Page 126 of Double Down

The Titans are off doing whatever it takes to fix my fuck-up, and they’ve left me alone with the only job I deserve right now—sitting here and thinking about what I did and why.

I can pretend I kept quiet to spare them more stress, that I planned to slip away before it became a problem. That’s not the truth. Not really.

I stayed silent because I was afraid it would be the last straw—the one that made them decide I wasn’t worth the trouble.

Ever since they all had me, it’s felt like Con and I—especially—are two gunmen at high noon, hands hovering over our holsters, waiting to see who blinks first. Blink, as in walk. Leave.

He doesn’t believe I’ll stay. I don’t believe he’ll keep me.

And then I learned about their new “bet.” That sealed it. If they’re wagering on my affection and my trust, how am I supposed to trust the way they try to earn it? How do I know any of it is real when the game is built on me? When they want me to choose one of them over the others.

But I can’t tell them any of this. Not right now. The simple truth is that Ishouldhave been honest with them. I withheld critical information, and doing so jeopardized everything.

I deserve to be punished for that.

I need to be punished for that.

We have to re-set, and this is the only way I know how to do that for them.

The suite is quiet in that not-quiet way: air vents humming, the city traffic below a distant shiver through glass, my breath too loud in my own ears. They leave me here for almost an hour, and the anticipation is killing me.

Finally, the door opens, and the air shifts. I don’t look up until I feel Conrad in front of me. He tips my chin up with two fingers.

“Color,” he says.

“Green,” I whisper, surprised my voice doesn’t crack.

Atticus comes alongside my left, all shadow and sharp angles and disappointment.

“Tell me the rules, Kitten,” he says, like I haven’t memorized them. “You can stop this at any time.”

“Red or Titans stops,” I say. “Yellow pauses to check. Green means go.”

Maverick steps behind me and I can feel his heat before he touches me. But he doesn’t say a word. Instead, I’m pierced by the intensity in his gaze until it’s almost too much.

Storm drifts to my right, flipping his knife open and shut with that soft, terrible click—then sets it on the dresser, deliberately out of reach.

He’s making a point. He’s showing that he knows I don’t trust him. I want to cry, to scream that I do trust him. That I just fucked up.

Storm won’t believe me. Too many people have lied to him. I need to show him to earn his trust again.

But how can I, when Idon’ttrust them. None of their pretty words mean anything if I know they’re going to get rid of me when the game is over.

Conrad slides a finger along the line of my jaw and lower, to the hollow at my throat.

“You hid something from us,” he says. “You made choices without us, Princess. There’s a price for that betrayal, princess.”

I swallow. “I know.”

“Good.” His touch disappears. “Give me your hands.”

I lift them above me.

Atticus binds my wrists with a satin rope. The tie is snug but not cruel. The rope kisses my pulses, but doesn’t cut off circulation. There is something calming about the rope binding me. It’s like the choices are being taken. If they are not my choices to make, then I can’t make the wrong one.

My gaze flicks up from Atticus’s hand on the rope to where Conrad watches the knot slide into place with the intent stare of a man taking measure. Not of the rope, though—of me. He’s watching where I breathe. Where I flinch. How quickly trust returns.

That’s when I realize—this is not just a punishment for what I did. This is his test. It’s a line he’s pushing me over, proving that I’ll run.