Page 129 of The Obvious Check

“Isn’t the first rule of fight club to never talk about fight club?”

“When you’re in it. I’m not. It’s something I used to do, but I've learned my lesson since then.”

“No,” Matty says, dead serious. “You haven't.”

I stare at him, my eyebrows pulling together in confusion. “What the hell does that mean?”

He sighs and glares at me like I'm the dumbest motherfucker he's ever had the misfortune of meeting. “Don't treat me like I'm an idiot. You've clearly agreed to fight and now you need to figure a way out of it. That's why you want my help. You need some dirt.”

Well, fuck me. This guy can see straight through my bullshit.

I blow out a breath, genuinely impressed. “It's like you read my mind.”

“It's not that hard. You play a sport with little blades on your feet and don’t care about your dental fees.”

And there goes my ego, taking a direct hit. “Are you calling me stupid just because I’m a hockey player? Tell me, is it really athleticism if you only have to get up and kick a ball every thirty minutes?”

Matty actually smirks at that, the cocky bastard. “Wow, someone's inferiority complex is showing. I was talking aboutthe incessant need hockey players have to fight, but you believe what you want.”

Heat creeps up my neck. “Sorry. I'm a little on edge.”

“I can tell.” His fingers are already dancing across his phone screen, completely unbothered by my attitude problem.

“Is this something you think you can help me with?”

He shrugs without looking up. “Sure. Why not? Haven't hacked anything interesting in a while, and this guy sounds like a grade-A slimeball.”

“What can you do?”

“Take him down.” He says it so matter-of-fact that it makes all the stress that's been eating me alive seem suddenly manageable. “Guys like him think they're untouchable because they deal in cash, but they always fuck up somewhere. Bank records, property purchases, phone records, social media… there’s always something connecting them back to the dirty money. These small-time tyrants can't help but leave breadcrumbs. If he's as dirty as he sounds, and I'm ninety-nine percent certain he is, then I'll find where he slipped up.”

“Perfect.”

“All I need from you is intel. Full name, business address, any aliases he goes by. Anything weird you've seen or heard. It doesn't matter how small. Sometimes it's the tiniest mistake that brings the whole house of cards down.”

I'm already scrolling through my phone before he finishes talking. “I've got it all.”

“You do?”

I glance up at him. “I might not be a tech genius, but I'm not completely brain-dead either. You never know what information might come in handy with a piece of shit like Luke. I'll airdrop it to you now.”

His whole demeanor shifts when the ping hits his phone and there’s a small quirk of his lips.

“Well, damn. You've made my job easy.” He cracks his neck, already connecting his phone to a laptop that materialized from nowhere. “Give me a few hours. I'll see what I can dig up and how deep I can get into his system.”

“You're starting now?”

“Yeah, beats going back to my dorm and listening to my roommate fuck my next-door neighbor,” he mutters, fingers flying over the keyboard. “Or dealing with my girlfriend's latest drama, for that matter.”

I don't ask for details. Not because I don't know him well enough, but because I've got bigger problems than his relationship issues.

“I won't be available for a couple hours but call me if you find anything.”

“Doing anything interesting?” he asks, so absorbed in whatever code he's typing that he doesn't bother looking up.

“Yeah.” I can't help the grin that spreads across my face. “I'm getting married.”

My fingers won't stop fucking with my collar. I've adjusted the damn thing about a hundred times in the last ten minutes, telling myself it's because the fabric is stiff as cardboard, but who am I kidding? My hands are shaking like I'm about to face a firing squad instead of marrying the woman I love.

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