“What’s the score with you and that Shaw chick?” Wentworth asks.
“Thought she was your girl,” O’ Sullivan adds. “Until we saw Stewart chewing her face off yesterday.”
“I don’t see how it’s got anything to do with you,” I reply, shoving my feet into my sneakers. We got a bit of teasing when we were getting changed before practice, but it was all good-humored. I’m not liking the vibes I’m getting off these two one little bit.
“We’re just wondering how we get in on the action.” O’Sullivan waggles his brows and licks his lips. “She’s one hot piece of ass. I’m game to pound her tight cunt.”
“Ass too, if she’s used to taking two at a time,” Wentworth adds, winking at me like he knows something.
“Fuck you.” I work hard to leash my anger. “Mind your own business, and stay the fuck away from her.”
“Nah.” O’Sullivan rubs his unshaven jawline. “That slut needs a good dicking, and we’re just the men for the job. You rookies wouldn’t know how to show a woman a good time without an instruction manual and a compass.”
O’Sullivan is the stereotypical jerk jock. An obnoxious, spiteful asshole with a sense of entitlement almost as large as his ego. He’s been picking on a couple of the other freshmen recruits, thinking he’s the big man when he’s nothing but a bully. Unfortunately, he’s one of our star players and Coach can’t seem to find any fault with the jackass. At least we won’t have to deal with him for long. Like Wentworth, he’s a senior who is one of our wide receivers. Unlike Wentworth, O’Sullivan is hotly tipped to be a first-round draft pick next April.
Unless he doesn’t shut his fat mouth before it gets him in serious trouble—the life-changing, career-ending type of trouble.
Wentworth cracks up laughing, and Chad, predictably, goes nuclear. He throws a punch at Wentworth, knocking him off balance and sending him tumbling to the floor. I grab a handful of O’Sullivan’s shirt, hauling him back before he can land one on my buddy in retaliation.
Chad turns around and slams O’Sullivan against the lockers, shoving his arm up under his chin and snarling at him. “Ashley is my girlfriend, and you won’t talk about her like that. Show some goddamned respect.”
I clamp my hand on Chad’s shoulder, drilling him with a look when he glances back at me. Reluctantly, he steps away from the douche, seething and clenching his fists at his sides.
“Or what, rookie?” O’Sullivan shoves Chad’s shoulders, forcing him back a few steps.
A few of the other guys approach, shooting various looks in our direction. One of them leans down, helping Wentworth to his feet before restraining him. I nod, cautioning him to hold him back.
Throwing punches in the locker room never ends well, and Chad needs to learn some self-control. There are smarter ways to handle this than a fistfight that could end up with him being suspended or kicked off the team. The last thing he needs is a rep as a troublemaker.
Our captain, Danny Dwyer, steps in between them. “Quit this shit, unless neither of you values your place on this team.” He glares at Chad and O’Sullivan.
Chad flexes his knuckles and glares back at our team captain. “He was insulting my girlfriend and making threats against her. I don’t take that lightly.”
“Starting fights is not the way to resolve things, rookie,” Dwyer replies before stabbing his finger in O’Sullivan’s direction. “I heard what you said, and you’re way out of line. The two of you came over here to stir shit, and I won’t tolerate that on my team. Unless you want to kiss your career goodbye, you’ll say nothing about this.”
He looks around the room at our remaining teammates, those who were here to witness this go down. “This didn’t happen. Wentworth tripped on a wet patch on the floor and bruised his face. Understood?”
Everyone nods, including a reluctant O’Sullivan and a fuming Wentworth. We do too. Like our nemesis, we don’t mean a word of it.
Gathering our shit, we hightail it out of the locker room. We say nothing, both of us quietly steaming, until we reach the parking lot. “You get the intel, and I’ll grab some equipment,” Chad says, unlocking his truck with the key fob. This isn’t our first rodeo, and we both know the drill. “It’ll have to be late. I need to make a few drop-offs.”
It hasn’t taken Chad long to pick up a bunch of regular clients. He sells the rest of the drugs at frat and sorority parties. I hate he’s selling that shit, but there’s no talking him out of it.
Besides, it won’t be for long.
The Sainthood is unsanctioned, and Knight Carter has already been tasked with handling the situation. I spoke to the Greed & Gluttony heir last week. He’s a freshman too, and we have a couple classes together. Knight is only a few months younger than me, and we spent a good bit of time together growing up. His old man is a misogynistic asshole, but he seems to have evaded that gene. Bree might have some success converting Knight to a more modern, humanity-focused society, but I think he’s the only one.
Anyway, I asked him to keep Chad out of whatever his father has planned, and he promised he would. He also swore to keep me updated, and I trust he will.
I wish I could tell my best friend, but I can’t. This is far from the first time I have kept shit from him. I have wanted to confide in Chad so badly, at certain times, but it would be more than selfish to burden him.
Plebeians aren’t allowed to know about our world. Those that find out—by accident or through selfishness on someone’s part—are either killed or their lives are permanently ruined. A favorite punishment is to kill someone they love and then threaten other loved ones to force their eternal silence.
I can’t do that to my friend. I won’t. All I can do is protect him from any fallout when Rhett Carter decides to intervene.
I should let Ash go, for the same reasons, but I guess my selfishness knows no bounds when it comes to her.
“Will you be able to sneak out unnoticed?” I ask, opening the door to my Range Rover.
