Page 91

I mean, Jesus Christ. I look like an abuse victim.

The door to the locker room bangs open, making me jump.

Nero.

I cringe the second the thought hits my brain, hating that it’s the first thing that came to mind when the door opened.

But it isn’t. Nero, that is.

“What up, lady? You're here early.”

I glance over my shoulder to see Brooklyn walking into the changing room. She slings her heavy dance bag off her shoulder with a groan.

I nod, ducking my head back under the spray. “Yeah, I went for a run downstairs.”

“You do realize you liveonCentral Park, right?”

I roll my eyes, glancing back at her as she peels her top off. Both of us tense for a second, our eyes taking in each other’s bruised bodies.

The tension hangs in the air, just the sound of the shower filling the void.

“Brook—”

“I won’t ask if you don’t,” she says quietly.

I scowl. “Fuck that. Iknowhow I got these, and it’s nothing criminal.” My eyes angrily take in the black marks on her ribs. “Brooklyn, who the fuck?—”

“Can we drop this?” she murmurs, her eyes begging me. “Please?”

“No, Brooklyn. I’m not seeing that and not?—”

The door bangs open again. This time, it’s Val who strolls in, dance bag slung over one muscled shoulder.

“Dude, c'mon!” Brooklyn snaps, whirling away and yanking a towel around herself.

I roll my eyes, turning to finish rinsing myself off before I crank off the shower and grab a towel, too.

“What?” Val frowns, dropping his bag with an utterly disinterested look on his face. “I've seen your tits a million fucking times by now, both of you.”

“Yeah, well, thereisa men’s dressing room, jackass,” I sigh, tightening my towel around my body and walking to my locker. “Which, by the by, I thought you were exclusively using these days?”

It’s never been weird up till now that Val sometimes uses our changing room. But in the last few months, we’ve all decided without actually saying so that he should stop, because it clearly makes Dove, one of our newer dancers, uncomfortable. Not uncomfortable enough for her to say anything, but it’s pretty clear to the rest of the girls in the company, and that's fair.

Of course, there’s a hundred different theories about her reasons, which are sometimes tied to one of thethousanddifferent rumors about her background. It’s common knowledge that her father is Cesare Marchetti, head of the Marchetti Italian mafia family, but what'snotknown is why she’s been MIA from New York for a few years.

Psych ward in France. Rehab facility in Switzerland. I’m honestly surprised I haven’t heard “empress of Mars” floated.

“Seriously,” Brooklyn mutters, dropping her towel and ignoring Val as she tugs on her tights. “Go play in boy-land.”

Val’s brow furrows as he rakes his fingers through his dark hair. “Yeah, well…” he frowns. “Trouble in paradise right now. I’ll be disrobing here, if that’s all right. Don’t worry,” he grunts, peeling off his shirt. “I’ll be gone before the international woman of mystery gets here.”

I glance at Brooklyn, who glances back at me. Then we both turn to Val.

“What’d you do?”

He rolls his eyes, turning away and dropping his jeans before reaching for his tights.

“You know the phrase ‘fuck around and find out’?”