Page 51 of Play Dirty
Zayden
U two are needed. Basement.
Thiago steps out of the bathroom, steam and water still clinging to his skin. “Hurry, we are needed.”
“The club?”
“Yeah.”
“Why?” He asks.
I shrug, holding up my phone to show that I haven’t replied back. “You haven’t heard anything? Things have been quiet. Which is odd.”
Focusing back on my phone, I watch from the corner of my eyes as Thiago's hand runs down his face. He’s hiding something. Before I can ask, he lets out a deep sigh while plopping onto the black leather sofa.
“It’s not quiet. Things aren’t looking too good.”
I stop mid-text, “What are you talking about?”
“Someone is blackmailing my father and everyone else. Nico, they have tapes of what happens behind the red doors.”
My stomach flips.
Bile rises up my throat.
I think I’m going to be sick.
“What? You’re telling me this now?” I stand, the desire to put his head through this fucking wall overpowers any reasoning. “How long have you known, Thiago?” I snap. My hand wraps around his throat, and his hazel eyes widen.
“Ni-Nico,” he chokes out, tapping my hand as I apply more pressure.
Finally, I let go, shoving him to the ground. “Zayden is right about you.” He flinches; the blow lands right where it hurts. “Just like your father, looking out for yourself at all costs.”
“That’s not fair.” He says, rubbing his neck as he rises to his feet. “I had no choice.”
I inhale deeply, opening and closing my hand, chasing the need to kill him with my bare hands away. “There’s always a choice, and you always seem to pick the easy one. Or do you not get the choice to fuck Z?”
His eyes water now, shame flashes across his face as I shine light on his biggest secret… And instantly, I regret it. It was unfair —I know he doesn’t enjoy the things he’s forced to do. Like us, he’s a pawn, just used in a different way. He’s privileged, and this right here is a reminder. The proof of the things we are forced to carry.
We don’t speak as we finish getting ready… I can’t even look at him. The anger inside me only grows, gathering into a storm of emotions, twisting and eating me from within. Hopefully, in the basement, there’s something besides pussy to help relieve some of it. If I’m going to pound into something, I'd rather it be one of those assholes’ faces. Not some random girl that I’ll be forced into breaking.
By the time we get to the club, music blares from inside… expensive cars decorate the driveway. We move towards the back— hidden from view and still very much not talking. When we get to the double storm doors in the back, I knock softly three times to signal my arrival. Wyatt is the one who opens the door, dressed in all black, with a trident pin and a gold opera mask.
One and the same for tonight…
As we descend the wooden steps, the stench of urine and iron fills the air along with the smell of cigars, tangled with high-end cologne. My stomach churns, my skin breaks out in small goosebumps. My fucking body warns me of his presence before I can spot him amongst the elite surrounding the man sitting in the middle.
A small light swings, creaking under pressure. The man is wearing some kind of sack to cover his face, head hanging low as Wyatt cleans the wounds on his knuckles. “What’s going on?” I mutter, trying to find out who the fuck that is and why the fuck I am here.
“That’s the coach.” I swallow hard, my eyes darting to the man tied up to the chair. I knew he wasn’t any good, but was he the one behind it all? “What did he do?”
Wyatt snickers, putting down the gauze he’s using to clean off the blood. “Turns out he wanted a little power along with Xavier. Power push with the Santorellis.”
I narrow my eyes. The Santorellis used to be big shots in Villalargos until some woman came between them, causing them to split and help fund Villalargo's rival school, Costa Mar University. However, I’m still not understanding, but before I can manage to speak, Mr. J's voice rings out from behind me.
“Nico, come here.” He uses his hand to motion me closer. Zayden is in the corner, glaring at Thiago and Ezra, who stand on the opposite side, masks on, just like their daddies. Moments like this are when the truth tastes so sour that I can’t see anything but the huge wall that divides us. The rich from the filth. “I have a job for you during the hunt. I need you to take down Asher.”
“Come again?” I ask, not understanding what he’s asking of me— because he can’t be asking me to kill someone. Don’t get me wrong, I’ll beat the shit out of any of them— they deserve it. All of them. But killing? Nah, that’s where I draw the line. “Don’t look at me like I asked for your kidney. I need you to hurt him. Just enough for him not to play this Saturday. The coach here wanted to blackmail us into his victory.”
