Page 8 of Dominate

The thought arrives whole, with no room for argument. My skin prickles from scalp to boots. If the floor opened up, I’d gladly fall through.

“That’s enough, gentlemen,” the moderator says, and a hand lands on my chest.

Then more hands. Officials wedge between us. A gray blazer blocks my line of sight, another hauls at Zane’s shoulder, and the space between us collapses into noise. Reporters shout over the barricade. Flashes burst like gunfire.

“Genuine bad blood!” someone yells. “Did you see that? That was the best staredown in years!”

“Get the shot, get the shot⁠—”

I let myself be steered backward. Victor’s hand closes on my shoulder, heavy and grounding, and I focus on it like a rope thrown down a well.

“What did he say to you?” Victor’s face is inches from mine, his eyes searching.

“That I’m going to lose.”

“And you said?” He questions.

“Something dumb.”

He waits. I shake my head, and he lets it go, though his gaze lingers on me a beat too long.

Theo steps in on my other side, arms crossed, watching me the way he watches a fighter whose corner went quiet. “You okay?”

“Yeah.”

“Your hands.”

I look down. They’re trembling, and I can’t stop them. I curl them into fists. That makes it worse.

“Adrenaline,” I say.

“Uh-huh,” Theo replies.

“It’s adrenaline, Theo.”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“Your face did.” He raises both palms, a little smile playing at his mouth, and turns to help Cruz wrangle a reporter who’s stuck a recorder in his face.

Cruz is glowing. “Did you see him?” he keeps saying. “Did you see him? He looked like he wanted to eat you alive, bro.”

Something hot climbs my neck. I say nothing.

Photographers keep firing as we filter off the stage, and I keep my eyes forward, jaw set, the way I’ve practiced. Except my head turns anyway, drawn like a compass needle to north, and I find him.

Zane stands near the exit doors across the room with Dan at his shoulder, murmuring in his ear. The two men in gray jackets clear a path through the reporters. He doesn’t look like a man being talked to. He looks like a man who hasn’t heard a word.

Over Dan’s shoulder, his eyes find mine.

Just once. Just long enough for me to see what’s in them, and it isn’t contempt. It isn’t confidence, or the ice-cold certainty of a man who’s never lost. It looks like a question he’s afraid to ask.

My breath stops in my chest.

Then Dan touches his elbow, and Zane turns. The doors swing shut behind him, and the room fills the space where he stood with cameras and voices and noise.

I stay where I am, hands still shaking, the medal burning against my sternum, and wonder what the hell just happened.

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