Page 21 of Silver Elite

Cross strides toward Ford with an easy grace. He exchanges a few words with the lieutenant, who chuckles and shoves Cross good-naturedly.

“He and Xav have been best friends since childhood,” Roe says, bringing his mouth to my ear.

I shiver at his nearness. He’s only eighteen years old, yet everything about him makes me uneasy.

“Watch how little that means to him.”

I move a few steps to the side, hoping Roe will take the hint. He doesn’t. He sticks close, clearly enjoying my discomfort.

My attention returns to the sand, my throat running dry as my captain and my lieutenant strip their shirts off. Fabric is tossed aside to reveal two bare chests. Sinew and muscle.

The men square off in the center of the pit. It starts almost like a tease. Their movements are fluid and practiced as they circle each other. Ford is grinning. Cross licks his lips. The air thickens with tension. Anticipation hangs heavy over the makeshift arena. Even the volume of the music seems to lower.

I hear Lyddie gasp when they suddenly launch at each other.

Holy hellfuck.

The ferocity takes my breath away. They’re lightning-fast, trading blows with a savage intensity that borders on brutality.

I can’t tear my eyes off him. He’s ruthless. Unforgiving. Each blow is precise, delivering the damage he intends. He’s the first to draw blood, cutting Ford’s lip open and sending a red stream trickling down his chest. The lieutenant retaliates with a jab that has Cross’s head rearing back, and while Cross is regaining his balance, Ford slams a knee into his abdomen with such force, I fear for his kidneys.

“This is savage,” Betima breathes. She sounds impressed.

The fight rages on. The crowd’s yells mingle with the frenetic bass line and the sounds of grunts and labored breaths coming from the sand. Each blow lands with bone-crushing force and sends shock waves of sensation coursing through me, igniting a fire that burns hot and fierce in my core.

I. Cannot. Look. Away.

I try to push the thoughts from my mind, but it’s no use. The sight of Cross, his muscles rippling with exertion, his features twisted mercilessly, stirs something primal within me.

Hunger.

I hate both him and myself for it.

I gulp, my cheeks flushing, heart pounding with a rhythm that matches the violent tempo of the fight. It’s vicious. I’ve never seen anything like this. Cross slams the other man’s face into the sand. Ford curls over on his side, spitting out dirt and blood. Cross pounces, straddling the lieutenant, and lands a final blow to the roar of the crowd, so loud it seems to rock the entire building. Finally, he rolls off his friend and lies flat on the sand, breathing hard.

And then they start to laugh.

Ford kicks it off, wheezing out laughs as he scrubs a palm over his bloody face. Cross rests his knuckles on his forehead as his own body shakes with laughter. Then he gets to his feet and extends a hand. He helps Ford up, and just like that they’re back to being best friends.

But I saw it. What Roe was trying to tell me before. Watch how little that means to him. Despite the levity at the end, there were moments during the fight when I knew, without a doubt, that Cross Redden is fully capable of killing his childhood friend.

Easily.

Without remorse.

I bite my lip as I watch him leave the pit.

Roe leans in again. “I’m sure he’ll screw you if you ask.”

“Shut up,” I mutter. I twist away from him and find Kaine watching us.

“Little general bothering you?” Kaine asks.

It’s what we’ve taken to calling Roe behind his back. I’m not the only one who’s noticed his sense of entitlement. His unwarranted belief that he’s in charge somehow, when in truth, he’s just a teenage punk whose older brothers have a higher rank and their father’s last name.

“Just being himself,” I tell Kaine, who slings his arm around me.

“Come on, you have to hear this. Lash almost ran away to a Faithful camp when he was a kid.”

I let him lead me toward Lash, because it sounds like a good story.

The fights last for hours. Match after match. Bloody nose after bloody nose. Lux credits transferring from account to account. Eventually I slip away to find a lav and use the toilet. I stare at myself in the mirror, at the gloss on my lips and the thick mascara coating my lashes. I feel like myself again, and at the same time, like a stranger is peering back at me.

I return to the pit, throwing some elbows as I attempt to push my way back to my group. I’ve just caught a glimpse of Kaine’s blond head when Cross intercepts my path.

We study each other for a moment. I swallow hard, trying to school my features into a mask of indifference.

“Dove,” he says in greeting.

“Captain.” I pause. “Nice fight. I think you could’ve gone harder on him, though.”

His eyes glint with amusement as he leans against the pillar behind him. A faint smirk plays at the corners of his lips before his expression darkens.

