Page 29 of Godless Saints

Declan spat blood into the towel bin. The rest of Thorn suddenly remembered how to behave.

Misha opened his mouth. I grabbed the back of his shirt and hauled him toward the locker corridor before he could make it worse.

“Oi.” He stumbled after me, laughing. “Rude.”

I shoved him through the doorway and let it swing shut.

The locker room smelled like men, sweat, blood, and testosterone thick enough to taste. Someone had done a piss-poor job rinsing the floor.

Misha opened his mouth before the door even swung shut.

I cut him off. “Don’t.”

His grin froze.

I had put my fist in Declan’s face like a first-year idiot the second he said Moon’s name. No thought. No strategy. Just pure reaction. Five Favor already gone. Aleksei would hear about it before dinner. That was the fucking problem.

Misha leaned back against the lockers. “You’re mad at yourself.”

“I said don’t.” I ripped the tape off my knuckles until it tore into the split skin. Blood welled fresh. Pain was good. Because every time I thought about Moon correcting me, my cock twitched like the desperate fucking dog he’d made me.

He lifted both hands in mock surrender.

“He can’t be trusted,” I said.

“He’s Thorn.”

“This whole fucking Court is mafia sons, cartel heirs, fight dogs, and rich boys with knives. Since when do we trust each other?”

Misha considered that.

“I trust you.”

My attention settled on him.

He made a face. “Don’t look so touched. It’s embarrassing.”

“I’m not touched.”

“Good. Because I asked around.”

My jaw tightened.

“About what?”

“Your prince.”

“Misha.”

“What? You’re my best friend. I’m allowed to keep you from walking dick-first into a trap.”

“I’m your best friend?”

He punched my arm. “Shut up.”

I almost smiled.

“Moon studies in the east reading gallery most nights,” he said. “Seven-thirty to nine.”