Ty wiped a trail of water from his face, glaring up at Milo. Every muscle in his body ached, his clothes were soaked through, and exhaustion weighed him down like a boulder. "I don't need your trust," he muttered, his voice sharp but low. "Don't act like you did me a favor."
"Oh, you're welcome, sunshine," Milo shot back, a lopsided grin pulling at his mouth. "Real gratitude in those words. If Rui were here, I'm sure he'd be moved to tears."
Before Ty could answer, a sudden commotion pulled his attention. Across the spa, two Black Bulls dragged a man—barely conscious and filthy—up the cracked tiled steps. Ty's heart lurched as he recognized him. It was the same man Ty had fought in the frozen tundra, the man whose hands he had severed.
"What the hell are you doing with him?" Ty asked, his voice hard.
One of the Bulls, a burly fighter with a scar running across his nose, tossed the man to the ground. He groaned as he hit the tiles, curled up like a discarded rag.
