Page 44 of Call the Shots
It wasn’t just my information either. At the bottom of the pile, we had the official and signed documents for every Gladiator.
“Cleo?” June broke the silence. “Riley isn’t here.”
Shit, she was right. I dug through the packets, but Townsend didn’t jump out at me. He was the only player we didn’t have information on.
“What does that mean?” Denali asked. “He didn’t throw it away or…?”
“I don’t know,” Cleo admitted. “But it’s the only thing we have to go on.”
The four ofus prepared statements for the sudden pickup from the shredding company—an explanation for why the shredding company had come even if they obviously hadn’t dropped by the Colo in months. Cleo even made a fake invoice. But Vernon never brought it up, never mentioned it. That would take actually being in the Colo to see us.
It was the same with Riley. From the gym sessions he skipped to the practices he was late for, he was barely there too. So I wasn’t shocked when he didn’t arrive for the rage room.
It was fucking miserable in the scorching heat of Houston. Because we didn’t pay for it, the team had to sit on the curb, waiting for a stockbroker company to finish up their bonding time. More than twenty of us were sweating our asses off while June practiced flashcards with Montoya for his classes.
I watched her out of the corner of my eye, the ghost of the buzzsaw tugging at me. After hearing her usethat,I couldn’t stop thinking about it, and it made regular jerking off pointless. Just not as good. If I could’ve gotten laid, maybe that’d take the edge off, but my brain wouldn’t cooperate.
The door opened, a guy in a neon vest poking his head out. “Are we ready?”
The rage room had dented washing machines, broken computer screens, chipped dishes, and empty plastic cups of beer from the last customers, leaving the floor a sticky mess. The idea was to break as much stuff as possible for fun, but it felt so performative.
“We’ll be taking videos for social media,” Cleo announced. “No cursing.”
My team exchanged looks. Nobody budged from our awkward ranks.
“Um, Cleo, do you want to go first?” June asked.
“I just got my nails done.”
June took a hesitant walk to the table of weapons. Crowbars, hammers, long pipes, she hefted them in her hands, looking out of place. Somehow, the pink Marrs shirt and shoes with little bows didn’t say she was ready to kick ass.
Finally, she selected the baseball bat and took her place at a glass window, mostly intact. “So…I guess I hit it.”
No one said anything.
The first hit made athacksound, bouncing her back like a cartoon character. It was painful to watch, especially the startled look on her face. I pinched the bridge of my nose. “June. Harder than that.”
“Shut up, Bear.”
“This isn’t a beauty pageant, you have tohitit.”
June hit it with the baseball bat again.Thack.
I sighed. “June.Harder.”
“Basil lines up her next swing…” Elijah called like a sportscaster. “Been hammering slow balls, let’s see her make a home run?—”
“Shut up, Elijah!”
“Want one of us to take over?” I pressed. More chuckles followed.
“What is this window made out of?” June tightened her grip and let the baseball bat soar.
Thack.
“Have you ever broken a window before?” Nick asked.
I stepped forward. “Change your stance?—”
