Chapter 6 (Asher)
“Holden.”
I freeze at the sound of Dragoni's voice and watch as my teammates shuffle out of the locker room, leaving me in the dust.
I stay put, refusing to turn around, because I already know what he's going to say.
Hell, the look of disappointment and disgust in Coach Cranes' eyes before he shook his head and walked off the field was enough to tell me how much I royally sucked during practice today.
Not only did I miss three practice plays—I also threw to a lowly second-string receiver with a serious case of butterfingers. Not to mention, my arm didn't pack half the punch that it usually does.
Because there was only one thing on my mind while I was out on that field.
Breslin.
I have to find a way to talk to her.
Dragoni grabs my arm, and before I have time to react; I'm being slammed up against a locker.
“What the fuck was that bullshit you pulled on the field today?” he grits through his cigarette stained teeth.
I open my mouth to answer, but the knife he takes out of his pocket and holds up to my neck causes any snide remarks to die on my lips.
It's not so much that I'm scared of a knife, because I know I can take him, it's the power he's connected to and the damage he can do to Preston that has me yielding.
“You are on thin ice, Holden,” he spews. “I have a lot of money riding on your sorry ass this year.”
I lift my chin and glare at him, but that only causes him to dig the dull side of the knife into my collarbone. “If I were you, I'd start thinking about whose bones you want to see break first.”
My body tenses. “What?”
His other hand wraps around my neck. “You want to watch your brother beg for mercy first, or that tutor of yours?”
My eyes damn near bug out of my head and that only causes him to laugh. “It's real obvious you two are fucking, which means he makes great collateral.” He snickers. “But I'll tell you what, maybe we'll cut off his dick so you can have it as a keepsake before we bury him six feet under.”
White spots form in front of my eyes and my heart compresses against my chest. Anger churns my guts, but there's not a damn thing I can do about it because I can't fight back. Not unless I want a grim outcome. And that messed up fact only makes me angrier.
After another moment, he finally releases me and I gasp for air. “First game is in nine days. Get your shit together. This is your last and final warning.”
I cough and he gets close to my face. “You ain't here to have fun, Holden. You're here to pay off your family's debt. Got it?”
When I nod, he slaps my back. “Glad we have an understanding. Now run along before you're late for class.”
His laughter bounces off the walls of the locker room as he walks away.
I feel like I'm swallowing nails as I hike my gym bag up my shoulder and make my way to my final class for the day.
The one I'm least looking forward to. That goddamn Art class.
Not only is it a fairly late class, which always sucks; but rumor has it the teacher is a stickler for participation.
In other words, she will fail me. And I will lose my scholarship—over a fucking Art class.
Luckily, it's only scheduled for two days a week. I scrub a hand down my face and check my watch. I'm already ten minutes late and it's half way across campus, so I start jogging.
When I reach the hall, I see what I presume to be Mrs. Kennedy closing the door to the art room. “Wait,” I call out.
She purses her lips and appraises me up and down before she turns her head back to the classroom and says, “I guess luck is on your side, young lady. You have a partner for the semester after all.”
Mrs. Kennedy's statement confuses and delights me for two reasons. On one hand, it's weird to have to be teamed up with a partner for an entire semester. But on the other? There's a possibility that my partner might be some kind of art guru and I won't fail this godforsaken class after all.
I'm all dimples as I enter the room, feeling like a weight has been lifted off my shoulders.
Until Breslin's narrowed eyes pierce mine and I notice the empty chair beside her.
A rush of satisfaction causes me to smirk at my new-found predicament as I walk over, because there's no way she can ignore me now. “Hey, beautiful.”
It's cheesy, I know. But I can't help myself, for two reasons.
One—Breslin is fucking gorgeous. And two—it's how I've always greeted her. Maybe reminding her of our past will chisel the stone around her heart when it comes to me and she'll give me a chance to talk to her.
She folds her arms across her chest and I can't help but notice the way it pushes those glorious tits of hers together, giving me the perfect hint of perky cleavage.
Breslin Rae has certainly grown up over the last three years.
Not only are her tits even better than I remember, she's even more stunning.
And feisty.
Because fuck me—my kitty has quite the set of claws on her.
The smirk on my face spreads into a sly smile.
A sly smile that drops faster than a speeding bullet when I look up at her.
Because if looks could kill...I'm certain the one she's giving me would stop my damn heart.