Page 14 of Victorious: Part I

And last time, that win put my mother behind bars for life.

I’m fucking dreading what a win this big is going to rain down on us.

Rushing like a madman, I make my way back through processing, my mind racing. As I collect my belongings, Rhonda gives me a concerned look. “Everything okay, hothead?” she asks, seeming genuinely worried.

“Just trying to ride the wave of another fucking storm,” I mutter sarcastically, pocketing my knife as I go to walk out of the building.

“Hey, Drake,” Rhonda calls out, gaining my attention.

Peering back over my shoulder, I raise my brow, waiting for her to continue.

She exhales, slow and steady, her gaze fixed on me longer than it should be. “Funny thing about storms…” Her voice is quieter now.Too quiet.“They don’t hit all at once. First, the air shifts. Pressure builds. Things start moving…” She tilts her head like she’s remembering something, as if she’s already seen this storm before.

“The smart ones?” Her lips press together, her eyes narrowing on me. “Theydon’twait. They know when to break from the flock.”

My brows furrow at the seriousness of her tone. Something inside me tightens, coils up like a wire pulled too damn taut.

The way she said it—it was not just words.

It’s something else.

She studies me like she’s waiting for me to get her warning. Like I should already understand.

Then Rhonda continues, “But the ones who don’t, Drake?” She pauses just long enough for my unease to set in the pit of my gut. “They think they’ve got time.” She shakes her head, slow, deliberate. “Andthat’show they end up missing when it’s all over. When it’s too late.”

A sharp pulse beats against my ribs. I shift my stance, flexing my fingers at my sides, trying to shake the restlessness crawling up my spine. She leans back, folding her arms like the conversation is already over, as if she didn’t just drop something heavy between us.

“Be careful, Noah.” Her tone is different now.

Not sharp.

Not sarcastic.

Just…

… final.

And the fact she called me Noah—not Drake, hothead, or red—is whatreallyunsettles me.

Her gaze flicks to the exit, a split-second move, too fast to be casual, then back to me.

A silent command telling me to go.

But I catch it, and instantly, a wave of dread slams through me. A cold sweat pebbles over my skin as Rhonda abruptly turns away, leaving me standing there, pulse hammering, her words circling in my head like something I should already fucking understand.

But I don’t.

I don’t understand any of this.

Rolling my shoulders, I try to shake it off, but I know I won’t.

So, I turn, rushing outside. Her words follow me every damn step I take like a noxious weed crawling its way under my skin.

I don’t know what the fuck is going on in there, but what I do know is I can’t face this alone.

Reaching my bike, I immediately pull out my cell and dial Alpha’s number, my foot tapping anxiously on the concrete. He answers on the second ring, the sounds of the celebration party in full swing blast down the line. “Montana?” His voice is relaxed, still riding high on our victory against the Governor. “What’s goin’ on?”

“I’m not sure yet,” I tell him honestly, mounting my bike. “Just leaving from seeing my mom. Something’s happening in the prison, Alpha. Women with markings being transferred in, all connected to Atlas somehow.”

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