Page 18 of Lone Wolf (Red Rivals)

CHAPTER 18

Ariadne

The rhythmic thud of my fists against the heavy bag echoes through the empty gym. Left, right, left—each impact sends a satisfying jolt up my arms. Sweat trickles down my spine, soaking the back of my sports bra. My muscles burn, but I push harder. Physical pain has always been easier to process than the emotional kind.

Especially the kind of emotions Sunny Santiago has stirred up in me.

Sex was just another weapon in Grandmother’s arsenal, another way to control and manipulate. A skill to be mastered, like knife work or hand-to-hand combat. Clinical. Calculated.

With Sunny, it’s anything but. And it’s not just a physical thing, either. With her, I feel everything . The gentleness of her touch. The fire in her eyes. The way she gasps and pants…

And I keep thinking I’ll ruin it, say the wrong thing or let my darkness seep out and poison what little light she’s managed to coax into my life. I’ve never had anything worth keeping before. I don’t know how to hold something without breaking it.

But Sunny doesn’t seem to mind. She’s taking me in stride, even kissing me in full view just before at breakfast.

I wish I could have her approach to life, because this first session of group therapy is fast approaching. My punishment, Hadria called it.

And she wasn’t wrong. It will feel like punishment.

I deliver a vicious kick to the bag, making it swing wildly on its chain. Pain shoots through my ankle—I’ve been at this too long, pushing too hard. But I can’t stop. If I stop, I’ll have to think, and thinking only leads to?—

The hairs on the back of my neck rise. Someone’s watching me.

I don’t need to turn around to know who it is. Her presence has a weight to it, an energy I’ve been attuned to since our days in Grandmother’s house.

“Scarlett,” I say, steadying the bag and turning to face the doorway.

Scarlett leans against the frame, arms crossed over her chest. Her hazel eyes track my movements with the assessment of a fellow predator. “Mind if I come in?” she asks, though she’s already stepping into the gym.

I shrug, reaching for my water bottle. But I don’t relax my stance. Old habits die hard, and I’m not stupid enough to forget about the time she nearly beat me to death. My ribs remember, even if we’re supposed to be on the same side now.

And we’re alone in the room. “What do you want?” I ask, taking a swig of water.

Scarlett gestures to the bench at the side. “To talk.”

“We’ll be talking plenty soon enough.”

“Please,” she says firmly.

I hesitate, then follow her to the bench. We sit with enough space between us for another person to fit—a neutral zone. Up close, I can see the changes in her. The wild rage that once consumed her has been tamed, channeled into something more controlled. More dangerous, perhaps.

I wonder if she sees changes in me too.

“So,” I say when the silence stretches too long. “Talk.”

Scarlett meets my gaze directly. “I’m hoping group therapy might actually work.”

“In what sense?”

Scarlett takes a breath. “Healing. For both of us.”

A memory flashes—a young man with Scarlett’s eyes, pleading. The wet sound his body made when my knife sank in. The way his blood felt, sticky and warm on my hands.

“You think therapy will make it all better?” I keep my voice neutral, though my heart pounds against my ribs like it wants to escape.

“I think nothing will make it all better,” Scarlett says quietly. “My brother is gone. You took him from me.” Her words are factual, not accusatory, which somehow makes them worse. “But we’re still here. And I’ve done terrible things since then. I nearly killed you with my bare hands. But we both have to live with what we’ve done—and I’m tired of carrying all these heavy memories between us.”

I look away, unable to hold her gaze. For years, Adam Fletcher had been nothing more than a mission to me. A name crossed off a list. I’d never allowed myself to think of him as someone’s brother, someone’s everything. The shame of it burns in my gut.

“But what about Katy?” I ask, desperate to change the subject. “You really think she can change?”

“I think if you and I can change, anyone can,” she says. “And in Katy, I see someone capable of more than what Grandmother made her. I have to. The violence and hatred has to stop,” Scarlett says softly. “Or it will just go round and round, endless and pointless.”

I swallow, finding my throat unexpectedly tight. “And you really think Dr. Khatri and her fucking therapy circle is going to accomplish that?”

“I think it’s a start.” Scarlett shifts on the bench, turning more fully toward me. “Look, I didn’t come here to reopen old wounds. I just wanted you to understand that the therapy wasn’t actually Hadria’s idea. It was mine. My hope for moving forward. It’s my hope for Katy, too. And besides, Lyssa thinks she might actually be useful, if she can get past it.”

“Whatever. I mean, I have to be there, right?” But it’s not a dismissal. It’s acceptance.

We sit in silence for a moment. “It was the way you look at Santiago that made us realize things were turning around for you,” Scarlett says finally.

I stiffen. “What the hell does that mean?”

Scarlett gives a half-smile. “You broke protocol to train her. You covered for her after the warehouse incident. And then…we saw the way you looked at her in that meeting.”

Heat flushes my cheeks. “I was protecting a promising recruit.”

