See No Evil (Brotherhood Trilogy #1)

by Jordan Ford

  “I told you where the gear closet is. Just past the showers. Now move it.”

  Chris bobs his head and spins back, his eyes darting to my chest before hitting the floor again. I rub my naked torso, then reach for my shorts, tugging them on before sitting down to pull on my socks and hockey pants.

  By the time I’m done, Chris is struggling out of the gear closet, laden with hockey pads. Nearly crumpling under the weight, he puffs into the middle of the locker room and dumps them in a pile.

  “Shoulder pads.” I clap my hands and raise them for a catch.

  Chris frowns and then looks at the jumbled mess. Lifting up a pair of protective pants, he gives them a cursory glance before rifling through the pile and wrestling some shoulder pads free.

  He throws them over to me, but it’s a pathetic attempt and they land on the floor behind Kade.

  Even I have to snicker at that one. “Excellent miss.”

  Chris’s eyes narrow into that glare that makes him look like a girl. I swear if he raises his middle finger and dips his hip, he’ll look exactly like Annabeth Spencer, one of the hot cheerleaders from Williams Academy.

  I made out with her at the Spring Dance earlier this year.

  Funny how even that memory doesn’t spark whatever the hell is going on in my belly right now. I don’t understand my fascination with this guy. Why can’t I stop looking at him? Why am I comparing him to a hot girl?

  Snatching the pads off the floor, I go to put them on and am hit in the face with a neck guard, followed by two shin guard bullets to my stomach.

  “What the f—?”

  Kade’s laughter cuts off my F-bomb. My gaze shoots across the room to spot Chris fighting a smile as he turns and starts handing out gear to the other guys on the team.

  I let it slide with a grin.

  It’s nice to see the guy show a little attitude.

  Maybe he’s not such a weak loser after all.

  #9:

  What’s The Point?

  Christiana

  I pick at my food, pushing the beans around my plate. I force two more mouthfuls in before giving up. It’s damn hard to eat with a belly full of knots. The dining hall is pretty much empty. I was late, thanks to Coach making me clean out the stinky locker room. He joked that all this work is training for the next Gauntlet run.

  I had to resist the urge to bite back that I wouldn’t be here for it.

  Hopefully.

  I still don’t know the pre-trial date, but it can’t come fast enough.

  I’ve been at Eton for four days. That’s it.

  Feels like an eternity.

  Grabbing my tray, I slide it into the trolley and head out of the cafeteria. It’s Friday night, which means we’re allowed to do anything we like. Apparently juniors and seniors are allowed off campus—unsupervised—until ten o’clock, but that rule doesn’t apply to me.

  Pulling in a breath, I head for the outside walkway, taking the long route to my room. All I feel like is a steaming hot bath. All I’m gonna get is a pokey dark room and… I don’t even know. I’m too depressed to do anything but lie on my bed.

  Unfortunately lying on my bed makes my mind wander, and I never like where it goes.

  Running a hand over my ear, I scratch the hairs at the nape of my neck and then jerk to a stop.

  “Hey, Chris.” Ivan’s leaning against the wall, his voice dripping with malice. He’s dressed in jeans and a leather jacket. If he wasn’t such an asshole, I’d think he looked pretty good. He’s obviously ready to head into the small town three miles down the road. But not before he deals with me…again.

  I glance at his buddies snickering beside him and I take a step back.

  Droplets of hot foreboding hit my face, soaking into my skin and making my heart pound.

  I clench my jaw and put my head down, hoping to shuffle past the group of idiots.

  My skin is on fire. I can’t move fast enough.

  “Where are you going, little piggy?” He shoves my shoulder.

  I’m propelled back but don’t make a move to retaliate.

  He wants to make me squeal. That’s what he warned me last time.

  “You squeal on me like a freaking pig?” Thunder punch to the nose. “I can make you squeal, boy. I can make you cry like a frickin’ baby…and I’m gonna have fun doing it.”

  A teacher rounded the corner before he could do any damage the first time. Ivan the Terrible disappeared behind the fake Ivan. The one who helped me off the floor and checked that I was okay. The one who explained to the teacher that I get bloody noses sometimes and offered to take me to the nurse.

