Page 57 of Dirty As Puck
“I thought the same,” he says. His voice is steady, but his eyes, there’s something hard there, something dangerous. “Until I had it all tested. DNA doesn’t lie. You’re my brother, Kai. My blood.”
The air feels heavier, pressing against my ribs. For a second, I almost believe him, but then anger cuts through my shock. I don’t want this. I never asked for this. A brother? Now? After thirty-five years of scraping by on my own?
“You think waving papers in my face makes it real?” I snap. “Family doesn’t just show up out of nowhere. Real family doesn’t wait for decades to speak up.”
His smirk widens. “Maybe not. But blood is blood no matter what, and whether you like it or not, I’m here now.”
My chest feels like it’s caving in, every old wound reopening at once. From foster care to Coach Reynolds, every loss I’ve carried, and now this stranger is trying to claim he’s part of me.
I shake my head, teeth clenched so tight it hurts. “I don’t know who the hell you are. But you’re not my brother.”
He doesn’t flinch. Just slides the papers closer, eyes locked on mine.
“We’ll see.”
I should walk away. I should throw the takeout in the trash, get in my car, and drive. But my feet don’t move. My gut’s already churning, and something about the way he stands there, like heowns the whole damn garage tells me if I leave now, he’ll only come back louder.
I grit my teeth. “Why now? If you’ve got all this proof, and if you’re so sure we’re blood, why wait until tonight?”
He smirks, like I just walked into his trap. “Because I’ve been patiently watching you and waiting for the right time.” He taps the folder of papers against his palm. “You think all those leaks over the years were coincidences? Random strangers snapping photos, tabloids stumbling across the right tip at the right time?”
The air leaves my lungs in a sharp exhale. My grip on my keys tightens. “What are you saying?”
Derek tilts his head, brown eyes glinting in the low light. “I’ve been the one feeding them. Every piece. Every angle. They paid well, and I had debts to cover, mostly from gambling. Cards, dice, you name it. I got in too deep, and your name, well our name was worth a fortune.”
My stomach drops. Memories flash as I remember headlines about my fights, my so-called ‘nightlife escapades,’ the relentless press painting me as a selfish and arrogant bastard. Every time I tried to get up, someone shoved me back down with another story.
“You…” My voice cracks, rage boiling up. “You’ve been the one selling me out?”
He doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t even try to look guilty. “You survived. You’re still here. Stronger than ever, right? And don’t pretend you didn’t like the bad boy image. It sold tickets, got you fans. Made you untouchable.”
I want to punch him. My fists curl, but I stay rooted, jaw locked. “You orchestrated all of it.”
Derek shrugs, casual. “Not all. But enough of it. The bar fight? You think some drunk just happened to start something with a senator’s daughter? Please. I lined that up. All I had to do was nudge the right people and stir the right pot.”
The garage tilts for a second, and I have to steady myself against the car. Rage, disbelief, betrayal, they hit all at once, harder than any blow I’ve taken in a game.
“You,” I spit. “Exploited every part of my life. My mother, my career, even that fight. All for what? A few thousand bucks and a way to crawl out of your own mess?”
Derek steps closer, close enough I catch the faint stench of cigarettes clinging to his jacket. “Not a few thousand, Kai. Millions. And I’m not done. You’ve got two choices, brother––pay up or watch everything crumble. Including that journalist you can’t keep your hands off.”
My blood instantly goes cold. He doesn’t have to say Rochelle’s name for me to know who he means.
My voice comes out low and dangerous. “Stay the hell away from her.”
Derek only smiles, wolfish and sharp. “You have forty-eight hours, Kai. Two million. Decide if it’s all worth it.”
The air in the garage feels heavy, like it’s pressing down on me. My voice comes out low, almost a growl. “You don’t have anything. Nothing concrete. Just whispers.”
Derek smirks, like he’s been waiting for me to say that. “You really want to test me on that?”
He pulls a thin folder from his jacket and drops it onto the hood of my car. Papers slide out, their glossy edges catching the dim light. My stomach knots as I stare at them.
Photos slip out. There’s one of me at the hospital, hand on my best friend’s shoulder. Another of me outside Tommy’s place, laughing like I don’t have the weight of the world on me. And then, my chest seizes as I stare at a shot of Rochelle and I in my truck.
The sight makes my throat tighten.
Jesus.
