Page 148 of Dance of Defiance

My chest tightens.

Where do Ioutwardly appearto fall? Or where do I know in my heart that Iactuallyfall?

Before I have time for the question to give me a fucking panic attack, The Hound glances at his watch as The Raven walks up.

“As thrilling as this conversation is,” he growls, “it’s time.”

You can feel the shift in the air when he says it. The pre-trial parties are always a certain vibe, even if none of us isparticipating in the…festivitieslike we used to. But when the clock ticks over, and it goes from party mode totrialmode, the whole atmosphere changes dramatically.

The rest of them start moving across the big underground cathedral toward the stone circular floor with the dais looming over it. I hang back for a second, pulling out my phone to check a message from Evie about helping her move something in her room tomorrow. Just as I’m silencing my phone, an Instagram notification pops up alerting me that one of my friends has been tagged in a photo by someone I might know and might want to follow.

The friend who’s been tagged isVal.

Of course, I click it, glaring at the screen when the post pops up. Instantly, my entire body tenses.

The guy who tagged Val is the same guy who was draped all over him that night I sort of stalked him…okay,didstalk him…at Doomsday. The night we tumbled into the men’s room together and…

Yeah.

My face heats beneath my mask, my dick twitching as I glance at the photo that’s just been posted byGerard, I gather from the account info.

The picture is of him and some blonde skank on either side of Val, their arms around his shoulders. Val’s blue eyes pierce into the camera, a dark, commanding look on his face as Gerard and that slag kiss him on either cheek.

The caption reads “@Chrissygirl19 and I went out a-ho-ing and bumped into our favorite!!” That’s followed by about a thousand fucking eggplant emojis and then “RIP our holes LOLOLOL!”

My vision goes red. And that’sbeforeI see the hashtags the little fuck has ended his post with: #threeway #biguysfuckbetter #gettinglaidtonight #biparty.

“Bull?”

I flinch, ripping my glare from the phone in my hand and up to The Hound, who’s watching me.

“We’re about to start,” he growls. “All good?”

“Yup,” I seethe, shoving the phone into my pocket.

My pulse twitches violently. My nostrils flare and my jaw grinds. A cold fury I don’t even understand seeps into my veins, until my heart is churning black ink.

I’m barely aware of walking onto the dais and taking my seat along with my friends. Of the crowd stopping their orgies and partying to become the audience, sitting across from the dais, a big stone circular floor between us.

I hardly look up when the guards drag in the accused—Bobby Rizzo, an underboss in the Farina Mafia family accused of attempting to kill another underboss in order to evade a blood marker this other guy had on him.

All I’m doing is breathing hot, black fire, my skin charring and blistering as visions of Val moaning with Gerard and that Chrissy skank parade through my psyche.

“Guilty,” I say, same as my four friends.

Bobby Rizzo is given the choice by The Raven: fight, or flight.

He picks fight and confidently claims knives as his weapon. It takes me a second to drag myself out of the oozing black tar that my subconscious is drowning in when The Stag elbows me.

“Your turn, brother,” he murmurs.

I look up, my eyes stabbing mercilessly into Rizzo down on the floor.

So fucking be it.

Bobby steels himself, rolling his neck, his hand gripping his hunting knife tightly as he sizes me up. He’s roughly as big as me, and he’s clearly handled a blade before, so he thinks he has a chance here.

Spoiler: he doesn’t.