Page 3 of SNOB

My eyes pop open at the sound of that familiar voice, a wave of relief washing over me. Uncle Jake curses as Sterling’s laughter fills the room.

"And now?” Sterling asks, reaching into his suit blazer. He pulls out a cigarette like he just had a big meal. Reaching in again, he pulls out a silver lighter. One of those fancy ones that come ablaze when you flick them open.

Uncle Jake tries to stand, bracing himself against the counter. He looks up at Sterling with a sweaty face. “I thought I said no.”

Hell, my uncle is as stubborn as I am.

Click!

My stomach churns as Iron Eyes still points that gun at my uncle.

I’ve held back long enough.

Pressing my weight against the door, it makes a small creak before those metal eyes dart to mine.

I freeze.

Uncle Jake glances my way again before his head hangs.

“Take it.” My uncle can hardly speak but his words are clear. My eyes scan his body from where I stand, blood pouring from his knee. “Just take it.”

“Now, was that so hard?” Sterling puffs his cigarette in the middle of the room.

With one last glance at me, Iron Eyes drops the gun and strides to the door. Casual, like he didn’t just ruin everything.

“Teenagers.” Sterling chuckles, putting that cigarette to his lips. “I want you out of here by the weekend, Everett.” Reaching into his pocket again, he tosses a folded-up sheet of paper at my uncle’s chest. “Good luck with the Vultures.”

Mac

“My son is as ruthless as I am”

The puck hits the net, my eyes on the highlights from last night’s game playing on my phone. For once my focus isn’t on my favourite team.

It’s on that head of fiery hair glowing in my mind.

Did she notice how ruthless I am?

Wait a damn second, did my father just call me his son?

“My son,” he repeats, a whiff of peppery cologne coming with him as he sinks into the velvet cushion beside me. Don’t know why my father wants to open another fancy bar in the middle of The Valley. I hate coming here, and lately, we’ve been here a lot.

This bar sticks out as much as we do in the middle of worn buildings, boarded windows and cracked sidewalks. Velvet chaises, golden fixtures and expensive wood aren't rare in The Hill. It’s sexy and sophisticated. Everything Grim Valley isn’t. My father considers himself the Valley’s Midas. But no matter how much money he puts into this place, it’s still The Valley. Filthy, disgusting, sad.

“My only son.” My father holds out a crystal glass of amber liquid. When I accept, he tilts his glass against mine, the crystal chiming. “I’m proud of you.” His words almost choke me as the burning liquid makes its way to my nose. He chuckles as I swallow, pushing it down. “You’re a sick fuck but I am proud.”

A sick fuck.

It’s not the first time I’ve heard these words. Last time, it wasn’t so nice.

“Still think I’m psychotic, Father?” I say, savouring the rare drink with Sterling McKinsley. Didn’t think I’d get here until twenty-one but I won’t push it. Coach’ll notice if I get drunk and I’ll never hear the end of it.

My mind drifts back to that doe-eyed stare, freckles like dots of ember.

Those bloodstone eyes.

For a moment, I felt a shift. Like my status didn’t matter to her. I bet it does now.

Does she think I’m a sick fuck too?

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