Chapter 21
Torren
There’s nothing I hate more than team spirit, so sitting at the Collegiate homecoming football game is the last thing I’d ever want to do—the dude three people down swings his corny Lacoste polo above his head.
Condors is painted on his naked torso in Collegiate’s school colors, burgundy and white, and anytime the team does a damned thing, the fools surrounding me flap their arms and caw.
Which is completely idiotic because Condors don’t fucking caw.
They don’t have a syrinx! At best, all they can do is hiss.
So much for that private education.
He looks at me and holds his hand up, waiting for a high five, but my death stare tells him that I’m five seconds away from snapping that hand clean off his wrist.
He quickly turns away, searching for someone else to celebrate with.
Idiots.
I bring the binoculars to my eyes and zero in on Felix, sitting next to his father.
They’re seated in the front row at the curvature of the stadium, giving me a perfect view of his pretty face.
This game was on the list of events that Lars sent me, and, despite my hatred for organized sports, I can’t stay away.
His father cheers, and Felix shoots him a look before rolling his eyes. That tiny glimmer of sass makes my lips curve into a smile. It’s the first time I’ve seen his trademark brattiness since I started following him, and it makes my heart swell.
I could look at Felix for hours—his chiseled features, gorgeous hair, and green eyes…
Some guys are handsome, others are hot, and far too many are just ordinary.
But Felix is beautiful.
Stop. You ruined all that at the Kitty Cat Club.
I adjust the collar of my jacket, hoping the movement will help shake the lust off me. I’m not here to swoon, I’m here to make sure he’s okay.
I bring the binoculars back to my eyes and almost choke when I see the look on Felix’s face. He stares motionless, looking forward, his eyes red at the base. The steady rise and fall of his chest puts me on high alert. I adjust the binoculars to get a closer look at him.
That’s when I see it.
Some guy a few rows back tosses a chip at his head. It makes contact and lands on Felix’s shoulder. He closes his eyes, bites his lower lip, and brushes it off.
Hell. No.
I rise from my seat and march down the bleacher stairs, making my way through the exit and into the outer area where the concession stands are.
I walk up to the first one and buy a hot dog, and make my way to Felix’s section. My eyes land on Felix first as I descend the stairs, then I search for the guy who tossed the chip at him.
My vision tunnels, honing in on the nauseating, clown-faced, bro-bag who has his hand primed to toss another chip at Felix.
I narrow my eyes, reel back the hot dog, and hit the fucker right in the side of the head, the ketchup and mustard coating his stupid beanie.
A few people crane their necks to see who chucked the hot dog, but most are glued to the game.
Asswipe curses loudly, then looks around, trying to find the culprit. My whistle draws his attention, and our eyes meet. I motion for him to come forward with my hand.
This is gonna be fun.
Dipshit stands, his friends pointing at me and telling him to teach me a lesson. He looks nervous. I’m not huge, but I exude a certain kind of quality that lets people know I’m not one to fuck with. He’s gotta save face, though, so he takes the bait and marches toward me.
As he approaches, I start walking backward, leading him to the men’s room.
“You already running, asshole?” he hollers.
“Shaking in my boots, big boy.”
He doesn’t like the pet name, and he picks up speed, closing the distance between us. I dart into the men’s room. Thankfully, it’s empty.
He rushes in and pauses, looking me up and down. Mustard and ketchup cover his head, so I pull a wad of napkins from my pocket and say, “You got a little something on your face.”
He grits his teeth and lunges, ready to pummel me.
I drop the napkins, letting them scatter to the ground, and release a quick jab to his gut.
He keels over, his hand covering his stomach, and I lift his face with my hand, and bitch-slap him so hard he falls sideways.
I stride to the bathroom door, lock it, and pull out my gun.
“Oh fuck!” He scrambles away, slamming against the wall of the bathroom. “P-please, no! Don’t—”
“SHUT UP!”
He puts his shaking hands in the air. “Look, man, this is crazy. I’ll just leave and—”
“You threw a chip at Felix Hargrove. Why?”
“W-w-wh—“
His lips tremble—his voice nothing more than indecipherable babbling.
I take a step closer, the gun pointing directly at him.
“WHY?”
“B-b-because he’s gay!” he hollers as his entire body shakes with fear.
Oh, he’s one of those assholes. “So, you hate gay people?”
“I…I don’t—”
I draw closer, my gun pointing at his head. “You feel like a big man when you pick on a gay guy?”
He knows he’s fucked. The asshole says nothing—just looks at me with pleading eyes and a trembling lower lip.
“Open your mouth.”
Those terrified eyes open wide, and he asks, “W-what?”
I say it again. “Open. Your. Mouth.”
He starts crying—stuttering like a fool—scared shitless of what I’m going to do.
“Open your mouth, or I’ll put a bullet in your head.”
The sniveling little coward sobs, drool pouring down his chin, but he finally obeys and opens his mouth.
“Wide,” I command.
His bawling and panic-stricken gasps fill the space. He closes his eyes and opens his mouth as wide as possible.
I shove the gun deep into his throat, his muffled scream bringing me pure joy.
“Suck it.”
His breathing stops. Eyes open, and the fear I see in them sends a warm rush coursing through my veins.
He doesn’t move. With his hands still up and his body pressed against the wall, he looks at me like I’m speaking another language.
“Suck it,” I repeat. “Like a cock.”
He whimpers softly, making gagging noises, and I repeat, “Suck it like a cock or you die.”
A long, sorrowful moan is followed by his mouth closing around the gun.
He moves slowly, panting and gagging all the while. “Look at you. You’re a natural.”
Words can’t describe the sounds he’s making. A mix of pain and shame twists together to form a long, sustained wail that sounds like a pig squeal.
“Enough.”
I let him pull away and grab his throat. “I could kill you right now. I should, but I want you to deliver a message to your friends. If you or any of them ever bother Felix Hargrove again, I’ll bury you where no one will ever find you.”
I let the words settle into his brain.
“Boo.”
He shrieks loudly and cowers into a little ball on the ground.
“Get up. Finish the game. And never look at Felix again.”
I back away, and he pushes himself off the bathroom floor, choking as he runs away.
I follow him, watching him scurry like the little bug he is, as he takes a seat.
His friends look at him, showering him with a barrage of questions. One of them turns to me and glares.
I cock my head to the side and motion them to come forward, but they don’t.
They just curse and give me the middle finger.
The one I pummeled looks at me, and I point to my eyes and then to him.
He quickly averts his gaze, and I laugh to myself.
I take a seat a little distance away and watch them, and Felix, for the rest of the game.
With ten seconds left in the 4th quarter, my mind is everywhere but here. It’s been a long game, I’m cold, and it’s getting harder not to speak to Felix.
He’s so close.
I glance to check on him, only to find that he is looking right at me.
I freeze. My body tenses, and I rise to standing. He does too, and the two of us stare at one another while the cheers grow louder and the band begins to play. People start moving about, and I quickly make my exit.