She’s safe. She made it.
She’s safe.
Sopping wet, I swim to the side of the pool and climb out of the red liquid. Now, I have to figure out a way to cover this shit up. Hopefully, Roman knows me as well as I think he does, and he can manipulate the footage. If not, we’re royally fucked. I disappear back into a hidden passage, then head toward a small bathroom while cheering seeps through the outer walls.
She made it.
The question is, do they believe she did it without help?
20
JAGGER
“What the hell was that?” Ford demands. “I leave you for two minutes, and this is what you do?”
I knew he’d be pissed. I knew they’d all be pissed. I also knew the only person I could rely on to not lose his shit is standing beside them, aware of the repercussions the same way I am. The same way I was when I rushed into that room to stop Violet from bowing out and losing the cash I knew she needed.
I rip off my mask and toss it aside. “I know I messed up?—”
“I covered for him,” Roman says, defending me. “No one knows.”
Ford’s glare cuts to Roman. “You don’t know that.”
He’s right. Roman doesn’t know shit. It was a risk. And not even a calculated one. Not really. I scrub my hand over my face, repeating, “I messed up.”
“No shit,” Ford seethes. He paces the small room, too amped up to sit his ass on the couch and discuss this like a rational person. Then again, it’s not like I’m one to talk. Not anymore. “Her dad lost, too. Did you know that? Lost a grand after betting on number seven, who was in the lead, by the way, after Violet froze?—”
“Give him a break,” Roman mutters.
Ford barrels on. “If anyone finds out how shitty her relationship is with her dad after what just went down, it’ll only give them more reason to believe you threw the bet on purpose. Ever think of that, Jagger?” He scoffs. “Yet, I’m the impulsive one. Now, will you hurry the hell up and wash off your face so you can redo your facepaint?”
“For once, I’m on Ford’s side,” Hawke finally says. He tosses a change of clothes to me. Roman must’ve asked him to grab them after I disappeared into the haunted house. Smart. I hadn’t even thought about it. Catching the clean T-shirt and jeans, I step behind a broom closet door to strip off the sopping wet clothes as quickly as I can while my brothers wait on the opposite side.
“We pride ourselves on keeping shit fair,” Hawke continues, well aware I can still hear him despite the thin barrier separating me from everyone. “Whether you’re from The Drift or Harden Heights, it doesn’t matter. Keeping things equal is a promise we made to every single person who attends. Whether they’re spectating or making a wager or participating. They know we’ll provide them with a solid andfairexperience.” I slip the shirt over my body, then reach for the dry jeans. “You stepping in to protect your girlfriend doesn’t exactly bode well for our promise, now does it?”
I stick a pin in hisgirlfriendcomment and reappear in my new outfit. “One of the reasons we opened this up for other players is so they have a chance to make money.”
“Yeah, afairchance,” Ford snaps. “Or did you not hear a single word Hawke said?” He scoffs again. “Just because your girl can’t swim?—”
I give him a warning look, and his words die in his throat. Not because he’s scared of me. Nah, the man might not like participating in fight nights the way I do, but he knows howto hold his own. All of us do. Even so, he knows pushing my buttons and pissing me off won’t bode well for any of us, which is why his mouth snaps closed. For a few seconds anyway. Molars grinding, he tries again. “If anyone pieces together that the room wasn’t supposed to have anyone else inside it, people will question the validity of every single event we put on from here on out, and that’s on you.”
“I covered for him,” Roman repeats.
“You did your best to cover for him,” Hawke clarifies. “But let’s be honest with ourselves instead of pretending Jagger didn’t fuck up tonight. We don’t know what people saw.”
“They saw a man in a mask chasing after a girl who’s terrified of swimming,” I tell them.
“That’s what youthinkthey saw,” Ford argues. “You. Don’t. Know. And that is the onlyrealfact we have.”
Scrubbing my hand over my face again, I drop my hand to my side and collapse onto the couch, defeated. “What do you want me to do?” I look at each of my brothers. Roman. Hawke. Ford. They all stand in the room, none of them uttering a single word. “What do you want me to do?” I repeat. “You’re all so quick to point out I screwed up, but none of you are very vocal when it comes to a solution, now are you?”
Sighing, Hawke collapses in front of me, pulls out a small tray of facepaint, and starts re-creating my skull face. “What’s done is done.”
“Of course it is,” I mutter, careful not to move as Hawke begins slapping paint onto my cheek with a sponge.
“He’s right,” Roman says. “It’s done. We’ll be careful. Keep shit quiet for now. Make sure not to rock the boat.”
“You better hope it doesn’t bite us in the ass,” Ford mutters. “Because if it does…”
