Piper Cross, an undercover spy, must relive her past as a child gladiator in order to bring the underground arena to justice.
*****
Growing up gladiator is brutal. The cells are cramped...
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Isaac and Mason were commiserating over a beer at the bar. Jedda had fallen asleep on the couch, but she stirred when the artist pushed a plate of chicken nuggets across the counter.
"Good protein," he said, only half joking. "Looks like you guys had a tough day."
I didn't take a seat, but I did take a nugget. "You could say that," I managed through a mouthful of breaded crumbs. "Can I have a sip?"
Mason passed me the bottle and cracked open a fresh one for himself.
"Cheers," I mumbled, pursing my lips and tipping the bottle back.
It wasn't as nice as a mojito, but it wasn't awful, either. Sweet with an undertone of malt, made a little zesty by the lemon wedge stuffed in the neck of the bottle.
Jedda came up and fished some nuggets off the plate, shoving them all into her mouth at once. Not even that was enough to break the tension winding tighter between the three of us with every passing moment. Mason would glance at me only to look away when I caught him, and Isaac was doing the same. It was maddening.
Isaac straightened at the same time I pushed back my chair.
"I guess I'll get some sleep," he said, right as I blurted out:
"I'm getting pretty tired, I think I'll head —"
I broke off, realising my plan had failed. I couldn't just decide to go back to sitting at the bar now; Isaac would know I was trying to get away from him.
"I don't have a room yet," I realised aloud. "Is there space for me anywhere?"
"Always," he said softly. My heart skipped a beat and I scolded myself for reading too much into it. "There's a room across from mine I've been saving for you. I'll walk you there."
"Thanks."
I followed him up the stairs to the top floor, divided into two penthouse suites. We moved carefully so as not to accidentally brush each other's arms in the narrow hall, the unspoken buffer flattening our backs against the doors when we arrived. I stared at him and he stared at me, only a few feet apart, but it felt like leagues. It was almost impossible to fathom how we'd been so comfortable holding hands earlier in the day.
How do I make it go away?
"Goodnight," I croaked, reaching behind me for the door handle.
"Piper, wait." The urgency in his tone was like a hand on my shoulder, but he kept his arms to himself.
I paused, taking in his lithe, towering body, the way his tendons pulled taught between his neck and collarbone. The skin on his neck was smooth and unbroken, and I reached up to feel the burns on mine. They pulsed in protest, an angry reminder of the silver studding his bottom lip. He doesn't want to kiss me.
