Chapter 6
Eve's POV
A middle-aged man in a stained work shirt stands first, his shoulders hunched.
“I’ll take the money,” he mumbles. The words are barely audible, but Lafayette hears them. He gestures to a guard, who unstraps the man and leads him forward.
Lafayette smiles, a cold, satisfied curve of his lips. He places a heavy metal briefcase in the man’s hands, then grips his chin, forcing him to stare at the screens.
“Look,” he says softly. “Look at your son.”
The man’s eyes widen. On the screen, a teenage boy—maybe sixteen—hangs from his chains, screaming. And then, without warning, the chains release. The boy plummets, the camera follows him for a few seconds, the boy hits the ground, his body breaking into a grotesque shape.
The man makes a strangled sound, dropping the briefcase. Bills spill out, fluttering to the floor like dead birds. Lafayette claps him on the back.
“Door’s that way. Don’t trip over the cash.”
Two more people stand. A woman in a business suit, her makeup streaked. A young man with a tattoo of a skull on his neck. Each time, the same ritual: the briefcase, the forced gaze, the scream cut short, the death of loved ones.
I look away. How can they? How can anyone choose money over their own flesh and blood?
But then I think of the rent, the medical bills, the endless grind of never having enough. For a second, I understand the temptation. A half-million dollars could erase a lifetime of debt. It could buy a safe neighborhood, good food, and a future.
But without Vicky? To me, it would be a prison, gilded with dollar bills.
Luke shifts beside me, his jaw tight. He murmurs. “Desperation makes people do terrible things.”
I don’t agree. Some lines you don’t cross.
Ten minutes passed in a blur of sobs and shouted curses. Lafayette checks a gold watch on his wrist. “Time’s up!” he announces, clapping his hands. “Those who’ve chosen to leave—collect your blood money and get out. The rest of you? Welcome to the show. You’re our gamblers now.”
The people who’d chosen to leave are herded toward a side door, their heads hung low. The rest of us—hundreds of strangers bound by the same impossible choice—sit in silence, the weight of what we’ve agreed to settle over us like a shroud.
Lafayette snaps his fingers. A spotlight clicks on, flooding the center of the room with harsh white light. Hanging from the ceiling is a huge transparent money box suspended by thick steel cables, it’s half-full of cash—stacks and stacks of hundred-dollar bills, so many they look like bricks.
Another snap. A metal tube extends from the ceiling, snaking into the box. With a low hum, it begins to pour more bills into the box, the stack growing taller, head and rear, until the box is three-quarters full. The room goes quiet, everyone staring. I’ve never seen so much money in my life. Not even in movies. It’s obscene. It’s mesmerizing.
“Eden,” Lafayette says, his voice echoing, “was lost for an apple. A single, stupid fruit. But what if the temptation was worth it?” He gestures to the box. “Behold your apple. Every time a gambler dies—and make no mistake, many of you will—their loved one dies with them. And their stake? One million dollars. Added to the pot. For the last gambler standing to claim.”
He pauses, letting the words sink in. "So you can get up to $200 million and the gambler's head bonus!"
Two hundred million? Or more? To be honest, so much money is just a number to me. I know it's a lot, but I have no idea about it because even when I was the richest, my savings had never broken five thousand dollars.
Luke leans closer, his voice so low only I can hear it. “Don’t believe the numbers. They’re just strings to make us dance. Rules only matter until they don’t.” His eyes are sharp, wary. “He’s not selling a prize. He’s selling bloodshed.”
I nod, swallowing hard. He’s right. This isn’t about money. It’s about watching us break.
Lafayette snaps his fingers again, the money box betting ends, and the room shakes with his shout.
"There are gamblers and bets. I'm so looking forward to this competition!"
“Let the first game begin!”
The restraints around my wrists and ankles suddenly loosen, retracting into the chair with a mechanical whir. I rub my wrists, the skin raw and tender. Around me, people stretch, confused, relief turned to unease. What now?
Lafayette raises his hand, and for a heartbeat, nothing happens. Then he drops it.
The floor opens beneath me.
One second, I’m sitting. Next, I’m falling.
A scream tears from my throat as the ground disappears, the room shrinking above me. The air rushes past, cold and sharp, stinging my cheeks.
But Lafayette's voice came from all directions, shrill and loud
"Pool tug-of-war competition, get ready!" "