Chapter 13
THIRTEEN
REED
My thoughts were racing. Had Storm really been going to see me that night? If that were the case, our lives could have been so very different. I thought about my career with the NFL. If she had shown up, I never would have left.
Why the fuck didn’t I get the message that she’d been hurt? Even after the event?
And if I hadn’t left, where would I be now? Did I even care that I may never have made it as a footballer?
No. I would have thrown away everything for Storm.
I pushed off the thought. I may have the career, but I had lost the girl I loved.
Making my way past the restrooms to the back of the venue, I used the panic bar to push open the steel fire door and stepped outside. I took a deep, calming breath. I needed to allow air into my lungs and give those organs a reprieve from the smoke I was about to clog them with.
Fuck I needed a hit. Thoughts of Storm’s body trapped in the twisted wreckage of her car and my not being there made my chest tighten. Why didn’t they call me? My brothers must have known I would be there for her. Would have raced to the fucking hospital.
Because you and Storm lived a lie for so many years. They probably didn’t know what to believe.
I took a smoke out of the back pocket of my jeans, and tested it between my fingers and thumb as I glanced around my surroundings: still the same old shit.
Gunther had confessed that drug tests were becoming more regular in the Patriots, and so I needed to make sure I didn’t have any weed in my system.
On that occasion, nicotine would have to do.
I didn’t smoke rollies often, just in emergencies.
The rusted-through chest freezer, which had been there for years, still sat in the corner of the yard, untouched.
It was now surrounded by large, empty cooking oil tins and a couple of bags of trash, ones that the rats had been at from the holes and food waste hanging out.
Grimacing at the mess, I lifted the cigarette to my nose, inhaling the tobacco.
It wasn’t the same as weed. I so missed getting stoned with the guys.
But if you got caught with any drug in your system, there was a good chance you’d get suspended, maybe even kicked out of the team.
Pulling out my Zippo, I lit up and took a slow, deep drag of my smoke, embracing the way it calmed my nerves. Flicking the lid back over the lighter, I pushed it back into my pocket. It was vintage and cost a small fortune.
The alleyway that led from the yard and out onto the sidewalk, a street away from where the bar was located, was empty, and I relished that moment of peace.
My brothers and I used to smoke out there when we were in college. Being there again prompted a stirring of nostalgia.
From the tatty plastic chairs sitting across from the dumpster and the metal ice bucket full of cigarette butts, it appeared the staff still chose to smoke out there, even though there was a purpose-built smoking shelter to the side of the building by the staff entrance.
I lowered my tired ass onto one of the chairs, placing the cigarette between my lips and taking another drag.
The sounds from the bar were muffled, and as I flicked some ash onto the floor, that calm feeling in my chest was suddenly replaced by something else. I could sense a presence, and I pushed to my feet.
That earlier feeling of being watched morphed into another feeling: one that suggested something else. I had company.
Flicking the tab into the alleyway, I heard them before I saw them: a tin can being kicked was my signal as three men walked around the corner of the alleyway from the shadows. They weren’t surprised to see me as all three sets of eyes landed on my face.
“There he is. The man of the match,” one grunted with a sly expression.
“Gentlemen,” I greeted, with a wary nod. There was a chance that they were going into the bar.
The fact that they shot each other a look and just grunted was a telling sign.
The biggest one walked past me, his eyes locked with mine.
My mistake was realized as he plonked his massive body in front of the door into the bar, and my chance of escape.
The smaller of the three, a red-haired dude with shifty eyes, placed his shoulder against the wall by the alley, which would have been my second route out of there.
And then the third guy came to stand in front of me.
He was a taller, less bulky guy with a scar through his eyebrow.
I automatically identified him as the leader.
The big douche was still at my back as I frowned at the man standing in front of me.
I heard the crack of knuckles from behind my shoulder, causing me to swallow that lump in my throat.
“Can I help you with something?” I said, cutting all of them a look in turn, even the dude at my rear, who wore a massive, annoying as fuck smirk.
The guy I had pegged as the lookout by the wall cocked his chin and then looked up and down the alley.
“It’s clear,” he explained. Of what? I wanted to say. He was physically the weakest of the three.
