Play My Game (Stark Trilogy 3.3)

Jamie joins him in pounding. “Hunter! Open the door!”

For a moment, we hear nothing. Then the door opens, and I see Ryan, looking completely wrecked.

Immediately, Jamie launches herself at him. He catches her, then holds her close as she sobs against him.

Ryan meets Damien’s eyes, and I can almost hear the question that is passing between them—Did you do something I’m going to have to clean up?

And, yes, Damien would clean it up—of that much I’m certain. If Ryan Hunter beat the shit out of Douglas the Sex Tape Prick, Damien would do everything in his power to see that Ryan not only got off easy, but that the women of this city threw him a fucking parade.

For a moment, Ryan doesn’t move. Then he just shakes his head before stepping aside, silently letting us pass.

Inside, Douglas is on the sofa clutching his stomach, his face so drained of blood it is almost translucent. “Fucker kicked the shit out of me.”

“And you deserved it,” Damien says.

“I didn’t do it,” Douglas says. “Kung fu boy there says I threatened to sell a tape of me and Jamie to TMZ or some such shit, but it ain’t true, man.”

“Bullshit,” Jamie says. She looks stronger now, and although she’s still holding tight to Ryan’s hand, she’s standing on her own, and her face is on fire with anger. “You made that thing without telling me. You really think I’m going to believe your bullshit now?”

“Hey, it’s true. I don’t know how anyone got their hands on that file. Musta hacked my computer or something, because it wasn’t me. I mean, shit, my whole life’s about getting pussy. How much do you think I’m gonna get if word gets out I’m taping chicks without their knowledge?”

“How much pussy are you going to get in jail, you sick perv?” Jamie retorts.

“Jesus, fuck. Shit.” He drags his hands through his hair, making it stand on end. “This isn’t on me. Christ, I swear.”

In an instant, Ryan is across the room. He has Douglas by the collar and hauls him to his feet. Douglas looks so terrified that I’m surprised he hasn’t pissed himself.

For a moment, no one in the room breathes. Then Ryan tosses him back down. “You’re not even worth it,” he says, then turns away. He walks toward the door, taking Jamie’s hand as he does, and wordlessly leaves.

I start to follow, but then stop when I see Damien lagging behind. He meets the other man’s eyes and says, very slowly and very calmly, “I’m going to find out who threatened to leak that tape, and if it comes back to you, that kick in the gut will seem like a gentle kiss good night compared to the hell I will put you through. Do we understand each other?”

If I’d thought that Douglas was pale before, I’d been seriously wrong. I watch now as every last bit of blood fades from his face. He starts to nod, but Damien has already turned away; he’s made his point.

Once we are on the sidewalk with Ryan and Jamie, Damien puts his arm around Jamie’s shoulder, then meets Ryan’s eyes. “I’ll pay.”

“Damien, no!” Jamie’s protest is fast and sounds sincere, but Damien barely even acknowledges that she’s spoken. Instead, he’s looking straight at me. I swallow, grateful that he jumped to protect Jamie, but at the same time hating the fact that he is breaking from his usual pattern. Because Damien Stark is not a man who gives in to this kind of bullshit. Or, at least, he wasn’t before I entered his life.

“There’s no point in risking that tape getting out. I said I’ll pay.” He shifts his attention to Ryan. “That’s final.”

Ryan nods.

“But—” Jamie’s protest dies as Damien turns back to me.

“We’re leaving.”

I give Jamie a quick hug, and hear her whisper, “Don’t let him do it,” but Damien tugs me away before I can respond. He opens the car door for me without saying a word, then gets in on his side. Immediately, the car is full of the power of his rage, and when he grips the steering wheel, I see that his knuckles are white.

I open my mouth to say something, then close it again. I understand why he is angry—hell, I’m angry, too. More than that, I understand his need to lash out. To push through. To figure out a way to get on top of this and say “fuck you” to the world.

So I am not surprised when he tears away from the curb with all the speed of a rocket.

Instead of turning toward the 101, he follows Laurel Canyon up into the foothills, then turns on Mulholland Drive. That doesn’t surprise me either, and I simply hold on tight as he maneuvers the curves and straightaways before finally jerking the steering wheel and skidding to a halt in a turnout.

I’m breathing hard—I trust Damien, but this road is brutal. No guardrails, sharp curves, and the city spread out like a net below us.

Slowly, I reach for him and am relieved when his fingers close tight around mine. I want to speak, to soothe. But the truth is I don’t know what to say.

Finally, I say the only thing that I am certain must be said. I tell him what Jamie said to me. “You don’t have to pay. I don’t want you to pay. And Jamie doesn’t want you to pay, either.”

His eyes are flat when he looks at me. “I’m paying.” There is a beat—just one moment of silence—and then he gently tugs his hand free. He opens the door and gets out of the car, then moves to stand near the drop-off and look out over the city. The headlights are still on, and the light is hitting his back, illuminating him like an angel and casting his shadow down upon the world.

My chest tightens, and I wish that I had a magic potion that could make this entire mess go away. Because the truth is that both options suck. Damien isn’t the kind of man who willingly pays blackmail. And though it is true that Jamie will survive if that tape goes public, that is not the kind of thing that she should have to be strong for.

I realize that I have been sitting stiffly, my fingers clenched into my thighs so that the pressure from my nails digs into the skin just below the hem of my skirt. Shit.

I sigh. There is no magic potion. There is just me and Damien and our friends and the world. And right now, the world has infringed too much.

I force myself to relax, to loosen my fingers and shut away the pain. I tell myself I don’t need it now—not really. I may be a cutter, but it has been a long time since I have cut. I have Damien now to anchor me. Even more, I have found strength inside myself.

I will survive this. And so will Damien. And so will Jamie.