Chapter Sixteen

EMMA

Emma wished that Joey was in the crowd. She thought that he’d really get a kick out of watching her skate. Anticipation coursed through her veins, tinged with an undercurrent of nervousness as she put on the last of her gear. As she skated out of the locker room, Dante stepped up and gave her a quick hug.

“Give ’em hell, Queen Mab.” His lips brushed against her cheek in a fleeting kiss, a gesture of good luck that made her wish they had more time before the game so he could ease her nerves in a more distracting way.

“I’ll do my best,” she said.

At the jammer line, Emma crouched low, her muscles coiled and ready. The shrill blast of the whistle pierced the air, and she surged forward, her powerful strides propelling her into the fray. She wove through the pack with fluid grace, her agility allowing her to evade the grasping hands and flying elbows of the opposing team.

Pain blossomed along her hip as a vicious block sent her careening into the railing. Emma gritted her teeth, the metallic taste of blood sharp on her tongue. Undeterred, she pushed herself back into the thick of the action, her determination fueling each gliding step.

The roar of the crowd faded into a dull thrum as Emma focused solely on the track before her. As the match went on, she fell—a lot. Got shoved and turned around. At one point, she even started skating the wrong way, but she was having the time of her life.

Despite the Sinners ultimately falling short and losing their match, the thrill of the game still coursed through Emma’s veins as she skated off the track. Her teammates surrounded her, their laughter and cheers a balm to her bruised body and weary soul.

Dante waited for her at the edge of the rink, a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth. He drew her into his arms, mindful of her aching muscles. “You were on fire,” he murmured, his fingers tangling gently in her sweat-dampened hair. “A true force to be reckoned with.”

Emma melted into his embrace, the solid warmth of his body a comforting anchor amidst the adrenaline still rushing through her system. In that moment, the rest of the world fell away—the doubts, the fears, the uncertainties. All that mattered was the fierce joy of accomplishment, the steadfast support of her team, and the undeniable connection that shimmered between her and Dante, electric and all-consuming.

“I need a shower,” she said.

“Come home with me and I’ll give you one.”

How could a girl refuse that?

The next day, Emma stared at the spreadsheets scattered across the conference room table, the numbers blurring together as Colleen and Tee debated the merits of various models for the upcoming fall fashion shows. Exhaustion tugged at her limbs, the exhilaration of the previous night’s roller derby game giving way to a dull, persistent ache in her muscles. She reached for her coffee mug, desperate for a caffeine boost to sharpen her focus.

The door burst open, revealing a fuming Anya, her usually composed features twisted with rage. “Have you seen what that little bitch Kiki Pretty posted?” Her voice trembled with fury as she thrust her phone toward the center of the table.

Emma’s stomach clenched, a sinking feeling of dread washing over her as she leaned forward to get a better look at the screen. There, splashed across Kiki’s social media feed, was a montage of Emma’s every misstep and stumble from the roller derby match, each moment captured in humiliating detail. Captions dripping with sarcasm and derision accompanied each clip, painting Emma as a clumsy, uncoordinated fool.

Heat rushed to her face, embarrassment and anger warring for dominance as she watched the mocking footage play out before her eyes. The room around her faded away, the voices of her colleagues reduced to a distant buzz as the weight of Kiki’s cruelty crashed over her like a tidal wave.

She was a meme for clumsiness and being pushed around. Look at all those people sharing and liking those awful posts.

“Anya,” Colleen said, frowning. “This could have waited.”

“Kiki is only doing this for revenge because Dante tossed her out on her keister.”

“She deserved it,” Tee said.

“I could get the lawyers involved,” Colleen said.

“For what?” Anya said, exasperated. “It’s still legal to be a cunt.”

Emma flinched at the harsh word, but she didn’t disagree with Anya’s statement. Her

fingers curled into fists beneath the table, her nails biting into the soft flesh of her palms. She fought to maintain her composure, to keep the tears that burned behind her eyes from spilling over onto her cheeks. Even though Anya had put the phone away, Emma could still see the mocking images portraying her as a fool.

