Page 61 of Sinister Legacy
“CHECK THEM!” he roars, and I flinch.
“Fine, okay.” I crouch down, wiping my wet cheeks with the denim sleeves of my jacket. King waits silently while I search his pockets.
Except for a house key, a wallet, and a packet of chewing gum, there’s nothing.
Rising to my feet, I hand him his clothes, and he pulls them on while I sniffle pathetically.
“Can we move past your paranoid shit now?”
I start to reply but then I remember the choice I made, and my eyes widen.
I set off running.
“Keira?” King calls after me.
“He’s gonna kill Miles. We have to stop him.”
We lost. The atmosphere in the changing room is about as quiet and tense as you can imagine. It was an important game—one we couldn’t afford to lose. But lose, we did.
Chris sits with his head in his hands, not in any hurry to have a shower while the rest of us strip out of our clothes.
Miles and I exchange a look.
“You okay, man?” I ask Chris, pulling my sweaty jersey off and letting it drop to the floor.
Chris shakes his head as the room fills with steam and bare asses. “You won’t believe what I did.”
Miles runs a hand through his dark hair, the towel around his hips threatening to slip to the floor. “You told Amanda that you want a threesome?”
“I made a bet with Rodrigues that we would win the season.”
I pause, towel in hand. “Rodrigues?TheRodrigues? The fucking drug mule?”
Rodrigues is a well-known dealer here in Blackwoods. He’s the type who has a hand in everything and not someone you want to get involved with.
Chris nods, breathing out a ragged breath behind his hands.
“What do you mean, you made a bet?” Miles asks carefully, and we exchange a glance.
“I scored some drugs off him last year. He invited me to meet some of his cronies, and we drank alcohol and smoked weed. I thought he was alright.”
“And?”
“He pulled a fucking gun on me and demanded I pay him $200,000. Said my trust fund was good for it.”
“And then what happened?”
Chris finally lowers his hands. “I don’t fucking have that kind of money, so I made a different deal instead.”
“What deal?” I bite out, sensing this is going nowhere good.
“I didn’t want to die, okay? I wasn’t fucking thinking clearly. I just agreed to anything to get out of there.”
“What deal did you make, Chris?”
Swallowing thickly, Chris puts his elbows on his thighs and pulls sharply at his hair. “He said he’d give me an out: win the season and walk away unharmed.” His eyes are wide when he looks up at us. “We murdered the competition last season, so I thought we had it in the bag.”
I slam a locker shut. “You’re so fucking stupid sometimes, Chris.”
