This chapter is for Ellivation

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Tommy is waiting for me as soon as I walk out of the restaurant. My hands are balled into fists and I am shaking so hard my teeth are clenched.

"That must have gone well," Tommy says nervously. "What did she say?"

"Oh, nothing much," I say cheerfully. "Just that she would slit my throat by the end of the month if I'm not useful."

Tommy's eyes widen, and then I realize it. The familiarity. Why his face―and Anise's face―are so similar. And his sister . . . the sister he keeps mentioning. Could it be . . .

I decide to try it out.

"You always just heel and obey commands from the Alpha like that?" I say. "You're not real dogs, you know. You don't have to act like a mutt."

It's harsh, I know. Especially for a kid. But I don't give a damn―not after I was just threatened. And not while I'm kept here against my will.

"Well, n-no, I―"

"Tell me, when she talks to you like that . . . who do you see? Your sister or the Alpha?"

"It's just because she's always had to take care of us," he blurts out.

I pause. "So both."

Wow―Anise is a controlling bitch even to his little brother. For a second, I can't help feeling sorry for him. He's a good kid.

But then the anger churns inside of me again, surging up with a desperate desire, a feverish ache. I need to lash out at something, anything.

"Tommy," I say, rounding on him. "Do you have a . . . a martial arts room? A practice room for fighting?"

His mouth opens. "Um, I don't think―"

My eyes narrow. "You either take me there, or you take me to a bar, and I start a fight with the first person I see."

I don't think Tommy believed me.

The instant we sailed down to the thirtieth floor and the elevator doors opened to reveal a club of some kind, he smirked. As though he was ready to call my bluff.

No, he didn't believe me. At least, until I tapped the shoulder of the first and largest man I could find.

From behind, Tommy watched, his jaw unhinged. Even then, I don't think he could believe what he was seeing.

Until I said, "Hey, can you take a punch?"

The man's brows pulled together in confusion.

I punched him.

Finally, Tommy believed me.

Now, as the man reels back from my punch, his face contorts in blind rage. Even if I'm a girl, I have no doubt he'll try and fight me. But, shame on him, he does it by shoving me back.

I stumble, and it feels good. I feel a rush as the adrenaline soars through me, and it's almost enough to make me forget about what Anise told me.

Your mother is dead, girl.

I fight the pain away. With every blow, every swing, every bruise, I can feel the frustration leaving my body. The fury that is soaking into every inch of my being is fuel―glorious fuel to every uppercut.

The pain that stings my body is beautiful. Brilliant. I savour the sensation of fire racing through my body, surging against my jaw and my arm and my stomach.

I can forget. For these few minutes, I can forget.

Tommy is yelling, "Jude, no!"

But against the rest of the crowd―"Fight! Fight!"―he is voice is lost. I can hear bets being placed, and it feels me with a rush of pleasure to know that at least half of them are being placed on me.

Finally, the man has stopped throwing his punches. When he aims, he does it hard and fast. And maybe I can't go harder, but I can go faster.

If I wanted, this fight could be over. With a three-move combination, I could have him disassembled on the floor of the club.

But I don't want this fight to be over. I want it to keep going. I want to feel the wrath coursing through me, over and over, until I forget everything but own name and the feeling of freedom.

"Jude, no!"

I ignore Tommy's voice until the rest of the world fades to a ringing in my ears.

I don't hear. See. All I can do is feel, and with every shuddering breath, with every aching punch, I get closer to that final release.

Am I trying to kill myself? I don't know.

I just want to not remember. I just want to not deal with the pain of knowing my mother is dead. I just want to pretend that everything is okay.

Your mother is dead, girl.

"Jude! Jude!"

I don't even realize it's not Tommy until I feel her hands on my shoulders. Turning me around. The world comes back into focus, and I see her brown eyes, bright and luminous. Concentrated on me.

Am I crying? I didn't even realize I was crying.

With one look, the man catches sight of Hunter and disappears. The crowd is disappointed, and they slowly disperse. The music keeps playing, and the world breathes out, flowing back into normality.

"Jude," Hunter says softly. Her hand is on my jaw, and she moves my head until I look into her eyes. "Jude . . ."

I am crying.

You are not weak, my mother's voice says. Do not be weak.

Maybe I am weak, Mom. Maybe I'm weak, because I couldn't save you and now you're dead and it's my fault.

"Jude," Hunter says, searching my eyes like I have the answer to a question she needs. "Jude, I . . ."

"She talked to Anise," Tommy interjects from somewhere behind. I'd forgotten he was still there.

Hunter swears, and her fingers leave my face. I almost miss the warmth.

"You let her talk to Anise?"

"She's the Alpha! I couldn't say no!"

Hunter gives him a scorching look. "She's our sister, too. You can damn well say no."

"Maybe you can," he shoots back. "But I still have to earn my place here."

Wait one moment. Our sister.

I had figured out that Tommy and Anise were siblings, but . . . Hunter? With her dark brown eyes?

I had dismissed her because of her eye colour, but I see it now―the familiarity of their sharp smiles. Their light brown hair. The hard line of their jaws.