  I mumbled I was fine and fled.

  I want to do the same thing tonight, but I’m surrounded on all sides.

  There’s no teacher.

  Just me and a circle of brainless thugs.

  Be strong.

  Stoic.

  You’re here for a reason.

  To get the shit beaten out of you, my sarcastic brain taunts me. Laughs at my pitiful plight.

  I’m prey, a zebra surrounded by a pride of lions.

  “I don’t want any trouble,” I murmur.

  “You don’t got any choice.” Ivan steps into the ring and shoves me back. I stumble and fall straight into a wall of arms. They push me forward and I trip at Ivan’s feet. He fists my shirt and hauls me back up.

  “You gonna scream for help?” His eyes glint. “You gonna squeal again?”

  My nostrils flare.

  His eyes remind me of another. A killer of the innocent. A man who deserves to burn.

  Without thinking, I lash out, slapping Ivan across the face.

  He flinches in surprise, then goes still. His expression is almost comical. He looks incredulous, mystified, indignant.

  That’s right. Boys don’t slap; they punch.

  I ball my fingers into a fist and strike out again, but he flicks my arm aside and punches me in the face.

  His fist is fast and powerful, knocking me off my feet. I cry out and land with a thud, my palms slapping against the concrete floors. I’m hauled up by the back of my shirt.

  Thunder punch to the belly.

  I grip his arm, panic seizing me as I fight for air.

  I can’t breathe.

  I can’t breathe.

  He flicks me off him and I drop like a rag doll. Weird noises are coming out of me.

  I still can’t breathe.

  Guys are laughing, insulting, snickering. It’s all fuzzy. I can’t hear what they’re saying. My ears are ringing.

  “Shit. Go! Go!”

  Scuffling feet. I’m alone again.

  Clomping shoes.

  No, I’m not.

  Forcing myself up, I limp and stumble as fast as I can, reaching the stairwell door just as Dean Hancock rounds the corner. I don’t want him to see me. I can’t squeal on Ivan again, and my brain’s not coherent enough to make something up.

  I haul ass up to my floor and ignore any double glances as I stumble to my room.

  Shoving it open with my shoulder, I slam it shut behind me and lean against it, my chest heaving.

  I close my eyes and rest my forehead on the wood until I’m aware of foreign noises behind me.

  My eyes bulge and I spin to find three guys lounging in my room. They’ve set up camping chairs at the end of my bed and they’re huddled around a laptop, engrossed in a hockey game.

  “Yes!” Kade pumps his arm while the commentators start shouting about an amazing play.

  He glances over his shoulder and raises his eyebrows at me, as if being in my room watching a game is the most normal thing in the world. Then he does a double-take, his face flickering with a pained wince before softly greeting me. “Hockey’s on. We’re into the third quarter if you want to watch.”

  Watch? No! What I want to say is “I don’t care what’s on, just turn it off and get the hell out of my room!”

  But I hurt too much to form words.

  Or maybe I like the idea of three muscly guy
s in my room. Maybe they’ll have my back if Ivan pops in for a visit.

  But would they? Or would they just sit there watching while I endured some deranged rite of passage?

  Boys are idiots.

  I slump onto my bed with a pitiful frown. Trey turns to give me a smile, his expression dropping with surprise, then morphing into anger. I lean away from his gaze, crossing my arms and frowning.

  With a little sigh, he grabs something out of the cooler at his feet and stands. Holding out a can of Bud Light, he murmurs, “For your face.”

  “Thank you,” I whisper, pressing the cool beer against my tender cheek.

  “He doesn’t usually go for the face.” Riley’s reading something off his phone while he talks to me. “He always punched me in the gut.”

  “He did,” I mutter darkly. “After he punched me in the face.”

  Riley winces and looks up long enough to give me a sympathetic smile. “It’ll pass.”

  I scoff and work my jaw to the side.

  I wonder again why they can’t do this in their own room. Then my eyes travel over the illegal beers and contraband potato chips. They’re probably streaming the game illegally too. It’s only then that I register the fact they have a laptop in my room, plus an illegal cell phone!

