Page 61 of Shattered By Grace

“Background checks.”

She peeked around the corner, breath locked in her chest.

“Tyson is fine,” Justin continued, sounding almost eager now, like a loyal little soldier. “After the match, he had a cut above his eye. They’re just keeping him for a possible concussion.”

Cassian gave a slow, measured nod. His dark, calculating gaze bore into Justin, assessing him like a piece on a chessboard. He loomed over him, his presence suffocating, his expression unreadable but dangerous. Unshakable. The fluorescent hospital lighting did nothing to soften him. If anything, it made him look even more like a demon wearing a man’s face.

“You’d better be right, Justin,” Cassian murmured, his voice low, gravelly and lethal. “I don’t like waiting. And I don’t tolerate failure.”

The words settled over her like a slow-moving noose.

Justin wasn’t playing both sides.

He wasn’t trying to help her. He had been lying to her face. The entire time. A bitter, ugly feeling rose in her throat.

God, I was an idiot.

She had trusted him. Confided in him. Let him make her think they were in this together, that he was some kind of ally.

All those conversations…All those lies.

Justin sold me out.

She felt sick.

Her pulse pounded in her ears as she backed away, every instinct screaming at her to run.

Cassian’s head snapped up, his piercing eyes swept the hallway.

Victoria froze, pressing herself flat against the wall.

Don’t see me. Don’t see me.

She slowly peeked around the corner again to check to see if it was safe to move. Seconds dragged like a blade across her skin until he turned back to Justin.

Her legs carried her before her mind could catch up, her footsteps light and silent as she made a beeline for the stairwell.

By the time she reached the labor and delivery floor, her hands were shaking. Her stomach churned, the sting of betrayal sinking deeper with every breath. She ripped out her phone, fingers trembling as she typed.

Dude, what the hell is going on? Are you selling me out for your own personal gain?

Her thumb hovered over send.

Was this too direct?No. Yes.

Fuck.

Her fingers hovered over the screen, then deleted the message.

Before she could think better of it, she typed:

I trusted you.

Hit send.No going back now.

Her breath came in sharp bursts, her pulse thundering in her ears.

A ping.

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