I should still be in bed, but the thought of staying down feels worse than the ache gnawing at my ribs. It’s already been four days lying there while the world keeps spinning without me.
I need air. I need movement. I need to remind myself I’m not broken.
My cut hangs from the hook by the door. I don’t bother putting it on. I’m not ready for the added weight yet. Instead, I move slowly down the hall. Each step is careful, measured, but even then my ribs scream with every shift of muscle. By the time I make it to the gym, I’m shaking. The scent of sweat, steel, and disinfectant hits like home. I lean against the row of weights until my breathing evens out.
The girls are in the ring, sparring two at a time. Gloves crack against pads, sneakers squeak on canvas, grunts echo off the walls. Riot’s at the ropes, her voice sharp, steady, cutting through the noise. I pull my arms across my chest, ignoring the pull in my ribs, and watch. I try to sink into the rhythm of their movements, to let it remind me who the fuck I am. But my focus slips, scattered by the pounding in my skull.
“Keep your guard up. Don’t just swing, think. Watch her shoulders, she’ll tell you what’s coming before she throws it.”
One of the girls stumbles and Riot’s already there, tugging her back up, fixing her stance with a hand on her shoulder. There’s no hesitation in her movements, no cruelty in her tone, just the kind of tough love that built this gym. She’s confident, commanding, the same as she’s always been.
My chest tightens watching it. This is Riot. The woman who’s patched me up after fights, who’s laughed in the face of men twice our size, who’s bled beside me without hesitation. My sister in every way that counts. And yet, Dante’s voice keeps crashing through my thoughts, raw and relentless:She’s a leak.
I don’t want to believe it. Every part of me wants to tear the thought out by the root. But doubt’s a poison, and it’s already inmy blood now. Needing a distraction, I head for my office. My ribs scream with the movement, but it’s nothing compared to the shame boiling in my gut. The office door’s cracked when I get there, I nudge it open and stop in the frame.
Quinn and Lady Cain are hunched over the desk, papers spread everywhere. Ledgers, intake sheets from the girls who’ve come through the gym. Their voices cut off mid-sentence the second they see me. Both of them freezing like kids caught with stolen candy.
Quinn recovers first. “You should be in bed, Kat.”
“I’m fine.” The lie grinds out sharper than I intend. I push into the room, ignoring the throb in my ribs, and sweep my eyes over the mess of paperwork. “What are you doing?”
They share a look. LC leans back in the chair behind the desk, arms crossed. Quinn hesitates, worrying her lip before finally answering.
“Going through files. Trying to make sense of a few things while you were down.”
My eyes narrow. “Sense of what?”
“Money’s light. Not a lot, but enough to notice.” LC says bluntly.
Quinn pushes a folder toward me. The pages are flagged with sticky notes, scrawled in her messy handwriting. “And it’s not just the money. The intake logs on the girls don’t line up. Some pages are missing. Some names logged twice. It’s messy.”
My pulse spikes, sharp against my ribs. Dante’s poison bubbling up in the pit of my stomach again. “How long?”
“A week, maybe longer. We only caught it because we were filling in while you were down.” Quinn’s voice is steady, but her eyes are tight at the edges.
My jaw grinds until it aches, I already know the answer but I want so badly to be wrong. “Whose been in here?”
“Me, LC… Riot.” Quinn answers, hesitating a moment before continuing, “And before that you.”
The sound of Riot’s name is a punch straight to the gut. Dante’s voice slices through me:She’s a leak.
Guilt, frustration, anger crash into me from all sides. I force my tone steady. “And you’re telling me you think Riot’s behind this?”
“We’re not saying that,” Quinn says quickly, too quickly. “We’re saying something’s off, answer noticed it while you were laid up.”
Lady Cain adds, “We can’t ignore it.”
I shake my head, too hard. “No. Riot wouldn’t.”
“We’re not saying she did,” LC cuts in, calm but firm. “We’re saying it has to be someone. I know what I’ve done for this club. Quinn’s our damn President. Can you say the same for Riot without a shadow of doubt?”
The fury comes fast, burning through the fog in my chest but I can’t say yes, no matter how badly I want to. Dammit Dante.
Quinn’s eyes soften, “Kat, we’re trying to figure this out before it gets worse. With everything you’ve been through, we didn’t want you to worry until we had more than suspicion.”
The silence stretches. My fists clench until my knuckles ache. I want to rip the thought out of the air, burn it down before it sticks. But it’s too late. Dante’s words are there, ringing louder with every second, poisoning me.
“I didn’t want to believe it,” I rasp, my voice low but sharp enough to cut. The words taste like betrayal in my mouth.
