“Did she?”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” I say, glaring at him.
“It means every time I’ve seen that girl around that Augustine shmuck… she looks one inconvenience away from driving her Audi into a fucking tree. Maybe you should stop being a pussy and ask her yourself. There’s things you clearly don’t know,” he says, and I narrow my eyes.
“Like what?” I ask, and he laughs.
“Go ask her yourself. The fact that you don’t know and you’ve been back for six fucking months and still don’t have a fucking clue is absolutely wild to me,” he states, but I look away before he can see the crack in my expression.
Because the truth is… Ophelia never looked happy.
Not once. Not at the races… school or even walking home crying while Brayden probably sat at that dinner table making deals like the good little bitch he is.
Yes, I saw and stalked her. Fucking sue me.
Every time I see her now… she looks hollow. Like someone scooped her soul out and left the shell behind.
And the worst part? Some sick piece of me likes it. Because if she’s suffering too, then maybe I wasn’t the only one destroyed that night.
Losing my best friend, my girl, and my freedom.
A knock sounds against the locker room door before Ryker sticks his head inside.
“You’re up in five.” I nod once as his eyes drag over me carefully. “Try not to kill the rich boy.” He smirks.
“His family pays good money here,” Harley adds.
“No promises,” I say to both of them.
“Hayden, listen to what Ryker is telling you. You cannot kill him. He’s a founding member,” Harley scolds, and I glance at him.
“I know the rules. Chill out. I got this,” I say as I dance from foot to foot. The door shuts behind Ryker, and Maverick clears his throat.
“Everyone is betting on you tonight. I say fuck him up. Give them a show. I hate those pretentious pricks,” he spits, and Harley laughs.
“Pres coming tonight?” Harley asks, but Maverick shakes his head.
“No, not tonight,” he growls, and I laugh.
Rolling my shoulders I let the adrenaline hum beneath my skin. Then the door opens again and Caspian walks in. He’s another brother of Harley and Maverick.
There’s five of them.
“Yo, Hayden… you ready?” He grins, tossing me my black hoodie.
No. Not even close, but I pull the hood over my head anyway and head toward the cage.
The second I step out of the locker room, the crowd loses its mind. This place is packed wall to wall tonight.
Cigarette smoke hangs thick beneath flashing red lights while music pounds hard enough to rattle my ribs. Rich kids mingle beside cartel members, mob bosses, bikers, and killers like Daggerspoint’s entire underground showed up for bloodshed.
Then I see her. And everything fucking stops.
Ophelia.
She stands near the front beside Brayden wearing a tight black dress that hugs every dangerous curve of her body. Long blonde curls spill over her shoulder while those big blue eyes scan the cage nervously.
God, my chest physically hurts looking at her.
