The Game - Preface

Preface

"Brooke don't scream!"

I was confused until I opened the front door all the way and a hand was clamped over my mouth, preventing me from screaming even if I had wanted to. My eyes darted around, trying to figure out what was going on.

My parents were sitting on the couch, which I could see from my vantage point in front of the living room doorway. They both looked quite frightened, although my mother's face was streaked with tears and sweat. I could tell she'd been wringing her hands before I walked in the door; they were clasped tightly in her lap as though she'd made herself stop. My dad's green eyes were narrowed at whoever was holding me.

"Let her go," he growled, "we had an agreement that you wouldn't hurt her." As he finished his sentence, his eyes darted to someone I couldn't see.

"Well you heard the man, Igor. Let her go." I was immediately released, even though the hand fell to my shoulder instead, leading me into the living room. Once I was within reach, my mom pulled me down, hugging me tightly. I hugged her back, blinking in confusion. What was going on?

When she finally let me go, I turned around, sitting on the edge of the couch cushion, feeling like I needed to be ready to bolt. The man sitting opposite the three of us smirked.

"You might as well sit back, Brookie," he sneered, "you can't run." I very slowly did what he said, scooting back while never taking my eyes from his. "Good girl," he murmured. He then turned to my father. "Now, Evan, I do believe we had an agreement, don't you? You had three years to raise my money, and your time is up. Where is it?"

"I don't have it," my father said after a moment of silence. The man chuckled.

"Of course you don't," he mumbled, sounding like he was talking to himself instead of to my dad. He asked, "Why not?"

"Three years is not enough time for me to raise three million dollars." I swallowed. Three million dollars?

"What do you mean not enough time? Someone else had the exact same time to raise the same amount of money. They did it, so why couldn't you?"

"I don't have the job to make enough money, and Catherine doesn't work right now." My mom started crying at the sound of her name. She leaned into me and I hugged her, rubbing her back. The man's attention was now on us. He smiled, his gray eyes crinkling at the edges, his white teeth standing out against his tanned skin. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, clasping his hands in front of him. His smile turned mocking, and, after staring at me for a full minute, he turns to my father.

"How much is your daughter worth, Evan?" My eyes widened, and I turned to my dad, who was also looking at me. With my eyes, I asked him what was going on, and with his he answered that he was sorry, that he couldn't tell me right now, that he loved me. Turning back to our visitor, he said,

"My daughter is worth nothing if you think I'm going to give her to you."

"Have you ever killed a man, Brooke?" The question caught me off guard, because he wasn't even looking at me. When I didn't answer, he did turn his head, breaking my father's angry gaze. "Have you ever killed a man, Brooke?" he repeated. I blinked, slowly shaking my head. He stood, taking a step towards me.

"What are you doing? Get away from her!" I sank back in the couch, wanting to pull my legs up when he stooped down to my eye level. His eyes searched my face.

"Will you learn how, to save your father's life?" My eyes widened again, my breath coming out in short spurts at the thought of this man killing my father.

"No! Leave her alone, Marcus. You said you would leave my family out of this!"

Marcus ignored my dad. "Would you, Brooke?" he asked. His voice was soft, not demanding. I looked at my dad, whose eyes seemed to never leave my face afterwards. He shook his head, begging me to do the same. "Well?"

"No! Leave her alone! Please, leave her alone." Marcus placed a hand on my knee, making me jump. He removed it when I looked at him, one eyebrow raised in question. I swallowed, not sure what to say.

I mean, I had never killed anyone, and I really wasn't planning on learning how… But this man… He was threatening to kill my father. I didn't want to sit here and have been able to prevent my father's death, but I also didn't want to be responsible for the death of another man, possibly someone else's father.

"I…" I trailed off, still not sure what to say. Marcus stared kindly at me, waiting for me to finish. His eyes didn't leave my face, as, a minute later, he waved a hand. I heard footsteps, then turned to see the other man, whom I'd forgotten about, step up to my father, cock a gun, and hold it to his head. My mother cried out, her hands tightening around mine.

"Now, Brooke, I know this is a tough decision to make, but let's think logically for a minute." I couldn't tear my eyes away from the gun pointing at my father, but my ears trained on every word that fell from Marcus's lips. "You could simply agree to work for me, or you could disagree and force Igor here to pull the trigger, splattering your dads brains all over your mother. I'm pretty sure that neither of you want that, do you? So the way I see it, you've only got one good choice. Question is, will you make it?"

"Brooke, don't do it." Tears clouded my vision, staring at my father, shocked that he suggested what he did. I blinked them away, finding that he was holding onto mom, her having fell towards him. She was crying into his neck, loud heaving sobs that ripped from her throat and made me want to scream.

"But… Daddy I - "

"No!" His hands clenched my mother's shirt, then slowly relaxed as he resumed rubbing her back. "Just say no. Don't do it. Just let him kill me." My mother screamed, clutching his shirt front and curling her body closer to his. I sat there, not sure of what to do.

I couldn't let him kill my dad. I knew that. But I didn't want to kill anyone else either. Heck, I didn't even know what was going on! I decided to make finding out my first priority.

I turned to Marcus, determined. His eyes watched me questioningly, his head cocked slightly to one side. "Who are you?" I asked. The question caught him off guard, and he sat there for a minute before answering,

"Marcus McCain."

"What do you want with my dad?"

"He owes me three million dollars."

"Why?"

"That's how much it costs to quit working for me." I ignored that plunging feeling in the pit of my stomach, going on despite the shocking discovery I'd just made.

"What do you do?"

"I hire hit men to do my dirty work."

"What is your 'dirty work'?"

"Killing politicians, presidents of big companies. People like that."

"Why?" My question seemed to amuse Marcus. He laughed, his eyes sparkling when he looked back at me.

"Because life's bad enough by itself, Brookie. Why have politicians to mess it up even more?"

"How long did my father work for you?" The question almost caught in my throat, but I choked it out, willing myself not to look at my dad. Marcus appeared to think for a minute.

"About twenty years," he said. I closed my eyes, calculating. My dad was thirty-eight now, so he'd been working for Marcus since he was eighteen. The same age as me.

"If I do this," I began, opening my eyes again, "will you leave my parents alone?" Marcus nodded.

"You have my word."

"How do I know you'll keep it?" He smiled, glancing over at my father.

"A man in my branch of business has no room to not keep his word," he murmured. He looked first at my mother, then back to me. "You have my word."

"Brooke, please don't do it. You'll be better off with me dead than with him alive."

"You daughter's already made her decision, Evan," Marcus said. "Haven't you, Brooke?"

I blinked, then shifted through my thoughts, making sure that what I was going to say was really what I wanted to say. Sit here and watch my father be killed, or agree to Marcus's terms and save his life. Sit here and let my father be murdered right in front of me, or agree to work for Marcus, sparing my father's life, although opting to help someone else lose theirs. I thought that maybe I had reason enough to say what I was going to say.

"I'll work for you," I mumbled, "but on one condition." Marcus's eyes narrowed.

"And what might that be?"

"I don't kill anyone." He frowned.

"Then you will not be working for me, Brooke," he said. I shook my head.

"You have a secretary, don't you?" He nodded. "Then let me take her job. I can file papers."

For a full five minutes, Marcus stared at me, his eyes giving away nothing. I stared right back, not to be intimidated by him. I wouldn't let him scare me. After a while, he grinned.

"I have a better job for you," he murmured.