“Believe what?” Quinn asks, clearly picking up on my shift.
I spin for the door, every step dragging fire across my ribs. We need to know. I need to know. The sound of the chair legs scraping back tells me they’re right behind me.They damn well better be.
The three of us move in silence, our steps echoing against the concrete as we cut through the gym toward the locker room. My ribs throb with every step, but I keep my shoulders squared, my jaw locked. If I falter now, Quinn and LC will see it. Riot will see it. And I can’t let that happen.
Riot’s locker waits at the end of the row. My hand hovers over the lock. For a second I can’t breathe. The lock’s nothing. I know the trick. A twist, a tug, and it clicks free. The door creaks open.
Quinn breaks the silence, her voice low. “Kat… maybe we wait. Talk to her first.”
“No.” The word scrapes raw from my throat. “I need to know.”
The metal groans when I wrench the door open. Inside, it looks like any of ours. A jacket. Her gloves. A stash of energy drinks. A photo of us taped to the inside wall, edges curled with from time. Nothing out of place, nothing that screams betrayal.
I almost shut it. Almost. My throat tightens, but I dig deeper. There’s a stack of envelopes tucked inside her gym bag. I yank them free, my hands shaking despite the fire in my gut. Inside, I find copies of intake forms. Names. Ages. Addresses. Notes.
Lady Cain curses under her breath. “Son of a bitch.”
But it’s the card that kills me. Small, white, slick to the touch. A snake inked in blood-red, its single eye a slash of crimson that seems to stare straight through me. Serrano’s mark.
The room tilts. I grip the edge of the locker to stay upright.
Quinn’s voice is hoarse. “Kat… tell me this isn’t what it looks like.”
I can’t. The card burns in my hand, hotter than the knife Serrano slid under my ribs. My stomach knots.
“Fuck!” The word rips out of me as I slam the locker shut, the clang ricocheting off the walls. Pain flares sharp through my side, but I don’t stop. I slam it again, harder, until my vision blurs.
Quinn grips my arm, steadying me before I tear myself apart. “Kat?”
I shove her off, my aching chest heaving.
“Damn it, I didn’t want to believe it.” My voice cracks, raw with fury. “Dante has a source feeding him information and he warned me this morning. They’re watching her.”
“And we trust him now?”
I nod, “Yes.”
My hand shakes as I shove the envelope back into Riot’s gym bag, slam the locker shut, and relock it like it never happened. My pulse is a hammer in my ribs, each beat sharper than the wound stitched across my side.
“This stays between us.” Quinn’s voice comes out low and rough. It’s not a request. It’s a command.
LC’s head snaps up, her eyes wide. “Pres?”
“No.” She slices a hand through the air, sharp enough to shut her up. “Not a word. Not to the others. Not until we know what the hell this is.”
“What else do you need? It’s Riot.” LC’s voice cracks like a whip, conviction hard enough to echo off the metal lockers.
The words land hard. Guilt, frustration, anger slamming into me from all sides. “Or someone planted it.”
Quinn nods quickly, “Exactly. Could be a setup. It has to be.”
She rakes a hand through her hair, restless, pacing the narrow space. I stand frozen, torn between rage and disbelief, fighting the urge to tear the whole locker room apart.
“If this leaks before we’re sure,” Quinn snaps, “It’ll break us. You understand? This club doesn’t survive if we start turning on each other without proof.”
LC mutters, “Proof’s staring you in the face.”
Quinn’s glare cuts her off cold. “I said we keep it quiet. You don’t like it? Tough shit. I need solid proof.”
