Ruthless Noble by Alley Ciz
CHAPTER 25
The plus sideto attending a weird late-afternoon/early-evening hockey game is it allowed enough time for Tessa, Tinsley, and me to get in a nap before the evening’s festivities.
It’s rare for one of Carter’s poker nights to happen on a Friday given that Tessa is his Texas Hold’ Em ringer and she typically has cheerleading practice on Saturday mornings. He made an exception this week since her brother, JT, is home from Kentucky, and the change allowed for both of them to hang out with the oldest Taylor sibling.
Now the basement at Carter’s is close to capacity, both poker tables filled with ten players each and about a dozen or so of our other friends scattered amongst the couches, pool table, and bar.
I didn’t realize how much I needed a night like this, a chance to experience a sense of normalcy in all the crazy my life has become.
Curses ring out from one of the tables, and based on the way Tessa throws her arms in the air and dances around in her seat, I take it she’s won another hand.
“For T’s sake, I hope she dominates quick tonight,” Kay comments, gaze trained in the same direction as mine. “Lack of sleep won’t do her any favors tomorrow at practice if this goes all night.”
“There’s way too much evil packed into this pint-sized body of yours, Skittles,” says Mase, Kay’s hunky football-playing boyfriend, as he buries his face in her hair with a kiss to her head.
The stunting clinics Kay runs with JT when he’s home are notorious in both their intensity and in the results they yield from her athletes.
“You love me anyway.” She snuggles deeper into his embrace, her back leaning against his front with a sigh.
“For keeps.”
I look away when the kiss they share escalates into something not appropriate for mixed company, and it’s my turn to expel a sigh. That’s what true love looks like. If anyone in the room should be wearing an engagement ring, it’s Kay, not me. Wiggling the fingers of my left hand, I can’t help but smirk at the notable absence of said ring. Natalie would shit a brick if she knew I take off the sparkly shackle every chance I get.
If only reclaiming control of my life was as easy as removing a piece of jewelry.
Thankfully before I can fall down the rabbit hole of all the things I told myself I wouldn’t think about this weekend, my phone vibrates in my back pocket.
The sight of Gunderson’s name flashing across the screen when I pull it free gives me pause, and I quickly bounce my gaze around the room—looking for what, I’m not sure.
Excusing myself, I push out of my seat and move toward a corner of the room where it’s quieter then swipe to answer.
“Scott,” I say in greeting.
“Savvy.”
Shouts and other indistinguishable sounds have me plugging my opposite ear to hear him better. “What’s going on?”
A chill of uncertainty has goose bumps breaking out across my skin. A phone call from Gunderson isn’t normal to begin with. Calling with massive amounts of background noise? Yeah, no, something’s not right here.
“Gunderson?” I try again, and this time the cacophony fades the slightest bit, enabling me to hear marginally better.
“You might want to have one of the Royals bring you to BP ASAP.”
What? Why would I go to BP on a Friday night? That chill intensifies into full-on foreboding, and I lower my hand to cup the side of my ribcage, squeezing to counter the pressure beneath it. What the hell? I’m getting all triggery without any actual triggers.
“Why?” My voice is rougher than normal, my throat feeling rubbed raw.
“Because the guys and I caught ourselves a few of your BAssholes.”
“What?”
Gunderson says something else I can’t quite make out, and I tell him to hold on while I head for the door to the basement. Leo spots me as I open it and point to my phone then my ear, shaking my head to mime that I can’t hear. He nods, but I wait for him to turn back to his game of pool before actually taking my leave.
“What were you saying?” I ask Gunderson once I’m alone in the empty garage.
“So the guys and I like to come sit in the bleachers the night before a game.”
“I know I come to the games to cheer you on, but I don’t really give a damn about your jock superstitions.” I roll my eyes, walking over to the Camaro and lovingly stroking a hand along the rear wing.
“Why doesn’t it surprise me that you found a way to give me shit when I’m trying to do you a favor?” His tone takes on an incredulous edge.
I’m so over needing to coddle fragile male egos.
“Scott.” I pause to take a breath, temper flaring, my chest growing tight. “I swear to fucking Christ.”
“You know, King…you make it really fucking difficult to try to stay on your good side.”
My next breath is slightly harder to take.
“Are you going to get to the point? Or am I going to have to get my brother?” I growl both to add weight to the threat and because it frustrates the absolute hell out of me that I need to do so in the first place when Scott. Called. Me. “Spoiler alert”—I drop my voice to a whisper because when I get annoyed, I get mildly vindictive—“that wouldn’t be in your best interest since he hasn’t been your biggest fan since you left bruises on me.”
I swear I can hear him swallow through the phone.
Still…he makes me wait, my irritation growing as I run a nail up and down the razor-thin metallic purple lines bordering the black glossy racing stripes running down the center of the matte black paint job on the Camaro.
“Shit, woman, be easy.” There’s a garbled choking sound, and I can picture him smoothing a palm along his face and into his hair. It’s his tell when he’s nervous.
“Gunderson.”
Something in the way he clears his throat has me straightening from my lean against the Camaro’s trunk. “When we got here, we caught a few of your new school chums in the midst of BA’s latest prank attempt.”
Jesus.I pinch the bridge of my nose, beyond exasperated. Is it really so much to ask to spend an entire weekend without having my new life encroach on my real life?
“And I’m supposed to care because…” I let my words trail off. It’s obvious to anyone with half a brain what side of the rivalry line I fall on. Hello! I helped Gunderson and the BP football team plan the car prank. Without me, it would have been impossible.