“I...I need a moment,” she managed to choke out, her voice barely above a whisper as she pushed back from the table and fled the room.

She stumbled blindly down the hallway, her vision blurred by the tears she could no longer contain. Bursting into the bathroom, Emma gripped the edges of the sink, her knuckles turning white as she struggled to draw in a deep, shuddering breath. The cold porcelain against her palms grounded her, a lifeline amidst the whirlwind of emotions that threatened to consume her.

The bathroom door creaked open, and Anya’s reflection appeared behind her in the mirror, concern etched into the lines of her face. “Oh, honey,” she murmured, moving to rest a comforting hand on Emma’s shoulder. “Don’t let that vapid little twat get to you. She’s just jealous of your talent and your spirit.”

Emma shook her head, a bitter laugh escaping her lips. “Talent? Spirit? All I see is a girl who can barely stay on her feet, let alone inspire anyone.” The words tasted like ash on her tongue, the insecurities she’d fought so hard to overcome rearing their ugly heads once more.

Anya’s grip tightened, her voice fierce with conviction. “Listen to me, Emma Hartley. You are so much more than a few stumbles on the rink. You are brave, and strong, and resilient. Don’t you dare let anyone make you doubt that, least of all some petty social media starlet with nothing better to do than tear others down.”

Emma wanted to believe her, wanted to cling to the strength and confidence Anya saw within her. But the doubts lingered, insidious whispers in the back of her mind that even Anya’s impassioned words couldn’t entirely silence. She drew in a shaky breath, swiping at the tears that stained her cheeks. “I just...I need some time, Anya. To process all of this, to figure out how to move forward.”

Anya nodded, understanding softening her features. “Take all the time you need, sweetheart. We’re here for you, every step of the way.” She drew Emma into a tight embrace, the warmth of her arms a momentary respite from the turmoil that raged within.

As Anya slipped out of the bathroom, leaving Emma alone with her thoughts, a wave of exhaustion crashed over her. She sagged against the sink, her reflection staring back at her—a lost, broken girl, her dreams of strength and resilience shattered by the cruelty of a few careless keystrokes. In that moment, all she wanted was to disappear, to retreat from the world and the pain that threatened to consume her.

Queen Mab? Who had Emma been trying to kid with that?

But deep within, a flicker of defiance still burned, a stubborn ember that refused to be extinguished. Emma clung to it, a lifeline amidst the darkness, a promise that somehow, someway, she would find the strength to rise above the mockery and the doubts. She just needed time—time to heal, to regroup, to rediscover the fierce, unyielding spirit that had brought her this far.

Emma pulled herself together and returned to the meeting, her emotions tightly leashed as she focused on the tasks at hand. She nodded at Colleen’s suggestions, her pen scratching across her notepad as she jotted down the details for the upcoming fashion shows. The minutes ticked by, each one an eternity as she fought to maintain her composure, the weight of Kiki’s cruel mockery pressing down on her chest like a leaden fist.

When lunchtime finally arrived, Emma excused herself with a tight smile, her steps hurried as she navigated the winding corridors of Couture. She needed Dante, needed his solid presence and unwavering support to anchor her amidst the tempest of her emotions. She found him in his office, hunched over his desk, his brow furrowed in concentration.

Dante glanced up as she entered, his eyes widening as he took in her red-rimmed eyes and trembling lips. “Emma? What’s wrong?” He rose from his chair, concern etched into the lines of his face.

The dam broke then, the tears she had held back for so long spilling down her cheeks in hot, heavy rivulets. Emma stumbled forward, collapsing into Dante’s arms as sobs wracked her slender frame. He held her close, his strong arms encircling her, his hands rubbing soothing circles on her back as she poured out her pain.

“It’s Kiki,” Emma managed between hiccupping breaths. “She made a meme, of me, from the roller derby. Made me look like an asshole in front of the whole world.”