  “Where’d you get this stuff?” I grumble. “I thought you weren’t allowed tech in your room.”

  “We’re not.” Kade grins. “Which is why we have it in your room.”

  “Great, so I’m gonna get busted during room inspection tomorrow!”

  “Relax.” Trey soothes me with a look that makes my insides curl with desire.

  I swallow and glance away from his chiseled jawline and those eyes I want to go swimming in.

  “You’ve been living here for nearly a week and haven’t found any of this stuff. Our hiding places are solid.”

  I frown. No wonder Trey keeps popping into my room. He’s been sneaking in to grab his stuff. This must have been their secret haven before I arrived.

  The hockey commentator’s voice rises and all eyes return to the screen. “He strips it away. Two on one with Winston, he feeds it to…”

  “Go! Go!” Trey and Kade sit forward, beer splashing out of Kade’s can as he raises his hands with a whoop. “And he scores!”

  “We’re creaming ‘em. It’s gonna be an easy win tonight.” Trey’s voice is bright and eager.

  “One step closer to the playoffs,” Riley mumbles like he’s only half listening. Whatever he’s reading on his phone has most of his attention. His eyebrows bunch, his lips dipping into a sharp frown. “This is such bullshit.”

  Kade rolls his eyes. “Dude, would you stop reading the news? It always puts you in a bad mood.”

  Trey snickers and takes a swig from his beer. “What’s up, Ry?”

  “Don’t encourage him.” Kade slaps Trey’s leg with the back of his hand.

  I have to fight a grin. The banter between these guys is kind of cute. It reminds me of my friends back home.

  Pulling the cold can away from my face, I gently pat my aching cheek, then open the can as Riley starts ranting.

  “Just another case of injustice. This rich asshole has been arrested for murder but has pled not guilty.” He spins his phone around so we can see a photo of the accused.

  My stomach clenches.

  “Prosecution is confident for a win, but they have to put on that front. You read the interviews and it’s all bullshit. Defense is adamant their client didn’t shoot the unarmed eighteen-year-old in the chest…twice!”

  I close my eyes.

  “The body was discovered on Saturday morning. The car was rubbed clean of prints, and ballistics have yet to match the bullet with the gun.”

  “So, how do they know that guy did it?” Kade asks.

  “Who knows?” Riley shrugs. “But I bet you my trust fund the guy is going to get off clean.”

  Kade shares a look with Trey and softly mutters, “Here we go.”

  “It’s always the same. It’s got nothing to do with right or wrong, innocent or guilty. It always comes down to whichever lawyer has the best argument. This guy is loaded, and he’s probably going to walk because he’s paying five fucking lawyers a billion dollars each to win for him.” Riley shakes his head. Bitterness is seeping from him like mustard gas.

  I study the rigid set of his jaw and wonder where the angst is coming from.

  Trey glances back at me, catching my eye. “Ry’s all about the justice. He’s gonna be a lawyer or some shit.”

  “Not some shit. I’m going to be a forensic analyst so I can make sure the guilty are proven guilty and locked up where they should be. I’m sick of cases being dropped or lost because of inept forensics or lazy police work.”

  I blink and look away from Trey’s keen assessment. I don’t want him to see the truth on my face. The worry. The sparks of futility that are firing through me. Is Riley right? Will Uncle Marco win the case no matter what evidence is brought forward? Will my testimony be enough?

  The questions eat at me, chomping through my stomach while the guys finish watching the game. I sip at the beer, not loving the flavor but needing to do something to hide my unrest. Finally the game ends and they try to send me to the bathroom so they can pack away their contraband…in my room.

  I put up a fight but it doesn’t last long. They refuse to move their stuff, and they don’t want me seeing where it lives.

  “If you don’t know where any of our hiding places are, you can’t look guilty.” Kade winks, completely missing the point that they’re still hiding stuff in my room.

  I don’t have the energy to argue, so I take a slow walk to the bathroom. I’m over witnessing things I shouldn’t anyway.

