Page 52

Ben 'Matty' Mathieson is leaning against the brick wall outside Covey U Wildcats stadium when I roll up, looking like he'd rather be anywhere else on the fucking planet.

Can't blame him. Save for game days, this place is deader than my patience for Luke's bullshit games.

It's the kind of spot where secrets get shared and bones get buried—metaphorically speaking, of course. I think.

I scan the area anyway, because paranoia has become my new best friend, and Luke's the asshole who introduced us.

Ridiculous? Probably. But no one's going to think twice about a couple of meatheads meeting up to shoot the shit about protein powder and weekend plans. They sure as hell won't suspect we're here to discuss the creative ways to dismantle a local scumbag's empire.

That's the thing about Luke, he doesn't just threaten you. Instead, he gets into your head and plants these little seeds of what-ifs until you're jumping at shadows and checking over your shoulder every five seconds. It's psychological warfare at its finest, and the bastard's good at it.

Too bad for him, I'm done playing by his rules.

The fear? The constant looking over my shoulder? The sick feeling in my gut every time Savannah so much as breathes wrong because I'm terrified he'll come for her next?

Fuck. All. Of. That.

Luke wants to play mind games. Fine. But this is the last time he uses me or my soon-to-be wife as pawns in his twisted little chess match. Time to flip the board.

“Matty?” I ask, doing a double-take as I size him up.

This lean motherfucker is supposed to be our best kicker?

He's tall, sure, and definitely has muscle on him, but it's a completely different build than what I'm used to seeing.

Where hockey players like me are built thick and solid, ready to take a hit and dish one back, Matty's all wiry strength and lean lines. Where I’m used to brute force, he has fast-twitch muscle.

He glances up from his curtain of floppy brown hair. “Cade, right? Alex's teammate?”

“That's me.”

“He said you've got a password problem.” His tone is flat and bored, like he's already mentally calculating how long this bullshit conversation is going to take. “Let's hear it.”

Right. Time to rip off the band-aid.

“Yeah, about that,” I say, flashing him my most charming smile, the one that usually gets me out of trouble. “I might've lied to Alex about why I needed your help.”

Matty's expression shifts from bored to mildly intrigued. There's a spark in his eyes now. The kind that tells me this guy gets off on breaking into systems he's not supposed to touch.

“What do you want me to do?”

“Nothing major,” I say quickly. “Just hack into a local bar's system and find as much dirt on the owner as possible.”

“Fucking hell.” He runs a hand through his hair, making it stick up at weird angles. “If this is some petty revenge bullshit because they kicked you out for being drunk off your ass, I'm sorry, but you're going to have to deal with your wounded pride alone.”

Okay, shit. This guy doesn't fuck around, and he's definitely not buying what I'm selling. Time to get real.

“It's my fiancée,” I say, dropping the casual act. “The owner's been blackmailing her for over a year. She needs out, and the only way to make that happen is to take this piece of shit down.”

“Mhm.” Matty nods slowly.

“Yeah, and now he wants me to step into an illegal fighting ring for him.”

“Isn’t the first rule of fight club to never talk about fight club?”

“When you’re in it. I’m not. It’s something I used to do, but I've learned my lesson since then.”

“No,” Matty says, dead serious. “You haven't.”

I stare at him, my eyebrows pulling together in confusion. “What the hell does that mean?”

He sighs and glares at me like I'm the dumbest motherfucker he's ever had the misfortune of meeting. “Don't treat me like I'm an idiot. You've clearly agreed to fight and now you need to figure a way out of it. That's why you want my help. You need some dirt.”

Well, fuck me. This guy can see straight through my bullshit.

I blow out a breath, genuinely impressed. “It's like you read my mind.”

“It's not that hard. You play a sport with little blades on your feet and don’t care about your dental fees.”

And there goes my ego, taking a direct hit. “Are you calling me stupid just because I’m a hockey player? Tell me, is it really athleticism if you only have to get up and kick a ball every thirty minutes?”

Matty actually smirks at that, the cocky bastard. “Wow, someone's inferiority complex is showing. I was talking about the incessant need hockey players have to fight, but you believe what you want.”

Heat creeps up my neck. “Sorry. I'm a little on edge.”

“I can tell.” His fingers are already dancing across his phone screen, completely unbothered by my attitude problem.