“Is that what we’re calling it?” Scarlett’s tone is teasing, but her eyes are serious. “It’s a good thing, you know. The ability to form bonds, to care about someone besides yourself. It’s one of the reasons Hadria agreed to the group therapy suggestion.” Scarlett’s expression softens slightly. “Whatever’s between you and Sunny is your business. But for what it’s worth…I hope you don’t push her away out of fear.”

“Fear?” I echo, an edge creeping into my voice.

“Fear that you don’t deserve happiness. Fear that everything you touch turns to ash.” Scarlett’s gaze is knowing, too knowing. “I lived in that fear for a very long time.”

I think of Sunny—her relentless optimism, her determination to see the good in everything. The way she looks at me like I’m something more than I see in myself. “It’s complicated,” I say at last.

Scarlett actually laughs at that. “You’re telling me. Try falling for the woman who saved your life after you tried to kill each other—multiple times. Now that’s complicated.”

I can’t help the small smile that tugs at my lips. “You and Lyssa do have a unique relationship.”

“That’s one word for it.” Scarlett’s expression grows serious again. “I won’t pretend it’s been easy here for me. Some days the past is so heavy I can barely breathe. But I’ve learned there can be joy in between the hard moments. Pride in becoming something more than what was done to us.”

Her words stir something in me—not hope, exactly, but perhaps a distant relation to it.

“I’m not sure I know how to be anything else,” I admit quietly.

“Neither did I, at first,” Scarlett says. “But you’ll figure it out, one day at a time. Sometimes one minute at a time.” She stands, signaling the end of our conversation. “Just…think about it, okay? About giving the therapy a real chance.”

I nod, not trusting myself to speak.

Scarlett hesitates at the door. “For what it’s worth, I am sorry. For what I did to you that day at Grandmother’s house.”

“I’m sorry too,” I say, the words foreign on my tongue. “For Adam.”

She nods, a complicated mix of emotions crossing her face as she looks down for a moment, then up again. “I’ll see you in therapy, then.”

I watch her leave, still marveling at the transformation. This calm, measured woman bears little resemblance to the fury-driven wreck who showed up at Grandmother’s doorstep, hell-bent on vengeance. It’s hard to believe we’re the same people who once circled each other like wolves, waiting for the kill.

If she can change so dramatically…

Maybe I can, too.

I return to the heavy bag, but my rhythm is way off. My thoughts keep drifting to Sunny—her laughing eyes, the warmth of her skin, the way she sees through all my defenses like they’re made of glass. I’ve been so confused, so worried that I’ll only bring her pain in the end. But what if Scarlett is right? And what if Sunny is, too?

What if there’s something other than just darkness inside me?

I deliver one final punch to the bag, my decision crystallizing with the impact. I don’t know if I’m capable of the kind of transformation Scarlett has undergone. I don’t know if I deserve the way Sunny looks at me. But I want to find out.

The ghosts of my past aren’t going anywhere. It’s time I stopped letting them decide my future. I’ll do this group therapy, really do it. Open the fuck up. And then…

Then we’ll see what happens.

I stand in the grounds of Elysium, my body tense as I watch Dr. Khatri arrange four chairs in a small circle beneath the shade of a towering elm. The therapy session hasn’t even started yet, and I’m already thinking about escape routes.

“This is ridiculous,” I mutter.

Scarlett, who arrived moments before me, crosses her arms. “Outdoor therapy is actually backed by scientific research. Something about nature reducing stress hormones. I agreed with Dr. Khatri that it might help.”

“I’m sure it works wonders for suburban housewives with anxiety,” I snap. “Less effective for brainwashed assassins.”

Scarlett’s mouth quirks up slightly. “I guess we’ll find out. We figured Katy doesn’t have much more chance of escaping from the grounds than she does from her cell. Not with the two of us right here—not to mention the rest of the Syndicate.”

She has a point. “And Khatri?” I ask skeptically. “If she grabs her?—”

Dr. Khatri, who has apparently been eavesdropping, looks up with a smile. “I am well versed in self-defense, Sarah. In fact, I was trained in it by Lyssa herself.”

“It’s Ariadne,” I say automatically, and then I hesitate. Is it? Am I still Ariadne? “I guess Sarah is also fine,” I add grudgingly.

Dr. Khatri just nods. “Well, now we’re just waiting for—ah, here she is.”

Two guards escort Katy across the lawn, each holding one of her arms. She’s not restrained, another seeming concession to the “healing environment.” Katy’s face is blank, her movements mechanical, but her eyes are alert, constantly scanning.

I recognize that look. I’ve worn it myself.

Scarlett is looking alert, too.

Katy is sat in the chair next to Dr. Khatri. Scarlett takes the seat opposite Katy, which leaves me directly across from the therapist. Just perfect.

