Page 6

CHAPTER 5

“We missed you today, Little Devil,” Aidric chimes from behind the wheel. “Thought we had a deal.”

I snarl, “This might come as a surprise, but I have better things to do than watch a bunch of boys slap a puck around for an hour.”

The front passenger door swings open, and Callan slides into the seat in a swift motion. Once he’s settled, he pulls the door shut with a firm tug.

It’s strange that I feel a sense of ease knowing Callan is here. I loathe him from the depths of my soul, but familiarity can be comforting when you’re in a powerless position. Besides, I don’t think he would do anything that would hurt his sister, which gives me a sense of safety. He might let me get hurt, but I don’t think he would let me go missing like he said earlier.

I still can’t believe he’s doing this, though.

“Ya know,” Aidric begins while shifting the car into drive. “You say we can trust you, but today you proved otherwise. Your first mistake was putting your nose in our business. Your second was not showing up at our practice like you promised.”

I sink into the seat, feeling the vibration beneath me as we cruise over the train tracks—out of Rosewood and into North Ridge. My eyes drift sideways, catching sight of the guy beside me. With his hoodie pulled up, he bows his head, a curtain of disheveled sandy brown hair slipping from the hood, concealing his face as his fingers dance across his phone screen.

Feeling the heat of my stare, his eyes slide to mine. They’re a soft brown, like honey. Sort of like mine but lighter. Without lifting his head, or pushing his hair out of his face, he watches me. He comes off as a typical guy, wearing a pair of gym shorts, a Lords hockey hoodie, and a pair of spotless white high-top sneakers. Oddly enough, I don’t feel threatened or intimidated. I can’t help but wonder if he was dragged into Callan and Adric’s chaos, or if he made the choice himself.

"Who are you?" I whisper, hoping he might be someone open to persuasion. If I can get in his good graces, maybe we can help each other out.

Instead of responding, he simply sweeps his unruly hair out of his face. It’s then that I see his perfect side profile—his jawline sharp enough to cut glass, pronounced cheekbones that look like they were sculpted by an artist, and a rice-sized scar just above the right side of his lip. His eyes flicker to the rearview mirror in the front in an almost calculating gaze. When I follow his line of sight, I see Aidric’s stone blue eyes glowering back at him.

A flicker of thought crosses over his features, and he looks back down at his phone as if he was commanded to do so. I don’t let up, though.

“So what are you studying at North Ridge?” I ask, my voice low and measured.

I watch him, searching for any sort of reaction, a twitch of an eyebrow, a shift in posture—anything. But he gives me nothing.

“I’m a junior at Rosewood University, studying neuropsychiatry. And did you know that good or bad, everyone has the potential to turn evil?” I let the thought dangle between us before saying, “You could be the sweetest, most innocent person, and under the right circumstances you’d be capable of things you never?—”

“Would you shut the fuck up!” Aidric slams his hand to the steering wheel, the sharp crack cutting through the air. My spine pins to the seat and my lips seal. “You talk too damn much.”

Callan swivels in his seat, his eyes glinting with mischief as he flashes me a smug grin. I glare back at him, my lips pressed into a tight line while the heat of frustration rises to my cheeks. It’s obvious he gets some sort of sick thrill over me being put in my place by Aidric. I wouldn’t doubt it if Aidric has put him in his place a time or two. Hell, I’d actually pay to see it.

We continue the dreadful ride in silence, but my thoughts are screaming. I’ve determined that the guy next to me is going to become my new friend. Like a snake, I’m going to slither my way into his good graces and convince him to tell these asshats to leave me alone. After all, the one I’ve known for seven years sure as hell isn’t doing me any favors.

Fifteen minutes later, we turn onto a long, paved driveway. The house looms ahead—instantly recognizable. No need to guess where we are. I already know.

The Lords’ hockey house.