13
“Coach’s daughter stole the gun,”I told Ezrah as I sat down beside him in the games room.
“Are you fucking serious?” my brother barked, putting the game on pause as Cole’s head swiveled faster than a kicked football. “What gun?” murmured, “Why do you have a fucking gun here? You’re gonna get kicked out, man. You know the campus police watch you more closely than the rest because of who your father is.”
“Fuck the campus police,” I snarled, “We can pay them off. I’m more concerned about the team. She tried to bribe me, but she’s too stupid to think it through deeply, but she could go toher daddy and snitch on me or something, so he dropped me as captain.”
“Nah,” Ezrah snarled, “That will never happen, bro. Coach knows who our father is, so he’d be too chickenshit to drop you. Forget her,” he waved his hand dismissively, “At least we know where the gun is, so we could send Lev to break into her room to grab it.”
“How did it go with the detective?” I asked him, knowing that the detective was chasing his tail, and Cole interrupted, “Are we still playing here, or should I get a sandwich?”
“Nah, we’re good,” Ezrah answered, then said to me, “I didn’t go.”
“What?” I hissed at him. “That’s the second time you didn’t turn up. You’ll look more suspicious than you already do.”
“I had stuff to do,” he stated firmly, but I didn’t believe him. I stumbled across him fucking the Boleyn girl in the library of all places, and I jacked off in the bathroom afterward.
I hadn’t taken much notice of her physically, as my only interest was who her father was, which made her our enemy and someone we had to watch constantly. But then I saw the way she was being pummeled, and I was conflicted between liking what I saw and hating it. Not because she’s not fuckable, but because her father put our father in prison, and Ezrah was too fucking stupid to foresee the problem that may arise in the future if we get emotionally tangled up with the enemy.
Fuck, our father won’t stay in prison forever, and if he discovered that his youngest son was fucking our enemy, he’d hit the roof. Jeez, sometimes Ezrah behaves like his brain is in his cock. I wanted to raise the subject and ask if he used a rubber because imagine Ez knocking up that chick and then having to tell our father.
“Like what?” I pressed to see if he’ll mention the Boleyn girl.
“Gym training. I had a client booked in, and I couldn’t change it,” was his excuse, and I wasn’t buying it.
“Why couldn’t you change it?” I scrutinized because I wasn’t buying his bullshit.
He shrugged like he didn’t give a shit, “FYI, I told Adina that the Yorks are her stepmother’s nephews.”
“Bro, what’s that got to do with anything? We’re not talking about that skank; we’re talking about your interview with the detective. Fuck, bro, you’re a worry.”
“Sick, she’s not a skank. Why are you calling her that for?” he argued, and I cringed in surprise at him sticking up for her. “She’s traumatized by her father’s death and what we did to her.”
“Bro, I don’t give a shit about Adina fucking Boleyn,” I snarled as Cole swayed back and forth in his chair, enjoying our argument. “The girl was trau-ma-tized,” I mocked him, “Jeezus, bro, pull your fucking head in.”
“She is,” he rationalized as I lost my patience and stormed out of the room to grab my gear to head down onto the field for practice.
“The state of it,” I snarled as I ran up the stairs, and my phone vibrated in my pocket to find my mom’s flashing up on my screen. I ignored it and switched my phone to silent, grabbed my gear, and ran down the stairs again.
When I swung the door open, Coach’s daughter was standing there, and I shot her a glare as I stepped past her. “Ah, Nicolae, I was wondering if we could have a private chat?”
“Nope,” I said as I walked to my bike parked out front after retrieving it from Ezrah, who had moved into Morgana. I was thinking about doing the same thing, except I liked living in the house with my teammates up on the hill, where we can look out across campus.
“Can I talk to you, please?” she was begging now.
“Nope,” I spat, climbing on my Honda and turning the key to start the engine.
“Please, Nicolae. I came to apologize,” she yelled over the engine.
I snorted, “Not interested in your apology,” I barked, and began rolling backwards until she ran behind it, and I had to squeeze the brakes to stop the tire from leaving a tread imprint on her leg.
“Here, I’ll give you the gun back. It was dumb. I don’t know what I was thinking,” she sighed, plunging her hand into her bag. “I have it in here.”
Okay, now we’re really getting somewhere. “Don’t take it out. Someone will see.” What was she thinking? I yanked the gun out of her hand, glad she gave it back, and made sure the safety cap was on before I slipped it into my bag—stupid, irresponsible idiot.
“I wanted to make a deal,” she suggested, as I stepped back toward the frat house and caught a flash of someone running behind the house into the bushes near the basement door.
“Are you here alone?” I stressed, wishing she’d just fuck off. “
