Page 63 of Rogue Riders Duet

“Okay,” I say finally, hesitantly, my voice rougher than I meant it to be. My gaze drops to the mats beneath us, and my fingers twitch uselessly. I don’t know what to do with them. I don’t know what to do with any of this.

The rubber soles of Mini Crews’s shoes whisper against the mat as he fidgets. Then, quietly, he asks, “Why don’t you tell them?”

My head lifts. “Tell who what?”

“That you didn’t do it.” His voice is soft but steady now, like he’s made up his mind to ask this. “Why do you let Delacroix and the others talk shit like that?”

I stare at him. No one’s ever asked me that before. Not straight out to my face, not like this. I open my mouth, then close it again.

Not knowing how else to respond, I ask, “Why do you think I should?”

“Because it’s not fair how they treat you,” he says, like it’s that simple.

“Why does it matter?”

“Because you didn’t do it.”

I huff a sound that might be a laugh but feels more like a cough. “Who says that?”

“I say it,” he fires back, and it’s sharp in that nasally voice of his. “And you should too. Why don’t you? Why don’t you tell them to fuck off and that what they say isn’t true?”

“Because I believe in believing victims.” My gaze finds the mat again. My hands are fists now, clenched at my sides, not from anger but something heavier.

Nobody understands. But how could they?

Whenever I try to defend myself, it feels like I’m betraying that belief.

And it wouldn’t matter anyway. She wrecked my life with a single sentence. No proof, no charges. Just her word. And in a world that rightly believes victims, that was enough. The only way this stain will come off will be if she stands up and says she made it all up, and I know that’s never going to happen.

“And what if I believe you’re the victim in this case?”

Fuck.

My throat burns at his words, and my eyes sting. I clench my jaw, hard, like that’ll stop it, and I can bite the emotion back into place. I shouldn’t feel like this, not because of him or anyone. I’ve held it together this long, I’ve survived the stares, the silence, the suspicion. I’m supposed to take the hits and keep going, not fall apart because one guy looked at me like I’m not the villain.

I can’t handle this anymore.

“Don’t,” I say, but it’s barely audible.

Mini Crews tilts his head. “What?”

“Don’t say that. Don’t look at me like that. I don’t need pity. I don’t need you standing up for me like I’m some wounded dog that can’t fight his own battles.”

His eyes widen, lips parting in preparation to speak, but I keep going. Louder. Maybe if I shout loud enough, it’ll drown out everything else.

“I don’t need you to take my side, do you understand? Didn’t bloody ask for that. I didn’t ask you to get between me and Delacroix, and I sure as hell didn’t ask you to look at me like I’m something broken that needs fixing. I don’t need this.”

My chest heaves as I grit out, “I need nobody.”

The silence that follows isn’t long, but it’s thick.

Mini Crews shifts his weight. “Good thing I am a nobody, then.”

That little shit.

The balls on him.

I spin on my heel and bolt.