But Jericho goes and opens his dumbass mouth and says, “Yep, I do belong to her. So could you stop tonguing me? We just fucking met.”
Magnus grins, flashing his fangs. “Oh, honey. You are a treat. I can see why she likes you.”
Like him?
Nope. I love him. But in this moment, I wish I could fucking punch the idiot for coming here to his death.
Hook, line and sinker.
I watch this information filter into Kaazu’s head, and the wheels spin.
“Well, isn’t this fascinating news,” Kaazu says, his grin turning toward me. “First Heathcliff and now this, Jetta? You do get around.”
My fists curl against my palms in anger.
“I accept,” Kaazu says with a click of his cane. “Alpha Rourn? I suspect that your pack wouldn’t be opposed to seeing some Aberrant blood spilled tonight on stage.”
Alpha Rourn stares daggers at Jericho and nods. Nothing else he can do, not when Kaazu riled up the whole audience already with the thought of watching an Aberrant get the shit kicked out of him.
“Excellent,” Kaazu announces, motioning with his hand for Magnus and his Rockhead guard to let Jericho go. They do, and my boar jumps up onto the stage with lithe confidence, looking relieved, when he should be scared shitless and running in the other direction.
Kaazu calls for the troupers to gather around, no doubt giving them instructions for round two, while the ones incapacitated get dragged off stage by Magnus, who for some goddamn reason, shoots me a wink when no one else is looking.
In a few short steps, Jericho walks over and kneels in front of me. His brown eyes sweep over my form, and I know from the way his jaw clamps down and the fury that ignites in his eyes that I look bad.
But he swallows hard and then meets my eye. “You look...decent.”
Despite everything, a shocked sob of laughter heaves out of me, making my cheeks ache in agony. I cough, spitting out blood.
His lips press together in a thin line. “I need you to get up, Jet Plane.”
“I can’t,” I say, my voice laced with miserable, soul-gutting defeat.
“You can,” he replies firmly, his eyes never leaving mine.
“Look at me. I’m fucking broken, Jericho. I lost. They were just about to finish the job.”
“Fuck that,” he snaps, his eyes flashing. “You don’t lose. And no matter how much they try, you don’t break. Don’t let them get to you. You can do this.”
He tries to reach forward and help me sit up, but I shake my head frantically. “Don’t move me! If I’m not in the center of the square, the beam falls.”
His head swivels up, and his eyes go wide at what he sees. “Fuck.”
“Yeah.”
“Freddie and Cliff?”
My heart squeezes. “Yeah.”
He looks back at me with grim determination. “All the more motivation.”
“Jericho…”
What he’s asking is impossible. I have nothing left in me.
As if he can read my mind, Jericho leans down, forcing me to look at him. “Listen to me. You’re the strongest fucking female I know. You’re stronger than every person in this shithole. You’re Jetta. My Jet Plane. My goddamn Fighter Jet,” he says, every word attempting to bolster me, to repair the things that broke my spirit. “You can fucking do this, and I’ll be right here at your side.”
He brushes blood away from my face, and there’s so much goddamn faith in his expression, faith in me, that I find my spine straightening just a little.
“Now get up, Jet. We have troupe dickheads to beat, and you can’t be lying down on the job,” he says with a playful smirk. “We gotta take the fuckers down once and for all. Let’s show them what happens when anyone messes with you or our pack.”
Our pack. Like I’m already a part of that.
When I don’t answer, he arches a brow. “Or are you just giving up? Do I have to fight these ballerinas by myself while you take a little rest?” he says with challenge.
“Fuck off.”
He grins.
“Round two will begin in twenty seconds!” Kaazu’s voice rings out with a clap. The lights change to red. The music picks back up. The remaining troupers stand before us in a row.
“Get up,” Jericho says again, this time more insistently.
And that’s when I feel it. A tug.
Like someone just cast out a fishing line into my soul, grabbed my burrowed confidence, and yanked it right out.
My eyes fly up to the beam, and my gaze clashes with Cliff’s. The strain on his mottled, sweaty,