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With a sputter of frustration, they turned and marched back up the stairs. We watched them vanish through the doors. Rafael had tucked his gun away, but we didn’t budge from our current position, guarding the woman we were crazy about while she flew on across the ice.
I turned to watch just as she and Jasper whirled through their final sequence. They struck their ending pose, and the crowd erupted into applause and cheers. A smile crossed my face, hard but genuine.
They were getting everything they deserved. And I’d put my life on the line as many times as it took to make sure that continued to be true.
TWENTY-EIGHT
Luciana
The pairbefore us whipped into motion with the start of their free skate song, launching immediately into a sequence of swift and intricate footwork that took my breath away. And I didn’t have a whole lot to spare.
Beside me by the boards, Jasper bumped his arm lightly against mine. “Those two know how to make a dramatic start, huh?”
“No kidding.”
I swallowed thickly, willing down my nerves and trying to shoo the worries from my mind. We were third after yesterday’s short program, a fact that should have overjoyed me, considering our free skate was where we normally shone the most.
Ithadmade me rejoice yesterday. But after we’d arrived at the arena this morning, my stomach had gotten more and more twisted up with uncertainty.
My doubts hadn’t been provoked only by the competition, although that was definitely tight. We were up against the best skaters in the country, some of whom had been competing for over a decade when this was only my first year. Only three pairs would be selected to compete for the United States on an international level, and while Nationals played a large part in that decision, it wasn’t the only factor taken into consideration.
A bronze medal here wouldn’t be a guarantee. If we could nab the silver or even the gold, then we’d be pretty much set. But that depended on us nailing every single move in the routine and nuance in our performance.
We’d done it before. I knew we could do it again. That definitely wasn’t the only problem.
The pair on the ice pulled off a spectacular twist lift. Jasper gave my ponytail a light tug, careful not to shift the sparkly barrettes and carefully coiled ribbons that matched our costumes and kept all the strands neatly in place. “Are you ready to kill it, Punk?”
I shot him a grin, hoping he couldn’t tell how tight it was. “You know it.”
But with my head turned, my gaze slid past him over the massive audience around us. My eyes caught on trim blazers over collared shirts, elegant jackets over silky blouses.
These were the kinds of people who bought tickets to watch the National Championships. Sure, there were folks in sweats or chunky down vests in the crowd, but to afford the tickets, chances were they’d picked those outfits for comfort, not because it was all they owned.
I was surrounded by so many polished yuppies who could never have imagined the kind of life I’d led. Who had no concept that empires like my mother’s even existed.
How had I convinced myself that I belonged here?
How would all those awed faces fall if they found out I’d killed people? How would they look at me if they’d known I had a gun in my equipment bag right now? That I’d shot a man right on a skating rink just weeks ago?
No matter what costume I wore or what makeup I painted my face with, I was tarnished underneath that mask. I wasn’t the kind of skater they wanted to support. I’d just tricked them into thinking I was.
My ribs seemed to constrict around my lungs. When I tried to drink in a deep breath of the cool arena air, my chest ached.
The warble of the announcer’s voice stirred me out of my uneasy reverie, but I didn’t catch what he actually said.
Niko had come up next to us. He set his hand on my shoulder. “You two can beat that score—you have before.”
Had we? I hadn’t even heard what it was. But then, it wasn’t how anyone else did that really mattered. It came down to our own performance.
The voice boomed from the speakers again, announcing our names. Jasper tipped his head toward the ice. “Let’s show them what we can do.”
What we could do. The thought spiraled out through my mind as I followed him to the center of the rink on autopilot.
I could shoot an attacker before they shot me. I could carve open a man’s skin to leave my mark.
I could bruise up a literal kid trying to torture him into coughing up answers he didn’t have.
The memory of the teen cringing and whimpering flashed through my mind, bringing a surge of queasiness with it. My lungs clenched even more—and my jaw tightened with a jolt of the same defiance I’d felt when faced with that scene in reality.
