Page 4 of Hate Game

“We’ll get in a few laps on the track.”

“You’ll let me ride?” I smile big at the thought of taking the tight curves and the whoops on the dirt track in the back of Winslow’s parents’ property.

“Nah, not after you crashed my favorite bike.”

Darn it. “Am I taking videos?”

“Not that either. We’re filming with our helmet cams.”

“What about controlling the drone?”

“Shay.”

“Then why am I tagging along?”

“You get to answer the DMs from myadoringfans.”

I cross my arms and roll my eyes. “Your fans arecrazy.”

“And that’s why you get to answer them. Crazy understands crazy.” He flicks my nose. I feign a mortal wound. “Don’t be so dramatic, Rue.” His phone pings. He glances at the screen. “Shit, they’re here. Let’s clean up quick and bounce.”

I help Winslow, then grab my suitcases for another round of crashing at a friend’s place. Lock and load; the fun has just begun.

2

MALICE

“Are you sure I shouldn’t stay and help clean?” I ask Mrs. Olsen, the day camp manager.

I glance around the elementary school gym. Hula hoops, basketballs, orange cones, and jump ropes are strewn everywhere. Tables, chairs, and art supplies also need to be put away.

There was no school yesterday or today for the entire school district, and I volunteered to help in my teammate’s place. Jace is out with some kind of GI bug. Poor bastard.

“The kids said they would clean in exchange for time to see your new motorcycle.”

“Really?”

“Yes. Is that okay? I should’ve asked first, but the kids were so excited that I answered for you.”

“Not a problem, Mrs. Olsen. I don’t mind at all.”

“Thank you, Malice.” She blows on the whistle hanging from her neck. Kids stop what they’re doing and run up to us. The girls look at me with curiosity and the boys with admiration.

I should stomp out their admiration ASAP. I am not role model material, not with the trouble I’ve been getting into lately on and off the football field. Except that football season is over. How do I blow off steam in the small farm town of Cambridge? The endless wheat fields and roads that lead to more small and boring towns are suffocating.

“I hear you all want to see my newest ride?”

They nod.

“Well, what are you waiting for? Let’s go.”

They follow me out. I’ve changed into my riding gear. Leather pants. Leather jacket. Hardcore boots. I shrug my backpack higher on my shoulder and shove the double doors open with my meaty paws.

The kids run up to my sleek black and white Suzuki bike. I drove the GT-R yesterday. They’re used to seeing me driving my sports car in town, but the bike is a different story. I ride my pride and joy when I’m in the mood to show off what the result of hard work can get a guy.

The kids walk around the bike and snap pictures.

“Can we take a picture of you on it?” one of the girls asks.

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