“Before we begin,” Dr. Khatri says, “I want to thank you all for agreeing to this session. I know it wasn’t entirely voluntary—” a wry smile touches her lips “—but I believe we can make real progress together.”

Katy stares at a point just past Dr. Khatri’s shoulder. “Is this where we hold hands and sing kumbaya?” Her voice is flat, empty of even the sarcasm her words suggest.

“That comes later,” Scarlett says dryly. “After the trust falls.”

I have to fight the urge to snort, but something about the exchange loosens a knot in my chest. This isn’t just me against Dr. Khatri anymore. We’re all in this discomfort together.

“We’ll start simply,” Dr. Khatri says. “I’d like each of you to share one memory of your time with Grandmother. It doesn’t have to be significant or traumatic—just something that comes to mind.”

Silence falls over our small circle. A light breeze rustles the garden’s night-blooming flowers, carrying their sweet scent. In the distance, I can hear the faint sounds of training from the outdoor course.

“I’ll go first,” Scarlett says suddenly. “When I first arrived at Grandmother’s house, she gave me a room that was...nice. Clean sheets, a window, even books on a shelf. I thought maybe I’d be safe there.” Her voice hardens. “The next morning, she took it all away. Said I hadn’t earned comfort yet.”

Dr. Khatri nods. “Thank you for sharing, Scarlett. Katy?”

Katy’s eyes drift to me, then back to some middle distance. “She used to test us on languages at breakfast,” she says finally. “If you got a word wrong, you didn’t eat that day.”

Another memory surfaces: standing at attention beside the breakfast table, stomach clenching with hunger, watching others eat while Grandmother sipped her tea and observed us like specimens.

“Sarah?” Dr. Khatri prompts gently.

“My bedroom,” I say before I can stop myself. “She let me have anything I asked for, once I’d proved myself. But I couldn’t bear to think about my bedroom at home. So I asked for everything to be pink. Pink and…girly. Even though that’s—that’s not me. It’s not who I am.”

Dr. Khatri opens her mouth to respond, but movement at the edge of the garden catches my attention. My mother approaches, carrying a tray with plastic cups of water.

“I’m sorry to interrupt, but the kitchen only just received the request for water to be brought out,” she says, her voice gentle.

My jaw tightens, suspicious at once. Of course she would insert herself into this. Of course she would find a way to remind me of our connection, to force her way into my life.

“Thank you, Mrs. Graves,” Dr. Khatri says. “That’s very thoughtful—and I’m sorry my request was so late.”

My mother just nods, and sets the tray on a small table beside our circle. But then her eyes find mine, hopeful, tentative. It’s the same look she always has—like she’s waiting for me to suddenly transform back into the daughter she lost.

But in that moment, something shifts. I see not just the irritating woman who won’t leave me alone, but someone who has been waiting for me to come home for years. Someone who never stopped looking, never stopped hoping. Someone who loved me enough to keep a teddy bear for a daughter who might never want it again.

And if I want to heal, to truly move forward, I need to stop pushing her away. She’s not just a reminder of what I lost—she’s a bridge to what I could be.

“Thank you,” I say softly, taking one of the cups.

My mother gives me her usual warm smile, and for once I smile back.

But Katy is looking between my mother and me with dawning understanding. Before I can speak, before I can take even the smallest movement, she pounces.

It happens in a blur. One moment she’s seated, the next she’s behind my mother, strong fingers encircling her throat. My mother’s eyes widen in shock and fear.

“Nobody move,” Katy says, her voice suddenly clear and cold. Gone is the listless prisoner; in her place stands Grandmother’s perfect creation. “Or I snap her neck.”

Dr. Khatri freezes, clipboard slipping from her fingers. Scarlett and I are both on our feet, bodies tense, eyes locked on Katy.

“What are you doing?” Scarlett asks, her voice carefully controlled.

“Getting out of here,” Katy replies. “You and Ariadne are going to escort me to the garage. You’re going to give me a motorcycle. Then you’re going to let me ride out of here.” Her fingers tighten slightly, making my mother gasp. “Or this bitch dies.”

I keep my face blank, my breathing even. I could reach her in two seconds. Scarlett would move at the same time. But Katy’s hands are positioned perfectly—one quick twist and my mother’s neck would break before either of us could stop her.

“Let her go,” Scarlett says. “Take one of us instead.”

Katy’s laugh is hollow. “How noble. But no. She’s perfect leverage—and I can see how much you all care about her. Now back up,” Katy snaps. “Both of you.”

Scarlett and I look at each other. And then her face hardens, and I feel mine do the same.

My mother’s eyes find mine, her face pale but surprisingly calm. There’s something in her gaze I’ve never seen before—or perhaps never allowed myself to see. Not just love, but strength. Trust.

“It’s alright, Sarah,” she whispers, and I realize she’s speaking to me. Even now, with death’s fingers around her throat, she’s trying to comfort me.

And suddenly, with perfect clarity, I know what I have to do.