the possibility of us all working out our differences and building something new together is as intangible as the gray plume of smoke trailing up from the ruined corner of the house.
Tess collapses to the grass, sobbing, and Parrish runs up to her, Chasm and me in tow.
“They’re alive,” she’s whispering, over and over again. My heart skips a beat as Parrish falls to his knees beside our mother, clasping her hands in his. “They’ve been taken to the hospital, but they’re all okay.” Tess’ head snaps up, and I follow her gaze over to something huddled in the grass.
It takes me a minute to realize that it’s …
“Maxx!” His name bursts from my lips like a spell, and I find myself gathering up my skirts to run over to him. His head snaps my way, and he rises from the grass, shirtless and with something small bundled in his arms. When my heels get caught in the lawn, I kick them off and sprint the rest of the way to X in bare feet sparkling with dew. He’s coughing, but his triumphant grin is almost blindingly white through the soot covering the majority of his face.
My arms go around his neck as I throw myself against him, heedless of the bundle held tight to his chest. Our mouths connect with a sizzle as I dig my fingers into the back of his thick, wavy hair, the chalky feel of ash flaking onto my skin. The fire’s heat is nothing compared to the flavor of that kiss, even if Maxx’s lips are sooty and gritty, even if he can only kiss me for a moment before his chest seizes with the urge to cough.
That kiss, it only lasts a split-second, but it becomes a memento of my youth, a reminder that the harsh slog of reality can be broken up by brief, breathless respites. It’s also a turning point for me, this sudden realization that I can’t simply pick a boy. It isn’t like that. I can’t choose; I have to let them each decide what they’re willing to endure.
Our lips part with terrible reluctance, but I won’t let him get too far away from me; I keep my arms wrapped around his neck. Maxx chuckles but the sound is cut off by a fit of violent coughing that he struggles to get under control.
“Careful, Kota,” he whispers finally, nuzzling his face against mine before looking down. I follow his gaze to see what it is that he’s cuddling against his chest so carefully. It’s GG, our resident white rabbit, wrapped in his shirt. Guess that explains why he isn’t wearing one at the moment (which is totally fine with me BTW).
“GG!” I breathe in stark relief, stroking my hand over the bunny’s ears as myriad emotions swirl through me. Relief. Fear. Rage. Because, while there’s the very slim possibility that this was an accidental fire, it’s much more likely that this was Justin’s doing. The way he smiled at us on our way out of the ballroom is proof enough. “You saved GG?” I ask as I hear footsteps behind me.
Even though it hurts, even though it aches, I remove my arms from around X’s neck and take a small step back, allowing him room to breathe. The way his gaze catches on mine, and the slow blink he offers me, says that he isn’t all about that (the space I mean). He wants to be close to me, and he knows that I know it. Maxx hooks a bit of a smirk, allowing the expression to simmer before the others join us.
Does he know how cocky he is? Turning what could’ve well been the worst moment of my life into a heart-racing, pulse-thundering, palm-sweating flirtation? What a dickhead. Also, he’s a goddamn hero, so if he wants to be arrogant and sexy and kissable, who am I to stop him?
Both Chasm and Parrish move around on either side of me to hug Maxx. That’s one of the things I love most about these boys: they’re not afraid to show affection for one another.
“I saved the rabbit,” Maxx confirms finally, adjusting his grip on the bunny bundle that’s pressed to his wide, solid chest. His arms and hands are sooty, but his midsection is mostly clear giving him the appearance of a farmer’s tan. Sexiest farmer’s tan I’ve ever seen, can’t lie.
“He saved everyone,” Tess corrects, her voice soft and thick with tears. “Oh, Maxim.” I step aside so that Tess can give her son’s friend a huge hug. If she noticed that I kissed him, or that our behavior is indicative of intimacy beyond simple friendship, she doesn’t let on. “But he needs to give someone that damn bunny and go to the hospital.”
X offers up a knowing smile, glancing down at the rabbit. I sort of thought GG was going to be my pet; I’m realizing now that he’s actually Maxx’s baby.
“Wait. You saved everyone?” Parrish asks, tilting his head to the side as he tucks his shaking hands into the pockets of his slacks to hide the slight trembling. God forbid he show any emotion. Parrish is the master of keeping his feelings hidden beneath willful indolence. “What does that even mean?”
“I …” Maxx starts, licking his glossy lower lip. I kissed it clean. Me. I did that. Reaching up, I surreptitiously swipe the borrowed soot from my own lips. X notices, and he exhales strangely, and I swear that I can feel him yearning and wanting for me the same way that I am for him. I look up and our gazes clash. It’s quite clear that there’s something he wants to say but not when Tess is around. “I wanted to be here when you guys got back from prom; the house was already smoky when I walked in the front door.”
