Page 160 of Rebel Hawke

“You thought me failing was asure thing?”

Coen shakes his head, opening his mouth a few times before he finally finds the bullshit excuse he wants. “I-I never meant for you to find out.”

“Well, no shit. Do you think that makes it anybetter?”

“I-I just needed the money…”

“Fuck you, Coen.” I point a finger at him, clenching my jaw. “Money has never been a problem for any of us, and you know that. Any one of us would’ve given it to you in a heartbeat without you having to even tell us why.”

Though what he could possibly need that much for still lingers in the back of my head.

An unanswered question I don’t have the time to delve into with bigger issues at hand.

Coen releases a strangled groan. “I—”

I hold up a hand. “I don’t want to hear your bullshit excuses, Coen. None of it matters now. You fuckingbetrayedme. You betrayedall of us, and now, I have Satriano asking me to throw the fight I’ve been working my whole life for in order to protect your fucking ass and to ensure your fuck up won’t be used against the rest of the family.”

His head snaps back up, his mouth falling open. “Hewhat?”

Pacing away again, I release a mirthless laugh. “He won’t take my money to cover you, Coen. He doesn’twantit. He apparently has billions riding on this fight and needs me to lose. Your debt is a drop in the ocean. He’s just using it to force my hand because hurting you hurts me more than taking any of my cash. And if I win and you can’t pay, he’ll use it to get what he really wants from you—whatever the hell that might be.”

And not knowing that is terrifying.

A man like Satriano plays the long game, and he doesn’t do anything without a reason. HewantsCoen indebted to him.

Coen pushes to his feet. “I’m sorry. I never meant—”

“Get the fuck out.”

My entire body trembles with my barely contained rage.

I thought seeing Coen, talking to him, might clear up something. Maybe it was a misunderstanding. Perhaps it wasn’t what it seemed. But it’s only served to prove that my own blood betrayed me. He put me in an impossible position, and I see no good way out of it. Discussing it is making me angrier with him.

Coen seems to recognize that staying any longer won’t accomplish anything. He moves toward the door and pauses with his hand on the knob. “What are you going to do tomorrow?”

The ultimate question.

I sigh and scrub my palm over my face. “What I have to.”

Without asking what that means, Coen opens the door and slips out into the hallway, and I beeline for the bar and pour myself a drink to try to calm my shaky nerves.

A flutter of movement in my peripheral vision draws my attention to the landing. Wren stands with her arms wrapped around herself, her eyes locked on me. She looks so sweet. So innocent. Yet so fierce. Most of her scars are on display in her tiny sleepwear. It’s a reminder that she’s the kind of woman who survived flames and isn’t going to let me blow over what just went down. She will dive right into the inferno.

Fucking hell.

I drop my head low, squeezing my eyes closed. “How much of that did you hear?”

“Enough.”

WREN

When he sentme the text saying everything was fine but never came back up, I knew something was wrong.

I probably should have stayed put and waited like he asked.

But as one minute ticked over to another, just sitting there, not knowing what was going on, was making my lungs seize and morning sickness return with a vengeance. Once I cracked the bathroom door to try to grab my inhaler off the nightstand and heard Atlas and Coen’s raised voices, I couldn’t stop myself from tiptoeing to the bedroom door to listen to their argument.

And what they said explains why he’s been acting so strange.

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