By Peter B. and Art Intelli
Chapter 9
That first night after the fight, I barely slept.
I sat by the fire, my body aching from the beating Viktor and I had given each other. My ribs throbbed, my knuckles were raw, and my head was a storm of confusion.
“Stick with us, Rabbit,” Q-ball had said, clapping a heavy hand on my shoulder. “You earned your place.”
And I wanted to believe him.
He handed me a battered leather jacket with the sleeves cut off, the gang’s insignia stitched onto the back. My hands trembled as I pulled it on. The weight of it felt suffocating, but I forced a grin. I had to sell this. I had to make them believe.
Q-Ball clapped him on the back. “Atta boy! Knew you had it in you.”
