Page 7 of Play Dirty
“I see you spotted my daughter, Shiloh,” Mr. J’s voice booms from behind me. I slowly turn, but his grip keeps me rooted in place and staring wide-eyed at the beauty heading towards us. “Why don’t I introduce you two? After all, she’s the reason I chose you.” His words feel like a double-edged knife piercing through me, delivering a truth that feels haunting instead of rewarding.
“Princess.” He calls over the soft music, using his free hand, he motions her over. I can tell she’s annoyed by the way her small nose flares, before she downs another glass and walks over to us.
“Yes, father.” Her tone is flat, sweet, and delicate. She looks bored with it all— and I can’t get enough.
“There’s someone I want you to meet, Nicolas Reyes. Our new star.” The words feel more like a taunt. I don’t know, but something in the way he says my name punches the air from my lungs, and drains the blood from my body. All I can do is nod and try to put on a smile.
“Nice to meet you.” She says before finishing off another glass of her champagne. Seems to me, like her mother, Blondie here might have a drinking problem. She finally looks at me and recognizes me from our little run-in. Her plump lips thin into a straight line, a visible reaction to me.
It's cute.
Finally, I respond. “Same.” My words come out colder than I intend them, trying to shake off the feeling of dread climbing up my spine. I try to step away from Mr. Johnson's grip, but he keeps me there, like an owner keeping his pet in reach. An awkward silence stretchesbetween us, but I can feel her looking when she thinks I’m not. Little does she know— she’s all I have eyes for. Unfortunately, this small moment is cut short when Mr. J's voice cuts through the thick silence. “Sweetheart, you should go find your mother. Mingle with someone worth your time.”
There it goes.
The line…
I swallow the lump forming in my throat as I watch her look at him and then look at me. Our eyes clash—It’s brief, but something collides between us. I’m sure of it. I watch as she turns and walks away, her hips swaying with each step.
What are you doing to me, Blondie?
Before I can register what just happened, Mr. J leans in. “Beautiful, isn’t she?”
Clearing my throat, I tuck my sweaty hands back into my pocket. How am I supposed to answer? With a truth or a lie? How do I tell the man holding my future in his hands that his daughter is one of the most beautiful girls I have ever had the pleasure of laying eyes on? I want to get to know her, fuck more than that. I want to have her. But I know my place in this world, and it’s not beside someone like her. Thankfully, the event coordinator walks towards us, dressed in her black suit and hair pinned into a perfect bun. “Good evening,” She says with a smile as she tugs my arm, and Mr. J releases me.
“They are calling the players for pictures, and you’re next, Mr. Reyes,” she adds. Mr. Johnson claps his hands together, and when I look at him, I see the grin on his face. “Good, right on time,” he says with a practiced smile. It twists me the fuck up. We walk towards the stage, and Mr. J gets handed a champagne glass as he stands in the middle of the room.
While I stand displayed like livestock, an animal up for sale. “Meet the Sirens' new midfield, Nicolas Reyes.”
The room erupts into applause, flashbulbs go off—blinding me. Coach Jensen steps forward, dressed in a burgundy suit and white undershirt. Hair perfectly combed back, so clean, unlike his usual attire. “Great job, son. Welcome to the Sirens.” He offers me his hand, which I reluctantly take. He pulled me into him and slapped my shoulder hard. “To a great season, Reyes.”
I nod, searching through the crowd. For a brief moment, I see a glimpse of blue in the crowd of black suits—she stands there watching me.
As if she knows something I don't.
Everything happens in the blink of an eye. The pictures and quick celebrations before I’m taken off the stage and guided to another room. The walk is quiet and cold. A study or someone’s opulent office, full of books and shiny wood. Then one of the bookcases slides open, and a man wearing a golden lion mask comes up to greet me. “Nicolas Reyes, player 11?”
I nod my head.
“Follow me this way.” He says, my stomach flips, warning me, but I never listen… So, of course, I follow.
We walk down the stairs, and the atmosphere changes entirely from upstairs. Here it’s all dark, no white’s, just sterile black shiny surfaces and red doors. “Where are we going?” I ask, trying to contain the apprehension in my voice. The man lowers his head as he pushes open a red door. “To your assigned room.”
My pierced brow quirks up. “Assigned room?” He nods, stepping away to allow me in. My breath catches in my throat as I look at the large window with views of the garden and water fountain.
A king-size bed sits in the middle, with chains hanging from the tall posters. A white robe lies atop the bed, accompanied by a velvet blindfold. I shake my head, trying to make sense of this, because what my brain is conjuring up can’t be true.
“Sir, I think you have the wrong idea.” The masked man chuckles low and dark as he shoves me inside, causing me to tumble in. “No, I think it’s you who has the wrong idea. Please step inside. Everyone initiated into Velarium must pay their price.”
Velarium? What the fuck is Velarium?
Coach told us tonight is about celebration, meeting the donors, and a personal chance to thank them. No one said anything about hidden rooms and Velarium. I’ve heard about the shit that goes down at Villalargos, foolish of me to think that I know more than a sick bastard running shit behind money.
But I have no time to ask.
The man closes the door, leaving me alone in a room that smells of cologne and cigars. Alone with my thoughts, a cool chill runs down my spine. The sounds of painful moans and skin upon skin filter into my room. For a moment, I stand there frozen as if time just ceases to exist. Scanning the room, I look for a way out, but there isn’t one…
My gaze moves to the window, and I stare at the night. That’s when Shiloh emerges from the rose bushes, staggering with half a bottle of champagne as she collapses to the ground and hugs the stone fountain. I look at the small wooden lounging chair and contemplate using it to bust the glass. When the door opens behind me, I hold my breath. I don’t want to know what’s about to happen, why I need a robe, or why there’s a bed in this room.
