Page 4 of Scoring the Player
I lose Dipshit Guard Two.
Bingo.
He’sstaring right at me. Stoic, like his stillness is orchestrating the chaos.
You showed me your beast…time to play with mine.
I tense my muscles and blow toward the fucker like a battering ram, only he dodges left, sending me sailing through the air.
Shit.
My feet lift off the ground.
Holy shit.
Heart punching through my ribcage, wind smothering my face, I tuck in, curling my spine, and brace for a wipeout.
My back thuds against a floor of muscle.
“Hey, Blue.”
“Fuck off”—my elbows crash against his ribs—“me.”
Why’s he always calling me Blue?
He winces, coughing up air. My elbow slices through the air again, the fire in my belly craving the crunch of bone, when a hand wraps around my leg and yanks me down Asshole’s body. I kick hard, jamming my foot in the air until I’m freed of the guard. I flip to my knees, bear crawl up the fucker, and launch blow after blow, rage growing as each fist meets his elbowed shield. A movement of rushing bodies at the edge of my visiondistracts me for a split second, and a sharp ache in my obliques buckles me over.
“Shh, that was just a tap,” he soothes, rubbing the spot.
My hand wraps around his throat and squeezes, brightening the fucking glint in the fucker’s eyes.
We’re ripped apart.
He’s barely contained, yet an army of guards circles me.
“Hey,” he says hoarsely, rubbing his throat. “At least I got you off?—”
My stomach bottoms out.
“—the bench. You’re welcome.”
“You got a death wish?” I growl, fighting to get free.
He smirks. “If you’re doing the killing…”
“Stay the fuck away from me.”
He turns toward the tunnel, palms clasped, offering amends to the crowd. And they eat it up, rooting for him and screaming, “Refs, you suck!”
He spins to face me. The distance between us not enough to hide the hollows of his dimples. “I wish I could, Blue, but I can’t.”
CHAPTER 1
ARNAZ
PRESENT DAY
“Do your worst”
