Epilogue Isolde #2
“She says it’s an interim thing. But the word is, Board wants to consolidate our deflection.
More direct control. Less delegation.” I watch as Rhett’s mouth goes tight.
He’s on the Board now, technically, but he hasn’t played his hand yet.
He’s still gathering, still plotting, still pretending he’s just another piece on the board.
He wants to be the hand that sweeps the pieces off the table.
Bam drinks, then spits into the sink. “Tastes like shit.”
I shrug. “Add sugar.”
He glares, but the truth is, we’re all addicted. Caffeine is the only thing keeping us upright. That and revenge.
I lean back, stretching my legs under the table until they hit Bam’s. He doesn’t move. If anything, he pushes harder. His whole deal is pushing. I never liked him much at Westpoint, but since the night Rhett killed Valence, he’s changed. Feral, sure, but loyal in a way that’s almost religious.
Maybe that’s what trauma does—it sorts the world into two kinds of people: the ones who leave, and the ones who bite.
I’m the second kind. Always have been.
Rhett traces a line on the map, fingertip pausing at the north gate. “This is our shot. The next Hunt, Bam gets his girl and then we lobby for him to take Valence’s seat.”
Bam cracks his neck. “Then what? Colt and Jules are too drunk half the time to bother coming out and being a part of this. They’re apathetic.
I can’t say for sure if they’re going to join us, or go against us, but seeing Cai and you with your girls, and knowing the way I am, there’s no way I’m letting mine become a part of the Academy. ”
We fall silent. That’s the most Bam has said all at once.
I stare at the mess of printouts, the annotated security schedules, the thumbtacked photos of Board members and their families.
I think about all the girls before me, all the Casey Greenwoods and O’s and future girls.
One’s who are sent as debt payments, one’s who just have the right bloodlines.
I think about the future, the baby growing inside me, and what kind of world it’s supposed to inherit.
I wrap my hands around my mug, trying to bleed off the shaking.
Bam sniffs, stands, and stretches. “Gotta do my rounds. If I see anything weird, I’ll yell.” He doesn’t say goodbye, just walks out the back door, slamming it so hard the maps flutter on the table.
Rhett and I are alone.
He watches me, eyes unblinking. I know he wants to ask if I’m okay, but I also know he won’t. We have an agreement—no bullshit, no pity, no “how are you really, babe.” Just honesty, as raw as we can stomach.
I drain my coffee, grimace. “You think this will work?”
He doesn’t answer right away. Instead, he stands, comes around the table, and pulls me out of my chair and onto his lap. I pretend to resist, but it’s half-hearted. He hooks his arms around my waist, one hand resting flat and heavy against my stomach.
I sigh, but he just holds me there, his face buried in my shoulder. His breath is warm, and I can feel his heartbeat against my spine.
He whispers, “It has to.”
I believe him. Not because he’s infallible, but because he’s stubborn, and that’s what I need right now. Not hope, not faith—just the determination to see the world destroyed if it refuses to bend.
I rest my head against his, breathing in the smell of coffee and sweat and whatever cologne he stole from the supermarket last week. We sit like that, perfectly still, while the rest of the world keeps spinning out of control.
I move to get up and he’s on me in a second.
He kisses me like he needs to memorize my taste before the world ends. Tongue, teeth, the sweet burn of caffeine and the threat of blood. His hands are everywhere—neck, hip, that spot just below my ribs that makes me giggle.
When he finally pulls away, I stare at his mouth, at the tiny scar on his lower lip I put there during our Hunt.
It never healed right, and neither did we.
That’s the problem with trauma. Sometimes you grow around it, like a tree swallowing barbed wire, and the wound becomes part of the architecture.
He wants to talk about the plan. His obsession has grown like a wildfire, and I know it’s because he wants to keep me safe, but I need him. I need him to forget about everything except him and I.
Standing, I sway my hips the way he likes. The way I know he can’t resist. He follows me to the living room and I push him down on the couch and straddle his lap, burying his face in my hands.
“Forget the plan for five minutes,” I plead. “Just be here. I need you.”
He grins. “Only if you let me undress you.”
“Deal.”
He peels off the sweatshirt, then my tank top. My scars are a map, and he traces every single one with his fingertips, reading them like a code.
For a while, we just breathe together. His hands move down, then up, and I can feel the heat from his skin even through my jeans.
He murmurs, “You’re shaking.”
“I always shake,” I say. “You make me nervous.”
He likes that. He bites my jaw, gentle, then drags his lips to my ear. “You want to hear what Bam found?”
I roll my eyes, but nod. “This one last thing and then you’re going to fuck me. Understood?”
He chuckles, “One of the new Board members is laundering money through the scholarship fund. Bam got the receipts. Cai’s compiling a list of every fake student and every payout.”
I blink, surprised. “Already?”
He grins, triumphant. “Bam’s an animal, but he’s not an idiot. He wants out as much as we do.”
“Okay, great, enough talking.”
I kiss him, hard. I want him to feel my gratitude in the way I dig my nails into his shoulders, in the way I grind against him until he gasps. I want him to know that this is all I have left.
When we fuck, it’s not gentle. It’s not sweet. It’s a war of attrition, and every time I win, I want to gloat. Every time I lose, I want to cry. We fight for dominance, but always end up the same way—entwined, tangled, both exhausted and both too stubborn to let go.
After, we lay side by side on the battered rug, panting, staring at the ceiling as if answers might drip from the water stain above the light fixture.
He says, “I know you don’t want to talk about it, but we have to, Issy. We have to be careful. The new Chair is already onto me. If I push too hard, they’ll shut me out.”
I nod, staring at the popcorn texture overhead. “Don’t get caught.”
He rolls to face me, green eyes wide open. “If I do, you run. I don’t care where. Just survive.”
I press my forehead to his. “If you die, I’ll die with you.”
He laughs, softer than I’ve ever heard, nipping at my chin. “You’re relentless. Can’t even let a dead man rest.”
“So are you,” I say. “That’s why this works.”
He runs his thumb across my cheek, and for a second, I want to cry. I don’t. I just blink it away, swallow the ache, and promise myself that someday, I’ll let it out.
Maybe after we win.
I sit up, still naked, and pad to the window. The glass is cold against my palm. In the distance, I see the shadow of the library where I first realized I wasn’t a victim. Where I first learned that you can make your own luck, if you’re desperate enough.
Rhett comes up behind me, wraps his arms around my waist. He rests his chin on my shoulder, and together we watch the night settle over the campus.
He whispers, “We’re going to do it. We’re going to end the corruption. No one deserves this much power over the people.”
I don’t answer, but I believe him.
Because that’s what love is, I guess—a leap into the dark, hoping there’s something solid to land on.
We stand there, silent, bodies pressed together, both of us waiting.
For what, I don’t know but we hold our breath, all the same.
I think about Casey. I think about all the girls who never got this far, who never made it out of the Hunt, who never got to see the system break. I think about the future, and what it will take to get there.
Sometimes, the monster you fear is the one who saves you.
I lean into Rhett’s arms and close my eyes.
“I’ll love you until the day I draw my last breath.”
He holds me, staring at my reflection in the window, “And I’ll love you beyond the grave, my little wildcat.”