Hunter's sister is the Alpha.

I should have realized.

The resemblance. Now that I think of it, I feel stupid―how could I have missed it?

The revelation is enough to make me pause. Breathe.

Hunter's hands are still steady on my shoulders, and her hand is cupping my face. I exhale. Maybe I'm not okay, but I won't start another fight. She can see it, too, in the loosening of my shoulders and the relaxation of my jaw.

She doesn't let go.

The moment hangs between us, as fragile as a thread of silk. Her brown eyes are on mine, and for a moment, I see something in them―a flicker of summer blue, hovering at the edge of her iris. A sky hidden by earth.

I break away from her. And the moment vanishes.

It's unsettling―but I must have imagined it. Because I know Hunter's eyes are brown, unlike Tommy and Anise. I'm hallucinating now. Great.

Because . . . if Hunter's eyes were blue . . . if she really was familiar to me . . .

No. I won't even think it.

I let Hunter take the lead, and I follow her into the elevator. But she doesn't take us back to the bedroom―the doors open onto the floor I saw earlier. The game room.

Where I saw her playing chess, surrounded by observers.

Faintly, I wonder, Did she win? But the thought fades from my mind as she leads me towards a table of poker.

Poker?

I don't question it as she pulls out a chair for me, a daring grin on her face. Challenging me. And instantly, I know what she's doing. She's taking my mind off things. She's giving me a distraction. An out.

She doesn't know what her sister―Anise―told me. She has no idea my mother is dead, or that if I'm not useful as a ransom, the Alpha will slit my throat.

And . . . she's still giving me this. A distraction that isn't beating up people twice my size.

Shit. I didn't expect to like it. Her.

"Don't thank me yet," she breathes against my ear, as I sit down. "I'm about to win."

And the game begins.

The dealer hands out cards to each of us, five people in total. Hunter sits across the circular table, and as she looks down at her cards, a wicked smile flickers across her lips.

The distraction is working. A slow smile spreads over my own mouth.

I may not be a part of the Mafia. I may not be a gang lord or a Wolf or have any real experience in gambling den, but if my mother taught me anything, it was how to play.

And how to win.

"Anyone willing to bet?" the dealer says.

The match slowly rolls by, and so far, someone to Hunter's left is winning. A girl with a razor-sharp grin. Émilie, I think.

It's between her and Hunter―my competition.

On the last round of the game, the dealer asks again, "Anyone willing to stake?"

Everyone has at least a small pile of chips―except the boy to my right. I thought of him as someone nervous, flighty, until I actually caught a glimpse of his sure smile and confident shoulders. He was losing―badly―but he was a good sport. I instantly liked him.

Okay, Jude. What's it going to be? My mother's voice. Coaching me.

Hunter's eyes meet mine. A long, drawn-out look. An arrogant slash of her smile, as she pushes the entirety of her stakes right into the center.

A bead of sweat rolls down my back.

And her face―she's challenging me.

Daring me.

To her left, Émilie shakes her head once. It's smart, but cautious. She is winning, and this is the safe move.

Slowly, each player declines. Until it is just the dealer, expectantly waiting for me.

I don't dare glance down at my cards. I just lock my eyes onto Hunter's, the buzzing lights hot on the back of my neck, the rush of adrenaline bright in my veins. And delicately, smoothly, I push all of my chips straight into the middle.

I dare you.

The rest of the players at the table fade away. It is just me and Hunter, watching each other across a sea of poker chips. The game has become something else, something bigger. It is my distraction; my out.

I know what will happen as soon as it's over.

I know what I will be forced to remember.

But now, surrounded by the beating of my heart and the heat of Hunter's gaze and the violent desire to win . . . I'm free.

The dealer pauses, almost imperceptibly. As though finally taking notice of me.

The rest of the players are watching, but I don't care.

Hunter spreads her cards down on the table. Her teeth caress her bottom lip, an arrogant, savouring smirk. She is calling my bluff.

Too bad, I think. Too bad I don't have one.

Finally, I let myself reveal what I have been hiding throughout the game. Five blood-red suits of the heart. All in order. Starting at 8 and finishing at the queen of hearts.

Her face is imperceptible―until I see the faint, ever-so-slight darkening of her eyes. A promise. And . . . impressed―I see the faint flicker of respect. Admiration.

She didn't think I would win.

I don't know whether I should be insulted or proud.

But if she didn't think I would win, then she wasn't throwing her hand. She wasn't letting me off easy. I won that―entirely on my own. And the thought fills me with amazement.

You taught me good, Mom, I think.

The reminder of her―Mom―is enough to make me bolt to my feet.

Before Hunter can follow me, I back away from the table. Everyone is watching, especially the girl from before, Émilie. Her black-lined eyes are too intense to be just casual. And then I see her nod to Hunter, and I realize they must be friends.

I don't give it a second thought. I just walk away.

Hunter doesn't follow.

>>>

More coming soon . . .

I'll see you all tomorrow.

From the moon and back,
Sarai