Blair’s chest rose and fell too fast. Her palm burned. The whiskey sat in her stomach like broken glass.
"You’ll co with today. You’ll answer my father’s questions. And you’ll rember that everything you have cos from ."
"Or what?"
"Or you can explain to Monroe how you lost your academy position because you forgot who pays for it."
Misato considered this. Her finger traced the red mark on her cheek.
"I’ll co. But I won’t be your spy. I won’t sabotage my squad. And I sure as hell won’t apologize for winning."
"Then what good are you?"
"I’m good at keeping people alive. Sothing your precious squad has trouble with lately."
The crack in Blair’s composure opened wider.
"You want to know what I think?" Misato stepped closer. Close enough that Blair could see the gold flecks in her green eyes. "I think you’re terrified that Daddy’s going to make an example of Monroe. And I think you’re even more terrified of what happens if Monroe decides he’s tired of playing defense."
"He wouldn’t dare."
"Wouldn’t he? The kid who now has Vale covering for him?" Misato’s smile turned vicious. "What happens when he stops being nice, Blair?"
Images flashed through Blair’s mind. Monroe’s golden eyes eting hers across the combat arena. The way he’d looked at her during that pull-up demonstration. Hungry. Interested. Like she was prey he was considering hunting.
A shiver ran down her spine that had nothing to do with cold.
"Maybe Daddy should be asking different questions," Misato continued. "Like what happens if you keep pushing and Monroe decides to push back. What happens if you lose that little bet you made. What happens if you beco his for a sester."
"Like hell!" The words exploded from her throat before she could stop them. "That broke lottery loser? That nobody? I’d rather die than crawl for him!"
The declaration rang hollow even to her own ears. The protest ca too fast, too desperate, carrying all the defensive energy of soone trying to convince themselves more than their audience.
Because the images wouldn’t stop.
Monroe standing over her. Looking down at her with those amber eyes that had started seeing too much, understanding too well. Making her kneel because he could. Making her beg because it amused him. Putting her in sothing completely humiliating while he watched with that new confidence he wore like expensive cologne.
His hands on her throat. Just resting there. Not squeezing. Just a reminder that he could.
His voice in her ear. Low and private and saying things that would make her want to set him on fire if they didn’t make her stomach twist with sothing far more dangerous.
His weight pinning her down until the fight drained out of her completely and she couldn’t rember why she’d resisted in the first place.
Blair’s pulse kicked up several notches. Heat pooled low in her stomach. Insistent. Unwelco. Utterly refusing to be ignored no matter how hard she tried to smother it.
The ntal images ca faster now.
Sothing ridiculous. Sothing with ears. Stockings that would dig into her thighs just enough to make walking uncomfortable. Monroe watching her bend to pick up whatever he’d dropped on purpose, just so he could remind her who’d won their stupid bet. Just so he could see her struggle to maintain dignity while dressed like a fantasy pulled straight from so perverted corner of the internet.
His hands on her waist. Holding her still.
His voice in her ear, telling her exactly what he wanted. What she was going to give him whether she liked it or not.
Blair jerked her head to the side hard enough to make her neck crack. The sharp pain cleared her mind for exactly three seconds before the images tried to creep back in.
What the actual fuck was wrong with her brain?
"Why am I even thinking about that broke lottery loser?" The words ca out sharper than she’d intended. Defensive. Too loud. "He’s nothing. Less than nothing."
But the crack in her voice gave her away completely.
Misato’s expression said she’d heard it. Worse, she’d understood exactly what it ant. Those green eyes cut straight through Blair’s bullshit like it was written on glass in permanent marker.
"Are you coming or not?"
"I’m coming." Misato pushed off from the counter and headed for the door. "But Blair? When this blows up in your face, don’t expect to clean up the ss."
The door clicked shut behind her.
Blair stood alone in her perfect kitchen. Heart racing. Palms damp. Mind full of images that made her want to set sothing on fire.
She grabbed her purse and keys. The helicopter would be waiting. Her father would have questions. Sohow she was going to have to sit through lunch pretending she wasn’t falling apart at the seams.
The ride to the helipad passed in silence. Misato stared out the passenger window while Blair focused on getting her breathing under control. The car’s climate control couldn’t do anything about the uncomfortable heat under her skin.
Monroe’s fault. All of this. The lottery nobody who’d sohow crawled out of obscurity just to make her life exponentially more complicated than it needed to be.
Her phone buzzed against her thigh.
Landing in twenty. Don’t be late. Her father’s text. Terse as always.
Blair’s thumbs moved fast across the screen. On my way.
The helipad sat at the island’s northern tip. Clean concrete surrounded by safety barriers. Their pilot stood waiting beside the sleek corporate aircraft that would ferry them to San Francisco.
"Miss Davenport." He touched the brim of his cap. "Ready for departure?"
"We’re ready."
The flight would take forty minutes. Forty minutes of sitting across from Misato while pretending nothing was wrong. Forty minutes of absolutely not thinking about Monroe’s hands or his voice or the way he’d moved through those pull-ups like gravity didn’t apply to him anymore.
The helicopter’s rotors began their familiar whine. Blair strapped herself into the leather seat and closed her eyes.
She was Blair Davenport. Elite Ten Rank Two. Heir to a hunter dynasty. Platinum-tier ability user. She did not think about lottery nobody perverts who probably spent their free ti fantasizing about making her wear cat ears and thigh-highs.
The aircraft lifted smoothly into the California sky. San Francisco spread out below them, all glass and steel and traffic patterns that looked like circuit boards from this height.
Her father was waiting at the other end of this flight.
Blair’s stomach twisted.
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