I keep my gaze fixed on the road, hands locked tight on the wheel, fury wound so taut beneath my ribs it’s a miracle I’m still functional.
I want to ask Sera how she’s feeling, whether her head hurts, whether she might have a concussion. Regardless of what she said, that was a hard punch. However, the rigidness of her posture tells me exactly how unwelcome my concern would be right now.
By the time we get everyone tucked into their respective rooms, my temper is hanging on by a single, frayed thread.
“Protocol says we need to call this in,” Sera says briskly as she boots up her laptop. “Given the number of phones out there, her PR team needs to be aware. Especially if anything surfaces online.”
I grit my teeth against the words crowding my mouth. I don’t give a fuck about protocol or Keke’s image. I care about the swelling already blooming across Sera’s cheekbone.
“We can set up the call on my computer?—”
“I’m getting ice.” I cut her off and turn away before I say something I can’t take back.
I don’t know how long I stand in front of the ice machine in the hall, breathing slow and deliberate while I wrestle my instincts back into their cage.
She’s trained. She’s capable. She did her job.
I repeat it like a mantra until the pressure eases enough that I don’t feel like ripping the hotel apart with my bare hands.
When I return, she’s already on the video call.
One look at the tight line of her mouth tells me she’s pissed.
At me.
I wrap the ice in a washcloth and hand it to her without a word. She takes it, pressing it to her nose, eyes never leaving the screen.
“Do you think you need additional personnel?” Vincent asks.
“No,” Sera answers immediately. “This was a small group. Only one individual was confrontational.”
“The Dallas events are inside the hotel,” Brady adds. “That mitigates a lot of exposure, and Vegas should have plenty of security already there. We might want to reconsider for LA.”
“Right.”
Brady studies her through the screen. “You’re okay though? No dizziness? Nausea?”
“Please,” she scoffs. “Finn hits harder than that. I’m just annoyed I didn’t duck.”
My jaw tightens, but I stay silent.
A few minutes later, the call wraps with plans to monitor social media and reassess if needed. Sera closes the laptop and heads toward the bathroom.
I hear her voice a few minutes later through the door, clipped and incredulous. “Yeah, I’m fine. It’s just a bloody nose… stop… I’m serious.” A pause. “She already posted it?” Another beat. “You’re kidding. What did she say?”
She comes back out shaking her head, pressing her palm briefly to her forehead.
“Apparently Keke went live thirty minutes ago, on social media,” she says dryly. “Hannah saw it, and according to Hannah, Keke is self-righteously claiming that she ‘won’t be cowed by anyone’ and ‘answers to no one.’”
I snort. “That woman is a nightmare.”
Sera’s lips twitch despite herself for a second before she sobers. “I should’ve seen it sooner.”
“Nothing you could’ve done. Besides, you took that hit and kept moving. Didn’t even hesitate.” And I hated that it happened.
She raises a brow at me. “Want me to give you tips?”
“Nah. I’ll just rely on my murder-face to scare people.”
