Page 44 of Chaos & Corruption

The suit briefly glances in my direction before reaching into his suit jacket. Producing a business card, he slaps it on the table and stares down the detective.

“Attorney David Schwartz, I represent Mr. Reggiano and this game of twenty questions is over.” He brings his gaze back to me. “Let’s go, kid.”

I don’t know who he is or where he came from, but I do not have to be told twice. Rising from the metal chair, I glance toward the open door as the detective and my new-found lawyer exchange words. All the blood drains from my veins as I spot Victoria’s uncle leaning against the wall. The thing is, he’s not alone. Victoria’s father, the former wiseguy, Anthony Bianci, stands beside him with a grim expression painting his face.

Without giving the lawyer or the detective a chance to stop me, I charge out of the room. I need to know Victoria is alright, that I did the right thing by calling Riggs. Reaching the two men, I swallow hard against the lump in my throat.

“Tell me you got to her in time and that she’s okay.” My voice sounds hoarse. My words a desperate plea.

Mr. Bianci doesn’t say a word, he doesn’t even blink and the whites surrounding his blue eyes are bloodshot. I tear my gaze from him and look at Riggs. The guy who stole my pizza and made a spectacle out of introducing himself to me when he moved his niece into her campus apartment doesn’t look so welcoming anymore. In fact, he looks at me like I’m the enemy, his eyes narrowing into tiny slits as his jaw ticks. Stepping away from his brother-in-law, he reaches out and cups the back of my neck, squeezing it just enough to make a point as he lowers his voice and growls, “I wish I could, pretty boy.”

My stomach drops and my gaze shoots back to Mr. Bianci.

“What does that even mean? Where’s Victoria?”

Neither answer me. Riggs’ gaze darts over my shoulder, but I don’t dare turn to see who or what has caught his attention.

“It’s done,” Schwartz says from behind me. “He’s free to go for now. I sure hope you know what the fuck you’re doing because as much as I like billing you Bianci, I do not have the time in my schedule to take on a bunch of punk football players as clients too. It’s because of you that I’m stuck dealing with the likes of him and his club.”

“You’re welcome, Davey,” Riggs retorts. “I’ll be sure to tell Parrish you said that.”

Mr. Bianci slaps Riggs on the shoulder.

“Enough,” he grunts. “Take this one out to the truck.”

I guess that would be me. I’m ‘this one’.

“What the hell is going on over here?”

At the sound of Coach Riley’s voice, I tear my eyes away from Riggs just as he advances toward us. Riggs loosens his hold on my neck and turns to face him too. The last I saw Coach Riley, me and Robinson were being shoved into the back of a police car and he was climbing into the ambulance with Webber.

“Back off, buddy,” Riggs warns. “This doesn’t concern you.”

“I beg to differ,” Coach volleys. “Anything that concerns my players, concerns me.”

“Then I guess tonight is a bad night for you,” Riggs grinds out.

That sentence gives me pause and realize I underestimated Victoria’s family, or maybe I was just naïve to the whole mob thing. Not only did they find me, but judging by that comment, Riggs and Mr. Bianci know everything that transpired tonight.

Coach Riley and Riggs continue to trade slurs as I glance around the police station, noting half the football team is here. I guess the other half is at the hospital waiting on word about Webber. The door to the interrogation room next to the one I was held up in opens and I spot Robinson sitting at the table. He lifts his head, and our eyes connect.

I wonder if he fessed up and told the cops he gave Webber the drugs. I kept that shit to myself, but I think that’s mainly because I can’t quite wrap my head around the fact that I failed to see what was right in front of my eyes. For fuck’s sake, not only did I miss Webber using, but Robinson is a dealer. It makes me wonder what else I’ve missed and if the detective questioning me was onto something when he implied that all that went on tonight was way too coincidental.

So many questions.

So little answers.

All I know for certain is that I’m going to make whoever hurt Victoria pay and if Webber or Robinson have anything to do with her attack, they both are going to wish they were dead.

Riggs claps a hand to my shoulder.

“Walk,” he orders.

With a fleeting glance at Coach Riley, I do as I’m told. Maybe once we’re alone, he or Mr. Bianci will clue me in on what happened with Victoria. That thought is quickly shot down, though, the moment we step out of the police station, and I spot all the motorcycles lined along the curb.

“What’s all this?” I ask, turning to Riggs.

“The calvary.” He retorts, pushing his sunglasses onto the bridge of his nose. “You’re going to tell us who put their hands on my niece and if you don’t…” He pauses, his shielded gaze sliding to the brigade of bikers. “Well, let’s just say you can kiss the draft goodbye. The NFL doesn’t have a use for athletes who find themselves in a wheelchair with two broken legs.”

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