Page 8 of Vengeful Rotten Casualties

I grit my teeth. Yeah. There is. “Fine,” I snap. “If you want the whole truth—then yes, there’s more to it than me just fucking wanting on the team.”

“Then speak,” Avalon says. “We’re listening.”

“Being on the team will do more for me than simply attending Eastpoint as a school,” I reply. “If it was about the school, I could’ve stayed at St. Augustine.”

Avalon tips her head back and looks at me. “You want to make it look like we’re all connected,” she guesses.

I nod. “Even if you don’t accept me, I need to know I have your help when it comes down to it. Anyone watching will assume that if I’m on the same team, then you’re willing to back me up.”

“We’re willing to back you up regardless,” Abel says, “purely because of the help you’ve given us—why the hell do we need to make it look like we have your back?”

“Because it’ll cause less problems in the long run,” Dean answers with a sigh.

He retracts his arm from around Avalon’s waist and turns, slipping one leg out from beneath the table and then the next as he stands to face me. Toe to toe, he’s taller than me, but not bigger. No, on size, we’re even. Were the two of us to go at it like we actually mean to kill each other, one or two inches isn’t going to save his life. He crosses his arms and stares me down. I arch a brow, waiting.

I’m not used to being on this side, but I’ll bow to him—I’ll let him be top dog and ruler as long as I can get his assistance. At the end of the day, there’s really only one thing that matters to me and that’s making it out from under my father’s watchful eye alive and finding what he took from me so long ago.

“Fine,” Dean agrees begrudgingly. “I’ll talk to the coach and you’ll meet us for practice tomorrow.”

“Why not tonight?” I press.

Dean scowls. “Don’t push your luck,” he snaps. “I’ve still got to talk to Coach and give him a heads up.”

Abel groans from behind him but doesn’t say anything more. “Don’t expect a great position,” Marcus grumbles.

“It’s not about position,” I shoot back. “I can be the better player in any position.”

“Fucking—”

“Enough,” Dean holds up a hand, cutting Marcus off as he eyes me. “And for what it’s worth, Luc, I am sorry about your home.”

I bend down and lift my duffle bag once more. I’d been too hopeful in bringing it with me to campus. “Don’t worry about it,” I reply. “It wasn’t much of a home anyway.”

He nods knowingly. If anyone understands the kind of upbringing I’ve had, it would be him. “We’ll figure out who’s behind it,” he says. “But it is going to take time.”

I glance past him to Rylie, and instead of answering him, I ask another question. “Have you gotten any more information on that missing person I asked you about a while back?”

Rylie’s fingers freeze on her laptop keyboard and her eyes shoot up to Avalon and then to me. “Um… not exactly,” she replies.

My fingers clench on the duffle bag strap. “What does that mean?”

Avalon answers for her. “It means that we can’t discuss it here,” she says, drawing my attention. She, too, slips out from beneath the table and moves to stand next to Dean. “Can you stop by the house after practice tomorrow?”

My heart races with hope. It isn’t a ‘no,’ which means something more has happened. It takes every ounce of self-control that I possess to tamp down my immediate need to grab onto her and shake the information loose. I’ve waited more than five years; another twenty-four hours is nothing.

“Yeah.” The word comes out gruffly and before the reins of my desire to know slip loose, I turn and walk away.

Close—I’m so fucking close to learning the truth. I can feel it. It wasn’t a mistake, trusting this group. Choosing them. In fact, if it brings me closer to what I want, then this was the best decision I could’ve ever made.

4

MICKI

After hidingin plain sight for so long, it almost feels wrong to walk amidst normal people as if I’m one of them. I’ve resided on the outskirts of society. Hidden away. A forgotten child lost to the world of corrupt businessmen. Buried beneath falsified medical documents and guardianships that the media would have a field day with if they weren’t paid by the very people who take advantage of the country’s laws and court systems to do everything they shouldn’t. As I pass through a crowd of well-dressed businessmen, I shift forward, leaning into my stride. My heels click on the shiny tiles of the bank floor. A man accidentally bumps my shoulder and finally looks up—realizing that he’s disturbed someone. More than that, someone didn’t actually step out of his way.

My shades slide down my nose and I reach up, pushing them back. When he expects an apology from me—because of course men like him always expect everyone around them to serve and cater to them regardless of whether or not they’re inconveniencing others—I merely offer him a smirk and keep going. The feeling of his gaze on my back follows me.

Good.

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