Page 6 of Second Sin

Which, lately, is damn near all the time.

Slade just laughs, not taking it seriously. “What? Just saying. “She’s got that whole uptight-but-secretly-a-freak vibe going on.”

I don’t respond. Just slam my locker shut harder than necessary.

Fucking rookies.

And damn Coach for thinking hiring someone that looks like Olivia Hart was a good idea.

“Hey Wilde,” Slade says, grinning, arms crossed and ego loud. “Coach send you ‘cause you’re the closest to a breakdown, or what?”

My jaw tightens. The locker room doesn’t go silent, but it shifts.

Conversations quiet. Heads turn.

Blake looks up, eyes narrowing just a fraction. “Kid’s all mouth. Don’t let him get in your head.”

I don’t answer. Just grab my bag off the bench, sling it over my shoulder, and walk out.

Not fast. Not loud. Just gone.

Because it’s not Slade that’s in my head.

It’s her.

But whatever the fuck I felt when our eyes locked—it dies here.

Because Olivia Hart doesn’t need to know who I am.And she sure as hell doesn’t need to know what I’ve done.

CHAPTER 3

OLIVIA

Three weeks in, and I'm convinced the entire building reeks like testosterone, sweat, and something synthetic that smells like ego in aerosol form.It clings to the walls, seeps into the air.I’ve worked in fire halls and army barracks, places steeped in adrenaline and grief—but this? This hums with a different kind of weight. Pressure. Expectation.Money.

I adjust my hold on the clipboard, as if shifting my grip might settle the tension climbing up my spine.

Most of the guys who were supposed to be here showed. Half-slouched, arms crossed, legs spread wide like they’re daring me to try something clinical. One yawns wide without bothering to cover it. Another spins a ring on his thumb like it might keep him from bolting.

But they’re here. That’s something.

Sebastian Wilde is not.

"Has anyone seen Sebastian?" I ask.

“Good luck with that,” Harper says from behind me. I didn’t hear her come in, but she rarely makes noise unless she wants to. Harper Singh is the team’s physician—brilliant, blunt, and the closest thing I have to a friend here.

She’s in scrubs, coffee in hand, eyeing the muffins I set out like that’s the real reason she showed up.“He doesn’t do groups. Barely does people.”

“So I’ve heard," I say on a sigh.

She leans close, voice low. “Honestly? Probably better for the vibe that he’s not here.”

I offer a tight smile. “He doesn’t intimidate me.”

“No,” she agrees. “But he’ll test you anyway.”

He already is. Not with words, not even with defiance. Just by existing in every space like nothing and no one can touch him. And damn it, I want to know why that gets to me.

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