Ray Diaz is standing at the corner of the building with his hands in his pockets and a grin that sends bile to settle in my throat.
Ignore him. Go inside. Play the game.
As much as my subconscious orders me around, I’m rooted in place, unable to move, because he wants something, and even if I run, he’ll find me.
His long legs eat up the space until I can smell his garlic breath. “I’ve come to collect.”
Those words he spat at me that night in his shop blare in my head.
You still owe me, and I will call in a favor.
I jut out my chin. “I don’t have time for your shit.”
He whips out his phone and taps the screen twice before shoving it in my face. I have to move away to get a clear view of what I’m looking at.
When I blink, my stomach lurches. It’s a picture of Emily sitting outside in a courtyard with others around her.
Son of a bitch. The fucker is stalking her at rehab.
The blood drains from my system, and my tongue won’t move as fear, pure and strong, consumes me.
My gaze drifts from the phone to Ray. “What do you want?” It’s the only thing I can ask. Because getting riled up or punching him isn’t going to do a damn thing.
Ray Diaz is like a cockroach who is hard to kill.
A slow grin emerges. “After this, we’re square.”
I cross my arms over my chest. “Well?”
He’s enjoying seeing me sweat.
He glances around to be sure no one is listening. “I need you to throw the game today.”
My jaw comes unhinged. “What?” Shock splays across my face. “No fucking way.”
He pulls up another pic. This one is of Phoebe and Mom leaving the medical complex where Phoebe’s doctor is located.
Suddenly, Ray, the cars in the lot, and the building start to spin. I stretch my arm out, holding onto the wall. “Are you threatening my family?” I know he is, but for some strange reason, I want to hear him say it.
“Throw it, Miller. Or else, they’ll get hurt.” I believe him too. After all, he’s been accused of murder.
I angle my head. “So, you bet on the other team winning? But how do you know I’ll comply?”
He shows me Phoebe’s picture then Emily’s. “It’s simple. Play like you did against Greenville. That shouldn’t be a problem for you.”
Fucker.
“Oh, and I’ll be sitting next to your mom and sister.” He winks at me, whistling under his breath as he leaves without looking back.
I walk into the building with my hands shaking. My mind scrambles for a solution where I don’t throw the game. The closer I get to the locker room, the more I debate my options. I promised Coach I would make him proud. If I play like I did in the Greenville game, Coach will know something is up. But I can’t tell him either. He’ll have Ray removed from the stadium, and doing so would only serve to anger Ray more, and he’ll be sitting next to my family.
I squeeze my temples. I can’t call the cops. It would be Ray’s word against mine. Although Sam has some dirt on him, it’s not enough to bury him with. Otherwise, I would’ve already taken action. Ray is smart. I’ll give him that. He waited until the last minute to dump this on me so I wouldn’t have time to involve the cops or Coach or anyone.
I could tell Coach to bench me. But then he’ll ask questions, which will escalate into pissing off Ray. I can’t risk Phoebe’s or Mom’s or Emily’s life.
I can make it look like I’m having a bad day. After all, fans have seen me play like shit before.
* * *
