Page 96 of Made for Reign

He doesn't know that I'm already gone. The woman standing beside him, smiling at his investors and wearing his ring, is just a ghost. The real Audrey is somewhere else entirely, counting down the hours until she can stop pretending and start living.

Tomorrow can't come soon enough.

TWENTY-ONE

REIGN

The crowd roarsas Ben lands another solid hit, sending his opponent Thompson stumbling backward.

Blood sprays from his opponent's nose, spattering across the canvas. Ben doesn't hesitate, following with a vicious uppercut that sends Thompson reeling against the ropes. The arena erupts.

"Your brother's fucking killing it," Marcus says, leaning toward me to be heard over the crowd. "That new combination is brutal."

"He's been working on it," I reply, forcing my attention back to the fight. "Spent three weeks training with that coach from Cuba."

But even as I speak, my eyes drift upward to the private box suspended above the ring like a glass cage. Something’s wrong with Audrey. I can see it from here—the way she sits too straight, too still, like she’s holding herself together by pure force of will. Her hands are clasped so tightly in her lap that her knuckles are white.

She hasn’t looked my way once tonight. Not once. That’s not like her.

"Worth every penny from the looks of it." Marcus gestures toward the ring where Ben has Thompson backed into the corner, landing body shots. "Thompson hasn't landed a solid hit in the last two rounds."

I nod absently, pulling out my phone to check for messages. The last text I sent her this afternoon—asking if she was ready for tonight—sits unanswered. She always responds. Always. Even if it’s just a quick confirmation that she got my message.

“Vega’s getting his money’s worth.” I take a swig of beer, the taste flat and unsatisfying. “The arena’s stock will jump after this.”

My attention should be on my brother. Ben’s having the fight of his life down there, systematically dismantling one of the division’s top contenders. This is his moment, his shot at everything he’s been working toward. But I can’t stop watching that glass box, can’t shake the feeling that something’s gone sideways with our plan.

Audrey sits like a statue beside Vega, her emerald dress catching the arena lights. Even from this distance, I can see the tension radiating from her. She’s not just nervous—she’s terrified. The careful mask she usually wears at these events has slipped, revealing something raw underneath.

Vega leans close to her occasionally, his mouth near her ear, but instead of the polite acknowledgment she usually gives him, she recoils slightly each time. Her responses are minimal, barely perceptible nods that look more like flinches.

“Speaking of Vega,” Marcus says, his voice dropping lower, “his security detail is fucking massive tonight. I counted twelve men on the floor alone.”

“Fourteen,” I correct him automatically. “Two more by the south entrance. Plus whatever he’s got stationed outside.”

The security presence feels different tonight. More alert. More focused. Like they’re preparing for something specific rather than just providing general protection.

Marcus raises an eyebrow. “You think he’s expecting trouble?”

“Maybe.” My jaw clenches as Vega’s hand settles on Audrey’s thigh, possessive and claiming. This time she doesn’t just go rigid—she actually shifts away from his touch. It’s subtle, probably invisible to most people, but I see it. “Or maybe he knows something we don’t.”

The thought sends ice through my veins. What if he’s figured out our plan? What if that’s why Audrey looks like she’s barely holding it together?

“Either way, it complicates things.” Marcus keeps his voice casual, like we’re discussing the weather instead of our plan to help Audrey escape her engagement. “The car’s still good for midnight?”

“Yeah. Black Suburban, tinted windows. Plates are clean.” I’ve gone over the details a hundred times in my head, mapping every possible route out of Cooper Heights, identifying potential choke points, planning contingencies. “We’ll take the mountain roads. Less chance of being followed.”

But the plan assumes everything goes smoothly tonight. Assumes Audrey can maintain her facade through the fight, through whatever post-event obligations Vega has planned. The woman sitting in that box doesn’t look like someone who’s holding it together. She looks like someone on the verge of breaking.

The bell rings, signaling the end of the round. Ben returns to his corner, barely winded despite the intensity of the fight.

Pride should be surging through me as I watch him take instruction from his coach. My little brother, dominating one of the top fighters in the division. Instead, all I can think aboutis why Audrey won’t look at me. Why she hasn’t answered my texts. What might have happened to put that brittle terror in her posture.

“You good with the Montana house?” Marcus asks, his eyes on the ring. “It’s remote as hell.”

“That’s the point.” The property sits on two hundred acres of wilderness, accessible only by a private road. No neighbors for miles. No connection to me or Pack Security. The perfect place to disappear until things cool down. “We’ll stay there until I can arrange something more permanent.”

If we make it that far. The thought hits me like a sucker punch. I’ve been so focused on the logistics of getting Audrey out that I haven’t fully considered what happens if Vega figures out what we’re planning. What happens if he’s already figured it out.

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