He offers me half a shrug and a hard breath of air. “Yes?”
“Right. And you?” I point the bat at the other newcomer.
“Caspian,” he expels at once.
“Great. Nice to meet you both. Everyone give me ten laps.”
Jason’s off first, setting the example and moving carefree like the psychopath he is. The others fall in, except Robin, who stands there staring at me until Caspian rips an arm through his and pulls him away.
Max is struggling to sit up, so I shove the bat against the hollow of his throat and hold him down. Kneeling, I meet his tear-glazed eyes. “Next time you talk about me like that, I’ll break something. Then we’ll see how well you do in the competition.”
He looks like he’s about to raise a hand to the bat, so I push it a little deeper into his neck.
“I’m sorry, Marco. I’m sorry. Please let me train.”
“Twenty laps.”
“I’m sorry.”
Slowly, watching him for any sign of defiance, I allow him to hobble off to lick his wounds.
Better they all know now how this is going to go. And any edge I get here is an edge I’ll have in the arena.
Not that I’m worried about any of them. I’ve killed better men a dozen times over. Victora’s reach is running thin finding fit and healthy men.
Unless they found Atrea.
Robin turns the far end of the field, sand flying beneath his boots, the enormous muscles of his thighs stretching and flexing with every step. The tunic hits his skin with design, sized with precision for any crowd to be drawn in by the display of aesthetic masculinity. I’m no more invulnerable than all the rest of them against those fine lines of human perfection, sweat and muscle and tanned skin and strength all laid out there for public consumption.
He must be incredibly strong.
There are wonderful things a man like that could do…
And I can’t let myself think of any of them.
I step away, take a drink of water, wait for them to finish their run. Then I put them through their paces. Push-ups, sit-ups, squats, planks, sets andsets and sets. By the time they’re done, the sweat’s rolling off them in rivers, staining the sand with saltwater.
Robin only looks more fuckable. Cheeks lightly flushed, fresh oxygen in his chest and veins, as though this suits him, hard work and hot sun. As though he was born to it.
It’s on the tip of my tongue to ask, ‘¿Vienes de la isla del sol y el mar?’Do you come from the island of the sun and the sea?
But everyone’s eyes and ears are on me, just like they always are.
I can’t afford that slip.
And anyway, unless Atrea’s changed drastically in the last five years, I know how to pull the truth from him without words.
“Combat training. Robin, you’re first.”
He looks at the rest, exchanging another look with Caspian. Some of the guys offer a shrug, and two or three, in particular Jason, direct their anger about it at me.
I’d usually let Jason demonstrate. He’s the most experienced. The keenest. The obvious choice.
I don’t care. This madness has taken me, and I need to know the truth.
Robin squares up to me, and I try to slow the blood hammering through my veins.
Try to look like I don’t care.
