Page 25 of The Wrong Quarterback

Matty: How the fuck are you going to see a blink through a text?

Jace: ESP, obviously. I’d be able to sense it through the phone.

Matty: …

Rolling my eyes, I slammed my laptop shut, annoyed for the first time in my life that I had to go to a football practice.

I had so much more stalking to do.

On my way, I typed out as I strode out of the study room and down the hall.

I’d always been a pro at patience in my life. Knowing that if I worked hard, eventually I would get what I wanted. It had worked for football, and I’d make sure it worked with Casey as well.

And I was quite sure that the payoff for this particular patience would be the most rewarding thing I’d earned in my life thus far.

I jolted awake, my eyes searching the darkness of the room, trying to figure out what had woken me up…and what had my pulse hammering like an alarm in my chest.

Something was off. The kind of off that prickled the back of my neck and made my muscles tense under the sheets. I sat up slowly, letting my eyes adjust to the slivers of moonlight filtering through the blinds. I didn’t see anything.

Swinging my legs over the side of the bed, I reached for a pair of sweatpants on the chair. I pulled them on, the soft fabric clinging to my skin as the cool air hit me. Sleeping naked was my usual thing, but I wasn’t going to go investigate the house with my dick out.

Creak. And then another one.

Alright…some fucker was definitely in my house. And it better not be Jace or Matty trying to scare me from next door because I wasn’t above punching either of them.

I moved as silently as I could to the closet, opening it and grabbing the baseball bat I had in there before I crept to the bedroom door. Cracking it open, I peered into the dark hallway.

Empty.

I took a few steps down the hall, avoiding the floorboards that I knew creaked. This house was older, like all the houses you could rent around campus.

I was just passing one of the empty bedrooms when a rough burlap bag was suddenly yanked over my head, the thick, scratchy material biting into my neck. “Mother-fucker!” I hissed, my body kicking into fight mode before my brain even caught up. I swung, my fist connecting with someone’s ribs.

The grunt of pain was satisfying, and I tried again, but it was like ten more people were on me at once, crushing me, pinning my arms to my sides, and forcing me to the ground.

“Hold him, damn it!” a voice hissed.

I jerked and twisted, catching another body with my knee. There were curses, then shuffling feet, and the sound of someone stumbling into the wall. Before I could hit anyone else, my arms were yanked behind me, bound tightly, and my legs tied next. I struggled against the restraints, breath heaving through the stifling bag.

Before I could process my next move, I was lifted and carried away. The hallway turned into the front yard, and then the night air bit at my bare chest. There was a rumble as a car trunk squeaked open, and I was shoved inside. “Fuck,” I grunted, the hard metal unforgiving against my spine. The lid slammed shut.

Was this really happening?

I kicked as hard as I could, my feet slamming against the sides, but the only response was the engine roaring to life.

The drive was short, but the minutes seemed to tick by like hours, as I continued to kick at the sides and try to get out of the bindings around my wrists. I listened to the tires crunchgravel, and then the car finally stopped, and muffled voices were talking low outside. The trunk popped open, and I didn’t wait. I thrashed, twisting my body, trying to kick out at whoever was close enough. My foot connected with something—a knee, maybe—and I heard a curse.

“I’m going to kill you,” I snarled, and someone nearby actually laughed.

More hands grabbed at me and lifted me out of the trunk. The bag still covered my face, suffocating, blinding, but I could feel the temperature change. Cooler air, stale. Like we were heading underground.

They took me down steps, my feet bouncing off each one. My shoulders ached from being jerked around.

“Careful with him,” a voice said. “He has a game today.”

What the fuck? What kind of kidnappers were these guys?

There was a chuckle, and then I was set down on the cold, hard floor. The bag was ripped from my head, and I blinked, squinting against the dim light as I inhaled the smell of wax and damp earth. Flickering candles caught my attention first, casting long shadows that danced along the concrete walls. My pulse raced as I scanned the room, the cold air pressing in from all sides. Candles lined every surface, filling the basement with a strange, almost…ceremonial glow. A circle of guys in black masks completed that look. They were standing motionless, watching me with painted, grinning faces.

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