I decided to label them. The one in charge was Toothless due to the massive gap between his teeth. The lookout guy was the Runt: I could probably have knocked him out with one punch, and the big lug at my back was the Muscle.
Without breaking eye contact with Toothless, I slid my hand into my jeans pocket, what for, who knew. It wasn’t as if I could send a message to either of my brothers blindly.
Another pulse of dread shot through me. I was fit and could handle myself, but not against three of them: I wasn’t Phoenix. I also didn’t have Hudson’s psycho: two things which would have come in handy just then.
“Take your hands out of your pockets,” was the first thing Toothless grunted. He was clearly worried I had a weapon. I did as he asked and held my hands up in surrender.
“Yes, sir,” I replied in a charming voice.
Maybe I could talk them down. There was a chance that this was just a regular mugging; they could take my wallet and leave.
Then I thought back to that feeling of being followed, and something in my gut shifted.
This wasn’t a group of thugs after my spare change or my watch. They were there to fuck me up.
Clearing my throat, I turned to each of them in turn as I said, “So, I’m guessing you boys aren’t here for my autograph?” I tried to sound calm, but I was a fucking mess inside; thoughts of getting your ass kicked did that to a person.
Toothless grinned. “You guessed right, pretty boy.” The fucker was trying to get a rise out of me. Maybe so, I’d lash out first, and he could sue my ass. That wouldn’t have been the first time some opportunist had picked a fight for an out-of-court settlement.
Shrugging my shoulders, I dropped my hands by my sides and shot the muscle a look over my shoulder.
“So, what can I do for you gentlemen?” Maybe if I delayed any pending action on their part, my brothers would come looking for me.
I mean, how long did it take a dude to smoke a cigarette?
I must have been gone for around ten minutes already.
Toothless cut to the chase, but I wasn’t ready for what he revealed next. “I heard you had a date with the mayor's pretty daughter,” he mentioned in a gruff voice that didn’t suit his face: Ex-mayor, but whatever.
Blinking, I replied. “Excuse me?”
His eyes narrowed. “You heard me.” My jaw started to tick. What the actual hell?
“You should probably stay away from her. She’s nothing but trouble.”
Dashing a hand across my jaw, I glanced at their lookout before pinning my gaze on the guy who appeared to be taking charge. “And why would I do that?” I’d never seen any of them before, but I knew instantly that they were not from the media.
“Because I’m asking you to.”
“And who are you?” That fight or flight, survival mechanism Storm used to talk about all the time, kicked in, and I braced myself for danger.
“A messenger with some friendly advice.” Friendly? Yeah right. The sound of a cop car's siren screeched in the distant background. Where were the fucking pigs when you needed them?
The guy who clearly didn’t have dental insurance stepped forward and into my personal space. He wore way too much cologne. Maybe he used that to distract from the fact that he had the worst smile on the planet. “If you know what’s good for you, you’ll listen.”
“So, you’ve been hired to send a message?” I said as I crossed my arms.
Toothless threw an amused glance around his cronies. “See, he’s not just a pretty face with a great throwing arm. He does have some smarts. Talking of throwing arms. You’re left-handed, right?” he announced, his gaze dipping to my left side.
My stomach dropped, but I refused to show any fear in front of these assholes. “So?”
His eyebrows rose as he rocked back on his heels. “Well, if you don’t listen to reason. You’ll have to learn how to play ball with your right hand.”
“Why would I need to do that?” My head started to swim with panic. They were threatening to disable me. I rolled my shoulders, my hands fisted by my sides. I knew I needed to prepare myself for the worst.
Toothless nodded to the guy behind me, who must have stepped forward. I could feel the heat from his body and foul breath on my neck. “Because if you don’t agree to do as we say, Rob here is going to break all the fingers on your left hand.”
Great. Thanks for nothing, Rob.
Fuck, I so needed Nix to deal with my ‘Rob’ situation. The muscle was just that. Huge with a similar size and build to my biggest brother.
“Is that so?” I went to move around the guy in front of me, taking myself out of arm's reach of the one who was now riding my ass.
Another nod and a, “You can bet your ass on it.”
I was about to tell him to go fuck himself and power past them, but as I went to move, it kicked the hell off.