“Look…we all know you’re a dragon at heart, despite where you take class.” Thank you! “That’s not why I’m calling.” I make a rolling motion with my hand despite him not being able to see me. “The reason I am is that one of the guys we caught is your…fiancé.” The pause he took before saying Duke’s “label” to me is telling.
It’s nice to know while the people in my new world didn’t bat an eye at the sudden betrothal, those who have known me most of my life find the coupling suspect.
Unable to stay still, I start to pace. Why am I not surprised Duke is involved in the pranks? I know I promised him access to Tessa if he played along with our engagement, but those two seriously should not be allowed to spend any amount of time alone. With her love for fiction and his perpetual Peter Pan personality, the chaos they could dream up together could set the world on fire.
“I could make a dumb jock joke if you’d like, but Gunderson, you and I both know you aren’t stupid. There is zero—hell, less than zero—chance of you guys getting away with doing something to the governor’s son. Just let him go.”
“You don’t think we know that?”
I really hope he can feel the So then what’s the problem? glare I’m directing at him through the phone.
“Look…this was just a courtesy call since your fiancé is involved. He may be safe, but I gotta go because the beatdown of his friends is about to start.”
His friends?
Does that mean…Jasper?
As if a switch flipped, my heart suddenly takes off in a gallop inside my chest, at risk of falling out of its cavity and into my stomach. What the hell?
Laying the flat of my palm over the racing beat, I wipe the other on the side of my jeans to clear off the sweat breaking out across my skin.
No, no, no, no, no.
Shit!
Frantically I run my hands along my body, my movements disjointed and jerky as I shove them inside my pockets, feeling around for something that isn’t there. Goddammit! Why did I leave my inhaler in my room?
I stumble a step before stopping and planting my feet on the painted concrete floor.
“Savvy?” Scott’s voice echoes like it’s coming from inside a tunnel.
Relax. Breathe, I coach myself.
I squeeze my eyes closed.
One.
Two.
Three.
Four.
I count off in my head while I take a purposeful breath in through my nose.
One.
Two.
Three.
Four.
I repeat the count and release a steady stream of air out my mouth.
It takes one more set before I’m able to get my body to cooperate enough to walk without falling. My legs are wobbly, but I manage to stay upright as I head for the door.
My hand shakes when I go to scan the key card that will unlock the door to the main residential area.
“Jus—” I cough and need to clear the frog that has jumped into my throat. “Just let them go.”
“Can’t do it.”
I try to growl again, but this time it comes out more like a wimpy purr thanks to the ever-growing restriction of my throat. It’s been six weeks since my last full-blown asthma attack. What the hell is triggering me now?
“The guys want their pound of flesh.”
“Seems a bit dramatic.” I curl my hand over the staircase banister in a death grip and trudge up the steps, each footfall loud as it lands.
“Some might say that, but if we hadn’t shown up and interrupted these motherfuckers—”
A bolt of trepidation shoots down my spine as I crest the top of the staircase and causes me to clutch at the half wall that overlooks the downstairs.
“—there’s a very real, very serious possibility the game could have been forced to change venues tomorrow, costing us home-field advantage.”
I pause at the threshold in my room. What the hell could they have done that would have that kind of effect on tomorrow’s playoff game?
“So…no. I’m sorry, Savvy, but I can’t. Like I said, this was just a courtesy call.”
Sonofabitch.
I sit on my bed to riffle through my purse for my inhaler and waste no time using it.
The relief is instantaneous, my attack stopped before it fully blooms. Good. That’s a good thing.
I remain seated on the soft mattress with a leg tucked under me and focus on inhaling and exhaling for a few beats.
A fresh burst of shouts comes from the other end of the phone, and Scott is cursing when he comes back on the line. “Fuck!”
I wince from the shout and dig a knuckle into my abused eardrum before pressing the phone as tight to my ear as I can, trying to make out what’s going on.
“This one guy can fight, I’ll give him that.”
The breath I only just managed to get back under control stutters inside my lungs again at the idea of Jasper fighting. Is it an unfair fight?
I jump from the bed, flying around my room much more quickly than I should postasthmatic episode, but I don’t give a damn. I’m moving on autopilot, a deep-seated instinct urging me along as I yank my leather jacket from its hanger inside my closet.
All I can think about is Jasper.
Images flash through my brain: him trying to take on the entire Blackwell Public offensive line by himself and not faring any better than a tackling dummy.
I blink them away. The whole scenario is unreasonable and highly illogical. He wouldn’t be fighting alone. Right?
Yes, yes, I’m right.
I may have hated Jasper and his merry band of douchebags when I first started at BA, but they’re loyal—at least Duke and Banks are—like the Royals.
Yes. They are ride or die. Why else would I have gravitated to them?
They would never let Jasper fight on his own.
Right?
Right?
Right?
Oh god!
Why can’t I get rid of these vile images?
Why does it feel like someone is reaching inside my chest and squeezing my heart in their fist?
Wait…
Am I…
No.
I’m not. No way.
Or…
Am I?
Oh shit! I am…
“Scott.” I swallow and do my best to adopt the tone—the scary one—Carter uses when he’s trying to make people pee their pants. “I’m on my way.”
I disconnect the call without giving him a chance to respond. There’s no time. This isn’t up for debate.
Fuck it.
Decision made.
I’m about to do the riskiest thing I’ve ever done. And no…I’m not talking about how I went and fell in love with Jasper Noble.