  When I get back to my room, they’re gone, all hiding places concealed. My room looks just the way I left it this morning. I slump onto my bed, not even bothering to change into my pajamas.

  I can’t stop thinking about what Riley said. The same questions continue to plague me as I flick off the light and curl onto my side. They suck on my bones while I lie in the darkness, tossing and turning. They gnaw at my brain until the early hours of the morning.

  I can’t handle it anymore.

  Throwing off the covers, I grab my flashlight and head for the stairs.

  When we were touring the school, Rybeck took me aside and showed me a hiding place for a burner phone he said I could use in case of emergencies. I asked him why I couldn’t keep it on me and he said he didn’t trust me not to get busted with it, so instead I have to sneak outside to use the damn thing. It’s entirely stupid if you ask me. I could just as easily get busted sneaking out of my room in the middle of the night! But Rybeck’s convinced the unused shed is the perfect solution.

  “We can chat in privacy. No one will hear a thing.”

  I creep through the darkness and jog past the hockey rink. The old shed is in no-man’s-land, tucked behind the compost bin filled with grass clippings. It’s a restricted area for ground staff only and from what I can tell, no one but the gardeners ever venture out here because of the ripe smell. I hold my nose and swallow. It’s so dark I have to turn on my flashlight to see where I’m going. I don’t want to slip off the concrete path and land in the squelchy mud on either side.

  I finally reach the decrepit shed and wonder why it hasn’t been dismantled and thrown away. The rusty lock squeaks when I jiggle it open. I flinch still, scanning the murky surroundings, straining to hear clompy footsteps. I wouldn’t put it past Dean Hancock to have sixth-sense ninja skills. He can probably smell when students are out of their beds.

  All is quiet and I hold my breath as I slip inside. I close the door behind me, shutting out any traces of moonlight. It’s impossible to see anything and I have to risk using my flashlight again. The bright beam draws a trail on the walls while I hunt for the phone. It’s hidden on the bottom shelf, under a paint-stained tarp. I switch it on and wait for the screen to light up before punching in the number Rybeck made me me
morize. As soon as it starts ringing, I turn off my light.

  My face hurts when I press the phone against my wounded cheek.

  I switch it to the other side as the ringing cuts off and is replaced with an automated voice.

  “Please dial the six-digit pin for a secure line.”

  “Shit, that’s right.” I scour my brain, desperately unearthing the numbers. Clicking on the flashlight, I shine it on the black buttons and press the keys in what I hope is the right order. I lift the phone back to my ear and hold my breath.

  “Rybeck.”

  “Hey, it’s me.” My voice quivers.

  His voice switches from groggy to deep and alert. “Are you alone?”

  “Yes.”

  “In the shed?”

  “Yes.”

  “So no one can hear or see you right now?”

  I roll my eyes. “No.”

  “Okay then. Is everything all right?”

  “You’ve got to get me out of here.”

  “Why? Has someone figured you out already?”

  I shake my head, forgetting he can’t see me. With a sharp huff, I bleat, “What’s the point of being here? He’s gonna win. He’ll walk free and I will have suffered in this hellhole for nothing! I can’t do it anymore. They’re thugs and they fart and stink and invade my space. I can’t even shower!”

  “Have you tried going in the early hours?”

  “Of course I did, and I nearly got busted. You have to get me out of here.”

  “Hey.” Rybeck has his soothing voice on now, the one he used when I cried over my haircut. “It’s going to be okay. It’s only for a little while longer.”

  I can’t help a frustrated huff.

  “We need you. You’re the backbone of this case, the one thing he can’t control. You’re our surprise attack.”

  My lips start to wobble. “He knows I saw. He’s not stupid. The only reason you guys are able to retain him is because of my witness account. He will have figured it out by now.”

  “Maybe. But he doesn’t know where you are. He’s locked up tight, he can’t—”

  “They’ll be looking for me.”

  “Your family thinks you ran away. They found your note spouting off about being too strict and suffocating. It seems to be working for now. They haven’t guessed a thing, and it’s not like Marco’s going to tell them the truth.”