Page 50 of Property of Scar

Another silence. Long enough that I think it might stay that way.

“I’m totally telling Raze,” Rhett chuckles.

“Rhett,” I drone.

“I’m definitely telling Raze you were on your knees,” Bennett adds.

A small grin crosses my lips. “Keep talking, and I’ll have Coil lace your next meal with his venom. Let’s see how far you get after that.”

“You wouldn’t!”

My red eyes glare at him in the rearview mirror. “Try me.”

“Fine… I won’t say a word,” Bennett says, still not looking up. “On the condition that you admit I was useful tonight.”

I let the silence sit.

He held the line, burned everything he had to hold it, and never wavered or complained.

“You held the line, both of you did,” I say.

Bennett leans back in his chair without saying another word, but I still catch the tiny shift in him. Small enough that most people would miss it. That quiet little satisfaction of somebody who got acknowledged and isn’t going to ruin the moment by making a big deal out of it.

“That’s the nicest thing he’s ever said to either of us,” Rhett chimes.

“Savor it,” I say. “It won’t happen again.”

“Yeah.” Rhett leans back against the window, and the grin returns, slower than usual and more real for it. “But it happened.”

I focus on the road.

Fucking-cocky-prospects!

Chapter Thirteen

CALYPSO

The Next Day

The clubhouse gym feels stripped raw in a way the rest of the building never does. Rubber mats scarred from years of boots grinding into them. Heavy bags swaying faintly in the breeze. The constant hum of the exhaust fan, fighting a losing battle against the heat hanging in the air.

I like it down here.

No politics or posturing. No careful conversations where every word needs careful consideration before you let it out.

Just iron, pain, and brute effort.

The bar digs across my shoulders while I drive out of the squat, my legs burning hard enough to shake by the time I lock it out. I rack the weight with a heavy metallic sound and step back from it, dragging air through my lungs while sweat slides down my spine.

I’ve been down here for forty minutes.

My hair is tied back in the usual tight braids, vest dumped across the bench near the door nearly an hour ago. Just a sports bra, training shorts, sweat slick across my skin, and the solid burn of muscles doing exactly what they were built to do.

Everything feels simpler down here. It’s the kind of focus that strips the noise out of my head and leaves nothing behind except movement and control. I roll my shoulders once, working the tension out of the lift, then step over to the pull-up bar.

The door opens behind me, and I don’t look.

I know who it is before he crosses the threshold. I’ve learned the silence that follows him, the way it moves with him, like sound itself gives him clearance. Scar doesn’t ask if the space is available. He comes in, sets his cut on the hook beside my vest, and moves to the free weights in the corner, as if this had already been arranged, and I simply wasn’t notified.