Nathan had started by offering help, positioning himself as a savior when Ben’s dad’s medical bills began piling up, promising access and solutions Ben didn’t have on his own. Then the favors came due.
Sitting a shift here.
Missing a play there.
And every hesitation on Ben’s part was met with a reminder of who held the power and what would happen if Ben stopped cooperating.
Shane had listened without interruption. When Ben finally looked up, shame written all over his face, Shane told him what he hadn’t realized he needed to hear — that what had been done to him was coercion, not choice, and that the league would see it that way if Ben told the truth now.
Cooperation meant protection. It meant taking down the real mastermind instead of letting him keep pulling strings from the shadows.
Tonight had been the final step in our plan: a public confrontation with witnesses everywhere, the truth spoken out loud where it couldn’t be buried or spun. Ben had agreed. He’d promised he could do it.
But looking at him now, pale and unraveling at that cocktail table, it was obvious the fear had crept back in. The weight of it was too heavy, the cost suddenly too real.
When his eyes met mine across the terrace, panic flared bright and unmistakable. He shook his head once, set his glass down too hard, then shoved his hands into his pockets like he was trying to hold himself together from the inside.
And then he disappeared into the crowd.
My heart dropped into my stomach.
I turned back to Shane, and I knew he’d seen it too.
Our eyes locked, the same thought crashing through both of us at once.
This was going wrong.
Shane muttered anexcuse me, ready to bolt after Ben, but before he could take a step, his eyes snagged on something else across the room. When I turned, dread slid through me.
His gaze sharpened, tracking past me, and when I followed it, my pulse kicked up another notch.
Carter.
He stood at a cocktail table in the far corner with Nathan, the two of them angled close together. Carter’s posture was tense, shoulders hunched slightly as he spoke, his eyes darting around the room like he was afraid of being overheard. Nathan, on the other hand, looked relaxed, smiling in that smug, indulgent way he always did when he thought he had the upper hand.
This was it.
Carter was trying to get in on the betting. Trying to catch Nathan in the act.
For a split second, hope flared.
And then Nathan’s smile slipped.
His eyes cut across the room and landed on me.
It was like a jaguar spotting its prey through the tall grass. His expression was cold, sharp, and knowing.
He said something low to Carter, straightened his jacket, and excused himself without another glance back. The way he moved toward me was unhurried, deliberate, like he wasn’t worried about who was watching.
My next breath lodged in my throat. I couldn’t look away, even as his menacing gaze tore through me like a blade.
I saw Georgie register it before Nathan even reached me — the shift in my posture, the way my smile fell away. My little brother went still, his body angling toward mine, concern flashing across his face as he took a step forward.
I shook my head subtly.
Don’t, I warned without words.
When he reached me, Nathan’s hand closed around my arm, fingers digging in hard enough to hurt. He pulled me a step away from the cluster of guests, just far enough that it looked intimate instead of aggressive. His grip tightened as he leaned in close, his breath hot and faintly alcoholic against my ear.