“What was my brother talking to you about?”

Blood seeps from his left temple, and he uses his shirt to mop it up. He doesn’t seem to notice or care that the white fabric is stained crimson.

“He thinks I’m on for you,” I say with a shrug. “Little does he know, I don’t screw assholes.”

“Of course,” Cross agrees. The smirk returns. “Just meek, insipid soldiers from Copper.”

“Jordan wasn’t meek.” Now I’m the amused one. “At least not in bed.”

“I highly doubt that.”

“You seem mighty interested in what kind of lover he is.” When he doesn’t answer, I take a step away. “If you’ll excuse me…”

He grabs my hand before I can go. My breath catches despite my best efforts to appear unaffected.

“Wren,” Betima calls, and relief floods through me at the interruption.

Without another word, I sidestep Cross and rejoin my friends. But I can’t concentrate on what they’re saying. Or on the whiskey Betima passes me, or the next match that’s beginning on the sand.

“I think I’m going to head back to the barracks,” I tell the group.

Disappointment clouds Lyddie’s eyes. They’re glazed from the alcohol, and her cheeks are bright red. “Oh. All right. I guess we can—”

“No, you guys stay. I’ll be fine walking back on my own.”

“Are you sure?”

“Positive.”

“Okay.” She throws her arms around me in a tight hug. “I’m so glad you came!”

I nod. “See you tomorrow.”

Bidding the others goodbye, I push my way through the crowd. I’m halfway to the door when the hairs on the nape of my neck tingle and rise.

I get the sense I’m being followed, but when I glance over my shoulder, all I see are soldiers laughing, chatting, and drinking. I quicken my pace to the exit, seeking solace in the deserted corridor.

I don’t hear footsteps other than my own. I don’t glimpse movement other than the shadows I’m casting myself. But the sensation that I’m not alone refuses to ebb.

And so I’m not entirely surprised when he grabs me.

I barely have time to blink before I’m pushed deeper into the shadows and suddenly there’s cold concrete against the bare flesh at the small of my back. I know who it is. Even in the darkness, I recognize Cross’s woodsy scent and broad shoulders. A large hand splays across my stomach, pressing me to the pillar. His other arm is above my head, palm flat against the stone.

It’s too dark to read his expression, but I feel his eyes boring into me. His lips are millimeters away. For a moment, silence ripples between us, the air thick with tension.

I swallow through the lump in my throat.

“What did I tell you about touching me without permission?” It’s intended to be a taunt. But we both hear my voice shake.

“It was just to steady you.” He gives a deliberate stroke to my stomach before removing his hand. Then he leans close to my ear. His voice is velvet dipped in honey. “Tell me to put my hand back.”

My breath is stuck in my throat. “You’re drunk,” I tell him.

“Maybe a little.”

I choke down a laugh. “Is this what you do when you drink? You trap your recruits in the dark?”

“I’ve never even looked at a recruit before.”

Before you. Is that what he’s implying?

“I must be special.”

He doesn’t answer.

I could move. He’s no longer restraining me. Yes, his hand still rests on the pillar. Yes, his tall frame is still inches from me, so close I can feel his body heat.

But I could move.

“I can’t make sense of you, Dove.”

“It’s not your job to.”

“Actually, it is.”

Cross peers down at me. My eyes are adjusting to the darkness. I glimpse the shadowy planes of his face. The perfectly shaped lips. When I inhale, the scent of pine and spice fills my nostrils, along with the sharp smell of blood, a reminder that only minutes ago he was slamming his fists into another man’s face.

He’s silent for so long that I can’t help but mutter, “What is it?”

“Any other woman would have asked me to kiss her. We’d already be heading back to my quarters.”

My core clenches. Tempting. It’s so tempting, my mouth runs dry.

Despite my better judgment, I reach up and touch him. “Is that what you want me to do? Ask you to take me back to your quarters?”

His breath hisses as my fingers trace the line of his jaw. God, that’s a strong jaw.

“Because I can assure you, that’s not going to happen. I’m not interested, Captain.”

I see his lips curve before he leans in again. His breath tickles my ear. “Stop lying.”

I open my mouth to protest, but the words get caught in my throat, choked off by the raw intensity radiating from him. There’s no denying the pull between us.

Somehow, I manage to find it—control. Restraint. The strength to conquer the weakness that seems to grip me in his presence.

I square my shoulders. “You’re drunk. Go find somebody else to bother tonight.”

A mumbled curse escapes his lips. After a long beat, he steps aside and lets me walk away.