I wrench free the second we’re in the corridor. My first punch goes straight through the drywall, plaster and dust showeringdown in a cold spray. My knuckles split wide open, blood trickling in rivulets down my wrist. I want to break the world.
"They killed her mother," I say, my breath coming ragged. "And they’ll kill her, too, if I don’t claim her."
Bam doesn’t say a word. He just nods, the motion heavy with all the things we can’t say out loud.
Rhett’s face is pale, but his eyes are alive, bright and angry. "We can end this. We know more than they think we do."
Julian smiles, all teeth. "And we’ve got leverage. The Hunt is tradition, but tradition is just a fancy way of saying ‘habit.’ Habits can be broken. Do your Hunt, claim her, tame her and then we can dismantle them from the outside in, starting with the Harringtons. Think about it, Colt."
We stand there, four wolves against the door, and for the first time, I realize how much I need them. How much I need her.
"We make our own rules now," I say.
Bam’s hand finds my shoulder, this time softer. "Always did, brother."
We walk out to the quad, blood dripping from my knuckles, fire in my lungs, and the promise of war thick in the air.
Once we hit the main doors, we head straight into the guts of Westpoint. My mind races, replaying every word, every threat, every time the Board used me as a tool. I remember the way Eve looked at me, her eyes alive and scared and angry, and the way my father’s hand looked on her skin.
I want to kill something. I want to burn it all down.
But first, I have to win the Hunt.
Bam tapes my hand in the dorm. He works silent, efficient, fingers careful even though he could break me in half if he wanted.
Rhett sits opposite, stripping off his shirt. His chest is a network of old scars, some white, some jagged and red. He doesn’t look at me, just stares at the floor.
Julian is perched on the couch, cleaning under his fingernails with a butterfly knife. The tip is razor thin, and the way he moves is hypnotic. Controlled.
“You good?” Bam asks.
I nod, watch the way the tape wraps my hand, gauze underneath, tight, binding.
“She’s not going to let you claim her until she trusts you.”
“I know.”
He finishes the wrap, tears the tape with his teeth, and hands me a beer. I squeeze it until my fingers go numb.
Rhett looks up. “They’ll come at her with everything during the Hunt, punishment for her mother running. It won’t be like the others. All bets will be off. If she dies, we lose.”
“She won’t,” I say. I believe it. I have to.
Julian tucks the knife away, eyes glinting. “You better be right, Colton. Because if you’re not, we all go down.”
“I’ll handle her,” I say. “Just make sure the Board doesn’t fuck with the rules.”
Julian laughs, just once. “There are no rules. That’s the problem. They can rewrite history whenever the whim strikes”
We sit in silence, four of us, the old gods of Westpoint, waiting to see which who bleeds first.
Later, I find her.
She’s in the gym, alone, running on the treadmill like she can outrun the world. Her hair is up, severe, sweat slicking her back and chest. She doesn’t see me at first, or pretends not to.
I watch her for a long time. The way she moves. The way she doesn’t stop, even when her lungs must be burning.
When she finally notices me, she slows, then stops, chest heaving. She wipes her face with the back of her hand and gives me a look that could shatter bone.
