Page 139 of Under the Lights

I’d timed my entry perfectly. A little birdie had told me Beta Chi would be filming their cringy little recruitment video forSpring Rush today, so everyone would be distracted, leaving the house empty.

Wearing a dark hoodie and baseball cap, I slunk around the house to the back.

I knocked out the back camera with a rock and used a crowbar to pry the basement window open. Time to see if my gut feeling was right. I’d been going over all the information I had for days now, and I always came to the same conclusion.

There was no way that little rat, Douchebag David, didn’t have an exit strategy. Something to save his own skin, in case things went south.

Thankfully, his room wasn’t hard to find, and I went to work. Drawers flew open. Shoes got kicked aside. I dug through his overpriced, cologne-scented crap like a raccoon with a vendetta.

I was hunting tech — laptop, USB, carrier pigeon with a SIM card. I didn’t give a fuck. He had to havesomethingsquirreled away.

It took me longer than I’d hoped to find it, but eventually, my gloved fingers closed around a cheap phone shoved into a drawer. Nothing that flashy prick would own to actually use.

Cheap. Plastic.You’re busted.

“Oh, buddy,” I whispered, cradling the device like a treasure. “You really thought you did something.”

And he hadn’t even put a fucking code on it.You have got to be shitting me.God forbid this clown take basic digital safety seriously.

I swiped through the phone, a manic grin spreading across my lips. That fucking idiot. He might as well have wrapped it in a fucking bow.

Pulling a permanent marker from my pocket, I tore the cap off with my teeth before tagging the wall right above his bed.

You lose.

Twice :)

xx

I was fully aware of the risk, knew it could get me benched or suspended if they got to me before we took them down. But I did it anyway. I wasn’t known for being the most level-headed, after all.

Forty Two

Sierra

The squeak of sneakers and the echo of whistles faded behind me as Dom pulled me into a dimly lit side corridor just off the gym.

The overhead lights didn’t reach this far, leaving us bathed in a faint, flickering glow from an old exit sign. A lingering scent of sweat and floor polish hung in the air, and the sound of my pounding pulse was almost louder than the buzzer.

“What is going on?” I hissed, glancing over my shoulder toward the court, where my team was still warming up under the blinding gym lights.

I was supposed to be out there, not ducking into dark corners with a dude who looked like he was about to confess to arson.

Toying with the zipper of my athletic jacket, I peered up at him, and his eyes were lit with barely restrained emotion.

Dom was fidgeting, his big frame taut with nervous energy.

“Got something for you,” he murmured, his voice low and reverent.

I furrowed my brow in confusion.What could be this important?

His lips curled into a lazy grin, his face a mask of smug satisfaction. He grabbed one of my hands, pulled something out of his pocket, and placed it in my palm.

I looked down at our hands, his tattoos a stark contrast to my unmarked skin, as my fingers curled around a cheap burner phone.

“Uhm …thanks? What exactly am I supposed to do with that?”

He chuckled. “That’s not foryou. Well, the contents are, I suppose. Take a look.”

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