I step in front of Valentina, shielding her with my body. She presses closer, her hands sliding around my waist, fingers gripping the back of my ribs. I feel her breath against my shoulder, fast and unsteady.
Her fear doesn’t repulse me—it activates something ancient and territorial and carnivorous inside my chest.
A violent crack echoes down the hall.
Val flinches so hard she grips my hips to steady herself. I cover her hands with mine, coaxing her fingers open, grounding her.
Then the beads rattle violently.
Axel steps into the room.
He fills the doorway, tattoo gun dripping ink and blood somewhere along the metal barrel. His knuckles are raw, split. One of the Vipers behind him holds his face, blood dripping between his fingers, eye swelling shut.
Frankie is screaming at him, but Axel doesn’t hear her.
Because he sees us.
He sees Valentina holding onto me. He sees my hands around her waist. He sees her hoodie pushed up enough to reveal a hint of skin.
His expression changes—slow, predatory, curious.
He tilts his head, studying me the way someone studies an opponent across a fighting ring. Then he shifts and studies her.
Recognition. Understanding. Calculation.
His lips curl into a razor-thin smile.
“Didn’t know you were hiding her today, Zay,” he says softly.
My pulse drops into something cold and murderous.
“Back up,” Frankie snarls at him. “You are officially banned for the day.”
Axel doesn’t back up.
Not until he’s had enough time to watch Valentina flinch behind me. Enough time to watch my body shift to block his view entirely. Enough time to catalog every reaction we give him.
Only then—only when he’s satisfied—does he laugh once, low and dangerous, and jerk his chin at the other Vipers.
“Let’s go.”
They scuttle out like rats.
The door slams behind them.
Valentina is shaking. Not a lot. Not theatrically. Just enough that the tremor runs through her hands and into my skin.
I turn to her, gently moving her hair out of her face, brushing the strands back with slow, deliberate care. “Hey. Look at me.”
She lifts her eyes, wide and frightened. Vulnerable in a way she never lets herself be.
“You’re okay,” I say, voice thick and quiet. “I’ve got you.”
“I—I didn’t expect?—”
“I know.” I rest my forehead against hers. Close enough that we share breath, heat, the faint tremble of her lips brushing mine accidentally before she pulls in a ragged inhale.
If she leaned in half an inch, we’d be kissing.
