Warcross (Warcross #1)(40)

At my tense expression, Tremaine’s smile stretches thinner. “Look at this peach. They bruise so easily, they need a Shield to escort them.” His eyes actively avoid Roshan in a way that lets me know that’s where his attention really is. “Ash must be losing his edge, picking you first.”

Max sizes me up. “Well, maybe Ash just wanted to pick someone who matched his team’s pedigree. Isn’t that right, Ahmadi?” he says to Roshan. Even as both Demons’ stares linger on me, they still don’t speak to me directly. Roshan’s hand tightens a little against my arm. “Can’t even get into a fancy restaurant with a Level 28 rank. She looks like she came from a used clothes bin.”

I pretend to lose my balance and stomp down hard on Max’s shoe with my heel. Max lets out a yelp. “Oh God—I’m so sorry!” I blurt out, pretending to be shocked. “It’s impossible to walk in these used heels.”

Roshan glances at me in surprise. A small smile hovers on the edge of his lips.

“Look, I know we haven’t started off on the best foot . . . literally,” I say to Max as he glares at me. “But I thought that maybe we could start over, you know, to show good sportsmanship.” I hold my hand out to them, waiting for a handshake.

Tremaine is the first one to burst out laughing. “Wow,” he exclaims over the music. “You’re as wild card as they get.” He makes a point to ignore my outstretched hand. “Look, Princess Peach, this isn’t how things work in the championships.”

I give him an innocent look of confusion. “Oh? Then how does it work?”

He holds up a finger. “I play you.” Another finger goes up. “I beat you. And then, if you ask nicely, I’ll sign an autograph for you. That’s pretty generous sportsmanship, don’t you think?” The fans around them smirk at me, and even over DJ Ren’s music, I can hear their snickers. It takes all my self-control to not ball up my fist right now and knock the smile off Tremaine’s face. I’ve gotten in plenty of fights over less.

Instead, I bring up all the info I can on both players. By now, my hack has worked its way into the Demons’ accounts. But nothing about the data on these two seems suspicious. I turn my attention to Max Martin’s info. His is surprisingly sparse, too. No odd security shields. Nothing useful.

Roshan comes to my aid before the Demons can add anything else. “Save your mouths,” he says coolly, his gaze lingering on Tremaine. “They won’t help you in the arena.”

Tremaine casts me a dismissive glance. I’m glad to see it—they are going to underestimate me. “Big words from the lowest-ranking team.” His eyes dart briefly to Roshan. “Go back to your Riders.” Then he starts to walk away, and Max follows in his wake.

“Who drove over their pets this morning?” I mutter to Roshan, my eyes on Tremaine’s back.

“It’s just a part of the Demons’ strategy. They talk the ugly talk and hope that some of it gets under the skin of their opponents, that it sticks there. Sometimes it works. Repeat an insult enough times, and anyone will start to believe it.”

A faint memory of past tournaments comes back to me, and suddenly I recall seeing Tremaine and Roshan frequently together, laughing and smiling. “Hey,” I say. “Tremaine used to be a Phoenix Rider, didn’t he? Weren’t you friends?”

Roshan’s expression darkens. “You could say that.”

“What happened?”

“Tremaine wants to win. Always,” he replies. “Simple as that. So when the Demon Brigade became the hot new team, he wanted out of the Riders.” He shrugs. “It’s just as well. They suit his personality better, anyway.”

And then I remember that Roshan and Tremaine were both wild cards in the same year. Roshan had been the number one pick. I want to ask him about it, but the look on his face tells me that he’s eager to change the subject. Maybe they had been more than friends. So I just nod and let it drop.

Hammie waving to us from the other side of the dance floor catches our attention. She’s pointing to a cluster of people gathered around someone. It takes me a second to realize that it’s Hideo, with the sleeves of his tuxedo shirt rolled up to his elbows and his blazer slung over one shoulder. Kenn walks beside him, greeting fans and players alike with his huge, animated grin. Hideo is more reserved, his expression as serious as I remember it, even as he gives polite greetings of his own.

Hammie pushes her way over to us and grabs us each by the arm. “Let’s go say hi.”

We end up jumbled in the back behind a group of Cloud Knight players and Team Andromeda, while ahead of us, Max and Tremaine shake Hideo’s hand in turn. Tremaine is saying something rapidly to him, while Hideo nods patiently without smiling.

I bite my lip, tugging self-consciously at my dress and cursing my decision to wear this thing.

Then Hideo’s gaze lands on me. My breath hitches. He bids a brief farewell to Tremaine and heads toward us. A moment later, he’s here, and Roshan is stepping forward to greet him.

Hammie slaps my wrist. “Stop fussing,” she says, glancing pointedly down at my dress.

“I’m not fussing,” I mumble, but then Hideo’s before me, and my hands freeze at my sides.

“Miss Chen,” he says. His eyes linger on my face. “Congratulations.”