Page 32 of Endo
Draygon doesn’t budge. “No. We’re done sitting back while you act like this is normal for you when everyone who knows you, knows it isn’t.”
“Since when do you care?” I snap, my voice rising.
“You seriously think we don’t give a shit? You think we like watching you destroy yourself?” Draygon fires back. “Cause we fucking don’t. We really fucking know, and we’re not going to put up with it anymore.”
Wolfe steps forward, his voice calmer but no less firm. “We care about you, Reign. Thats exactly why you can’t keep doingthis. The fights, the drinking—you’re running yourself into the ground, man.”
“I didn’t ask for your goddamn concern,” I spit, stepping closer to Wolfe. He doesn’t flinch, just meets my glare with a steady, disappointed gaze.
“You didn’t have to,” Wolfe says evenly. “You’re family. And family doesn’t just stand by while one of their own loses himself.”
“Spare me the lecture,” I snap. “You want to help? Stay the fuck out of my way.”
Draygon lets out a harsh laugh, his voice laced with fury. “Stay out of your way? That’s your solution? Just let you drink yourself to death and fight until you can’t stand anymore?”
I shove past him, but Draygon grabs my arm, spinning me around. His temper snaps like a rubber band stretched too far.
“You are so fucking selfish, you know that?” he shouts, his voice sharp and furious. “You think this is just about you? You think we’re here because we don’t have better shit to do than chase you down to some underground pit like you’re some—some—” He cuts himself off, and suddenly he’s swearing in rapid-fire Korean, his words sharp and biting.
Even Wolfe looks a little taken aback. When Draygon switches to Korean, it means he’s beyond done.
“Are you finished?” I snarl, my voice low and dangerous.
Draygon steps closer, his jaw tight, his words like venom. “Not even fucking close. You’re an asshole, Reign. But worse than that, you’re a fucking coward. You think you can punch and drink your way through this? That you can outrun whatever’s eating you alive? Well, guess what—you can’t.”
I shove him hard, and he stumbles back, his glare burning. “Get the hell off your high horse,” I growl. “You don’t know what it’s like. You don’t know what it feels like to have this—this weight crushing you every second.”
“No, I don’t,” Draygon snaps. “But I know what it looks like when someone’s drowning. And you are. So stop pretending you’re fine, stop running, and start dealing with your shit.”
Wolfe steps between us, his hands raised as if to calm the storm brewing between us. “Enough. Both of you.” He looks at me, his voice steady. “Reign, we’re here because we care. You might not want to hear it, but we’re not going anywhere. We’re not going to let you keep doing this to yourself.”
“I didn’t ask for your help,” I say, my voice cracking under the weight of everything I’m trying to hold back.
Wolfe’s dark eyes soften, but his tone remains firm. “No. But we can all fucking see you need it.”
“Fuck off,” I spit out. “Both of you can go to hell.”
The silence stretches between us, thick and suffocating. My chest heaves with every breath, my hands shaking with a mix of anger and something else—something I don’t want to name.
I push past them, heading for my car. I hear Draygon mutter something under his breath in Korean, but I don’t stop. I can’t.
The guilt follows me all the way home.
14
LENA
Liability - SWIM
The track sprawls before me,a stretch of asphalt glinting under the midmorning sun. The air is heavy with the scent of oil and rubber, the low hum of distant engines faint on the breeze. I pull up, my bike rumbling to a halt near the pit area, where Reign waits, leaning against a stack of tires. His arms are crossed, his jaw locked tight, the storm in his eyes unmistakable.
I’m late, and he’s pissed. Not that I care.
His hoodie is slung low over his face, but it doesn’t hide the dark circles under his eyes. When I cut the engine, the sound dies away, leaving nothing but the crackling heat and the tension stretching between us. I swing off the bike, yanking my helmet off and shaking out my hair.
“You’re late,” he snaps, his voice sharp enough to cut through steel.
“No shit, Sherlock.” I roll my eyes, propping my helmet on the seat. “Didn’t realize you were so invested in my time management skills.”
