A Game That Destroys

↬ Crimson Confrontation

↬ Chapter Three

Myeesha glanced down at the card in her hand and then up at the looming building in front of her. Her gaze went back to the card . . . up to the building. Yup, she was in the right place.

She tugged on the sleeves of her black gown, pulling them to protect her fingers against the chilly air. The guards looked at her skeptically, unsure why such a person was standing around their boss's territory. She showed them the card and they moved aside after much hesitation. Great, now she'd probably have to walk through a dozen scanners and be searched and poked and prodded at. Wonderful.

Half an hour later, she was finally standing in front of the Heir's office. The amount of bodyguards he had was baffling. She was in utter awe at how secure a man could be. They were all stoic with rigid bodies, their hands neatly folded in front or behind them and their eyes covered with dark shades. Their faces were marked with the dragon tattoo which gave them a certain malevolent aura. Their black suits were creaseless.

She knocked on the door and took a step back to wait. A man with red hair and wicked silver-gray eyes appeared, quirking an eyebrow when he saw her.

"Oh. The ninja."

That was getting rather annoying.

"Correction. Myeesha," she pursed her lips. "I am not a ninja."

"Of course," he grinned and ushered her inside.

She was surprised to see she wasn't alone. Women, daughters of rich families judging by their pompous airs and prim appearances, lounged in the room. Some flicked through magazines, others whispered among themselves while a few sipped coffee in their own little corners. One sat alone by the window, her black eyes narrowing on Myeesha. Myeesha froze in her tracks, feeling like a fish tossed into a grove of bushes.

"I . . . I don't think I'm in the right place."

"Quite the contrary," a familiar husky, baritone voice came from behind her. "You're right where you're supposed to be."

She turned on her heel to see Za'yaal leaning against the doorway she had just come in from. He winked at her and straightened. She stiffened when he passed by her and made his way to the front of the room where he began conversing with one of his bodyguards. The red-haired man named Midas, sensing her confusion, decided to come to her aid.

"You are here for the game, right?"

"Yes," Myeesha nodded. "I didn't know I would be competing against other women though."

There were around fifteen of them total. Slim, curvy debutantes that had perfect smiles, perfect faces and perfect hair. Myeesha was daunted by their beauty. How was it possible for so much perfection to exist in one room?

Midas laughed in a mocking manner. "What do you mean? You can't really compete with other men for the Heir's hand."

The Heir's hand? What . . .

She frowned. "Um . . . no. I think you have me mixed up with someone else. I'm here to release myself from that guy's debt, or so he claims. I thought we'd be playing checkers or cards."

Midas's eyebrows shot up in surprise. "Checkers or cards? Darling, you're going through five challenges to win the title of Lady of Dragos. Za'yaal's the prize."

Myeesha willed the dread to stay down. She wasn't hearing right. It wasn't possible for this red-haired man to make such a huge blunder. What kind of prize was the Heir anyway? She sure as heck didn't want him. Her stomach twisted and she shook her head. "No I'm not. I'm here to protect my brothers."