“Is this something you think you can help me with?”

He shrugs without looking up. “Sure. Why not? Haven't hacked anything interesting in a while, and this guy sounds like a grade-A slimeball.”

“What can you do?”

“Take him down.” He says it so matter-of-fact that it makes all the stress that's been eating me alive seem suddenly manageable.

“Guys like him think they're untouchable because they deal in cash, but they always fuck up somewhere. Bank records, property purchases, phone records, social media… there’s always something connecting them back to the dirty money.

These small-time tyrants can't help but leave breadcrumbs.

If he's as dirty as he sounds, and I'm ninety-nine percent certain he is, then I'll find where he slipped up.”

“Perfect.”

“All I need from you is intel. Full name, business address, any aliases he goes by. Anything weird you've seen or heard. It doesn't matter how small. Sometimes it's the tiniest mistake that brings the whole house of cards down.”

I'm already scrolling through my phone before he finishes talking. “I've got it all.”

“You do?”

I glance up at him. “I might not be a tech genius, but I'm not completely brain-dead either. You never know what information might come in handy with a piece of shit like Luke. I'll airdrop it to you now.”

His whole demeanor shifts when the ping hits his phone and there’s a small quirk of his lips.

“Well, damn. You've made my job easy.” He cracks his neck, already connecting his phone to a laptop that materialized from nowhere. “Give me a few hours. I'll see what I can dig up and how deep I can get into his system.”

“You're starting now?”

“Yeah, beats going back to my dorm and listening to my roommate fuck my next-door neighbor,” he mutters, fingers flying over the keyboard. “Or dealing with my girlfriend's latest drama, for that matter.”

I don't ask for details. Not because I don't know him well enough, but because I've got bigger problems than his relationship issues.

“I won't be available for a couple hours but call me if you find anything.”

“Doing anything interesting?” he asks, so absorbed in whatever code he's typing that he doesn't bother looking up.

“Yeah.” I can't help the grin that spreads across my face. “I'm getting married.”

My fingers won't stop fucking with my collar.

I've adjusted the damn thing about a hundred times in the last ten minutes, telling myself it's because the fabric is stiff as cardboard, but who am I kidding?

My hands are shaking like I'm about to face a firing squad instead of marrying the woman I love.

The courthouse smells like old paper and burned coffee… real romantic stuff. There are no fancy flowers, no string quartet, just a makeshift altar that looks like it was thrown together by someone who couldn't give less of a shit about ambiance. But you know what? I don't care.

This isn't about the location or the decorations. This is about making Savannah mine, legally and completely, before anything else can go wrong.

I blow out a breath, zero hesitation in my mind that this is exactly what I need to do. Yeah, it's not the fairy-tale wedding a girl like Savannah deserves with a big white dress and a beautiful venue, but I'll make damn sure our next one blows this out of the water.

Dash clears his throat beside me, his elbow jabbing in my ribs as he fidgets with his jacket. “You sure you want to go through with this, C?” His voice is quiet, but I can hear the concern threading through it as his eyes scan the depressing room.

I roll my shoulders, stretch my neck, and keep my focus locked on the heavy wooden door at the end of the room. Savannah's going to walk through it any second now, and I'll be damned if I miss even a fraction of that moment.

“Of course I am. I'm fucking in love with her.”

“Yeah, no shit.” His voice is mixed with amusement and worry.

“I've never seen you act this impulsive in our entire lives.

Savannah's incredible, and she brings out something in you I didn't even know existed.” I feel his stare burning into the side of my face.

“I'm just concerned about why you're rushing into this. If things go according to plan, you could wait. Do this right. Have a real celebration with your parents, with Adley.”

His words hit differently because Dash knows me better than anyone on this planet.

He and Henry are the only two people who understand exactly how deep in the shit I am with Luke because of Savannah.

Hell, Dash offered to give me his entire signing salary so we could pay off the hundred and twenty-five grand together, but I shut that down fast.

Giving Luke money won't end this nightmare.

It would just prove there's more where that came from.

He'll keep coming back for bigger payouts until we're bled dry, but the bastard got sloppy when he started making threats.

He's been watching us, learning about my friends, my life.

And when he decided to threaten Stanley?

That made it personal.

I'm not just paying off a debt anymore. I'm taking this piece of shit down so he can never do this to anyone else again.