I swallow hard, my voice barely more than a whisper. “And if it’s true?”
The question guts me, because the only truth I can hear is Dante’s voice grinding in my head:Trust me, Maya.
“Then we deal with it. I won’t tolerate betrayal.” Quinn’s eyes pin us both to our spots, daring either of us to push back.
None of us move. LC’s jaw is tight, arms crossed, like she’s ready to throw down over this right here, right now. Quinn’s pacing, boots scraping the concrete, all nervous energy she doesn’t let anyone else see. And me? I’m locked up inside, coiled so tight I think I might split in half. The envelope and that goddamn snake card are back in Riot’s bag, but they may as well be burning a hole through the locker.
The door slams open catching us off guard. Riot strides in, a towel slung over her shoulder, damp strands of hair clinging to her temple. She halts when she sees the three of us crowded in front of the lockers. We all go still. For a second, none of us breathe.
Riot blinks once, slow. Her gaze flicks from Quinn, to LC, to me, then back again.
“What the hell are you doing up, Kat?” Her eyes flick to my side, the tension in my stance. “You’re supposed to be in bed.”
“I’m fine,” I bite out, sharper than I mean to.
Riot’s eyes narrow, not buying it. She takes a step closer, her hand tightening around the ends of the towel.
“You don’t look fine. You shouldn’t even be on your feet yet.” Her tone’s layered with concern, but there’s something beneath it, something strained.
Quinn clears her throat. “That’s what we told her.”
Riot flashes a glance to her locker. It’s only a flicker, but I catch it. She forces her eyes back on me, her lips pressing tight. “What’s going on?”
LC crosses her arms, staying silent. The weight of the air in the room shifts, heavy enough to choke.
“Nothing you need to worry about,” Quinn says, her voice clipped.
Riot’s jaw ticks. She lingers a beat too long, her gaze skating between us.
“Right.” Her voice is steady, but her shoulders stiffen as she adjusts the towel, her movements tighter than usual. “Guess I’ll hit the showers then. Don’t push yourself too hard, Kat.”
She turns a little too fast and slips out of sight, leaving the silence jagged in her wake. The sound of running water follows moments later.
Quinn swears low. LC exhales hard through her nose. But me? I can’t shake the look in Riot’s eyes like she was guilty.
And it’s that look that guts me worse than the evidence.
16
DANTE
My gloves are slick with sweat, leather biting into my knuckles with every strike. The bag swings wild now, no rhythm left, just rage and noise. Each hit lands heavier, but sloppier as I try to bleed out what’s clawing inside me.
I should have fought harder. I should have forced Katana to listen to reason. I didn’t tell her about Riot to hurt her, I was trying to protect her. I couldn’t let her walk into the battlefield blind. She deserved to know the truth, even if it broke her. Even if it cost me her trust.
Now I’m standing here, pounding this damn bag like it can take the hit for me. Like it can absorb the twist in my gut and the sound of her voice when she told me to get out. I didn’t even try to fight. Instead of pulling her close, instead of letting her hit me until she burned through the pain, I walked away. Too afraid to push her. Too afraid that letting her in was the biggest mistake I’ve ever made. Maybe she didn’t feel the same. Maybe she did.
My shoulders burn, lungs scrape for air. The chain creaks above me, metal grinding against metal. The bag jerks back hard and snaps forward, slamming into my chest like a counterpunchI deserve. I catch it, hold it still, my forehead pressed to the canvas, and breathe through the pain.
That look in her eye like I held the knife that stabbed her in the back haunts me. I see it every time I blink. It’s worse when I close my eyes. So I don’t. I keep swinging.
I hit the bag again, harder, the sound cracking through the empty gym. The sting in my knuckles is sharp, grounding me in my misery. My breath comes in ragged bursts, each one pulling something rawer to the surface.
She trusted Riot. She loved her. I get it now, telling her the truth was like tearing out her heart with my bare hands. But what the hell was I supposed to do?
The bag spins, thudding against my forearm. I lose my footing, stumble, then drive forward again. My vision blurs around the edges. Sweat drips down my nose, mixes with the blood smearing the inside of my glove.
I can’t think straight. Can’t stop seeing her face. The disbelief. The fury. The hurt. I’ve been hit before, cut, broken, left half-dead but this? This feels worse. Because she’s the first person I ever wanted to stay.