Dante’s jaw clenched, his eyes hardening into flints of obsidian. “Show me.”

With shaking hands, Emma pulled out her phone, the offending images still glaring from the screen. Dante’s face darkened as he scrolled through the posts, his free hand tightening into a fist at his side. “That petty, spiteful little—” He bit off the words, his voice tight with barely suppressed rage.

But as he looked down at Emma, he modified his tone. “Hey,” he murmured, tilting her chin up with a gentle finger. “Don’t let her get to you. She’s just jealous, trying to tear you down because she knows she can’t hold a candle to you.”

Emma shook her head, fresh tears spilling over her lashes. “But what if she’s right?” Her voice wavered, thin and thready with vulnerability. “What if I’m not strong enough, not tough enough to handle this? Maybe I should just quit the team before I embarrass myself even more.”

He cupped her face in his hands, his thumbs brushing away the tears that tracked down her cheeks. “You are one of the strongest, most resilient people I know. You’ve overcome so much, come so far—don’t let one petty bully’s words make you doubt yourself now.”

Emma’s lower lip trembled, her eyes searching his, desperate for reassurance. “But the things she said, the way she made me look...”

“Aren’t true,” Dante finished firmly. “You are grace and fire on those skates, Emma. A few stumbles don’t change that. Kiki’s just trying to get under your skin, to make herself feel better by tearing you down. Don’t give her that power over you.”

He pulled her closer, resting his forehead against hers, their breaths mingling in the scant space between them. “You’re a fighter. A survivor. And you’ve got me, and Colleen, and Anya, and the whole Couture crew in your corner. We believe in you—now you just need to believe in yourself.”

Emma’s hands fisted in his shirt, clinging to him like a lifeline amidst the chaos of her emotions. She drew in a deep, shuddering breath, the air hitching in her lungs as she struggled to find her equilibrium. Dante’s words echoed in her mind, but the doubts still clamored for attention, insidious whispers that refused to be silenced.

“I want to believe you,” she murmured, her voice raw and ragged. “I do.”

His thumbs brushed over her cheekbones, wiping away the tears that had begun to fall. “I know it’s hard, baby.”

Emma leaned into his touch, drawing strength from the solid warmth of his presence. She wanted to believe him, to trust in the conviction that blazed in his eyes, but the scars of her past ran deep, the wounds still raw and aching. “I think I’m going to quit.”

“I forbid it,” he snapped in his Dom voice.

It straightened her spine. She pulled away to look up at him. She wanted to argue with him, but the look in his eyes made her think better of it.

“We’ll discuss this later. Right now, I want you to go back to work and not think about Kiki Pretty or her poison for the rest of the day.”

“Easy for you to say.”

“Easier still if you remove your underwear and give them to me.”

“What? Dante, I’m not looking for sex.”

“And I’m not looking for disobedience.” He slapped his hand down hard on her ass.

“Ow.” She rubbed the spot.

“Now,” he said.

Unbuttoning her shirt, she slid out of her bra and handed it to him. Her nipples pebbled in the cool air conditioning of his office. He tweaked one and she gasped in pain.

“Now your panties,” he said when she had fixed her top.

Kicking off her shoes and stepping out of her pants, she handed them to him. Dante thrust two rough fingers between her legs and rubbed her clit until she clung to him. “So very wet. So very needy.” He stroked her to the brink of orgasm and them kissed her fiercely when he pulled his fingers away.

“Get dressed,” Dante said.

Well, he was right about one thing. She wasn’t going to be thinking about Kiki Pretty while she was aching from Dante’s touch and feeling exposed because she wasn’t wearing underwear. He gave her one last smack that had her stumbling out the door.

She turned back to glare at him.

“We’ll discuss that look later as well,” he threatened.

Emma’s entire body shivered and she made a quick retreat before she made it worse for herself by taking her anger out on Dante.