Page 75 of Trust

I smirk at the nickname and take my stance.

“Remember, slow is smooth, smooth is fast.”

Then I’m in it. Every knife lands with a crisp, perfect thunk, speaking of control. Metal on wood becomes music. Cash hypes me up with every throw, and I soak it in. For once, I’m not just trying to be good. I am good. I know it down to my bones. No one can take this from me. Not today.

“Damn,” Cash says when I finish the course with two misses and exactly sixty seconds. “Now you’re showing off.”

“Piece of cake,” I say, laughter laced with provocation.

He glances at Chris, who leans on the porch railing, arms crossed, observing me with that same strange look he did this morning. They trade a glance lasting a beat too long, and it breaks the vibe.

Cash gives me a thin smile. “All right then. No knives or targets. Only you and us.”

I blink, confused. “What do you mean?”

“You trust me?” he asks.

I want to say yes, but we both know that would be a lie. “Not really,” I mutter.

“Good.”

Then everything changes.

His face barely moves. The smile lingers, but the light behind it dies. Warmth drains from his voice, replaced by a more calculated tone. The air tightens around us, dense with a tension I don’t yet understand. “Time to get real.”

I freeze. Instinct flares before thought can catch up.

He moves faster than someone his size should be capable of, and suddenly he’s behind me, arms closing around my chest. The hold mirrors yesterday’s position, but this time, there’s no blade against my neck. My arms are pinned against my sides. One of his hands locks around my throat, making it hard to breathe. The other presses into my ribs, pulling me against him. I can feel his heartbeat. It’s slow, almost calm, a stark contrast to mine.

Panic punches through my chest like a flare lit beneath my ribs. It burns bright and brutal, taking me back to how I felt right before I was pushed into Chris’s van. I jerk against him, muscles screaming for escape, but he’s so much stronger. I twist my torso, trying to slip from his grip. His hold tightens. I shove with my shoulder, kick at his shin, but he doesn’t budge.

The more I thrash, the more trapped I become.

“Let me go,” I gasp.

He does not.

Chris steps into view, a fresh wave of terror hitting me as he paces around us. His eyes are cold when he speaks. “Anger kills. Frustration blinds. Impulse ends you. Act before you assess, and you’re already behind. You lose before the fight begins.”

I’m unable to process his words. My palms go slick. My legs turn to jelly. Behind me, a van door slams, or does it? I can’t tell. My nails find the fleshy part of my palms and scratch, desperate to ground myself. It doesn’t help. My heart pounds louder than their voices. I’m not here. I’m back in that van with the floor vibrating and no way out.

I keep thrashing. My feet dig into the wet grass. I try to elbow him. I want to scream and punch and get away.

How stupid was I to trust them? They’re killers. Is this it? Are they ending me?

With each move, Cash intensifies his hold. He doesn’t speak.

Chris keeps circling.

“You panic, you lose. You react without thinking, you die.” There’s an edge in his tone now, a roughness that makes every syllable hit harder.

You die!

I shake my head, jaw clenched, trying to shut out his voice. My heart thunders. They’re killers, what did you expect? They made me forget. They got to me. And I let them. I’ve been foolish, so foolish. The game’s over, and now they’re going to kill me.

“Stay in it. Own your body. Command the air flowing through you.” His words cut through my garbled thoughts.

For the first time, I hear my own breath. It’s hollow and ragged, utterly useless.