Page 52 of Under the Lights (The Big Boys of BRU #2)

Forty Two

Sierra

The squeak of sneakers and the echo of whistles faded behind me as Dom pulled me into a dimly lit side corridor just off the gym.

The overhead lights didn’t reach this far, leaving us bathed in a faint, flickering glow from an old exit sign. A lingering scent of sweat and floor polish hung in the air, and the sound of my pounding pulse was almost louder than the buzzer.

“What is going on?” I hissed, glancing over my shoulder toward the court, where my team was still warming up under the blinding gym lights.

I was supposed to be out there, not ducking into dark corners with a dude who looked like he was about to confess to arson.

Toying with the zipper of my athletic jacket, I peered up at him, and his eyes were lit with barely restrained emotion.

Dom was fidgeting, his big frame taut with nervous energy.

“Got something for you,” he murmured, his voice low and reverent.

I furrowed my brow in confusion. What could be this important?

His lips curled into a lazy grin, his face a mask of smug satisfaction. He grabbed one of my hands, pulled something out of his pocket, and placed it in my palm.

I looked down at our hands, his tattoos a stark contrast to my unmarked skin, as my fingers curled around a cheap burner phone.

“Uhm … thanks ? What exactly am I supposed to do with that?”

He chuckled. “That’s not for you . Well, the contents are, I suppose. Take a look.”

With tentative fingers, I unlocked the phone, unsure what exactly I was supposed to be looking for. “Whose is this?”

Dom pushed his tongue into his cheek, barely containing his grin. “Check out the screenshots.”

Navigating to the photo album, I swipe through screenshot after screenshot — each one making my eyes grow wider. Mouth agape, my gaze snaps back up to him.

“What the fuck, Dom? Where did you get this?”

“That’s not all.” He was all giddy now, vibrating with energy but ignoring my questions. “There are voice memos and even a fucking spreadsheet, detailing how they divided the money. It’s all there. Amounts, dates, names.”

“Holy fucking shit!”

I scrolled through all the evidence and gathered on this inconspicuous device. It was damning and specific — impossible to explain away.

The gym noise faded entirely. The chaos of whistles, ball slaps, and chatter melted away under the weight of what I held.

This was their downfall, sitting right here in my fucking palm. A bomb, ready to go off. Someone just needed to light the fuse.

Blinking a couple of times, I slowly shook my head.

“Dom … how the hell did you get this?”

“Does it matter? You wanted justice. I got you justice. Let them come — I’ll bury them all,” he told me, with that calm, dark possessiveness resonating in his voice.

This should probably worry me, but … the feeble flicker of concern was overridden by something deeper — gratitude. And along with it, the undeniable truth that this man would burn the world down for me.

I was at a loss for words. Throwing my arms around his neck, I pulled his face down for a fierce kiss, trying to express all the things I couldn’t say out loud right now.

His massive hands gripped my waist, pulling me flush against him, and I knew that he understood.

He always did.

***

The gym was packed, bright lights glaring from the ceiling. We were playing against one of our top rivals, and it was rumored that scouts planned to attend the game.

I could not fuck up today.

After crushing it at summer training camp — earning praise from coaches and a warning that I’d only stay on the radar if I delivered this season — my future depended on how I played now.

I had to bring my absolute best game if I wanted a shot at playing professionally.

Wiping my hands on my shorts, I got into position.

I nailed the opening serve with deadly precision, setting the tone for the rest of the game. I wasn’t here to prove myself anymore. I was here to fucking own it. This was my moment.

Even though we were still early in the game, the rival team had already keyed in on me. They were hitting me with double blocks and targeted serves. I faltered for a beat, but then took a deep breath.

Adapt. Control. Win. I chanted inside my head.

During a long rally, I was scrambling for a dig, and it was set just off the net — a tight window. Charging at it, I faked the hard cross and tipped it over the block with surgical touch.

Point! I pumped my fist, slapping my thigh as I screamed “Yes!” and the crowd erupted around us.

I caught Dom’s eye in the stands. He was smiling, locked in, and watching me like I was his whole world. And at that moment, it empowered me. He wasn’t my distraction. He was my constant.

Soon, we were in a tiebreaker. It was match point, and the ball was coming to me. I jumped up, and it felt like I was hanging in the air longer than gravity allowed. I made contact and crushed it down the line.

Game. Set. Match.

The crowd was exploding, but my eyes went straight to the edge of the stands. Dom was watching me, his grin lighting up his whole face, like he knew all along that I’d make it happen.

Like he believed I could make anything happen.

***

The early morning sunlight illuminated the quiet campus as it rolled past. I was pounding pavement, my pace brutal as I breathed in the chilly air, and the slap of my shoes was the only thing keeping rhythm with my pulse.

The cold air stung in my lungs, but I kept running. Not for fitness or endorphins, but to process my feelings, to process all the things that had happened within the last couple of days.

It was never supposed to get this far. Dom was supposed to crash and burn against my walls. But here we were, neck-deep in this beautiful mess. And I wasn’t even sorry about it anymore.

My legs started to burn, but I welcomed the feeling.

It grounded me.

I used to think needing someone was like handing them a knife and hoping they wouldn’t use it. But Dom — he just handed me proof of everything.

No hesitation.

Like starting a war on my behalf was something he didn’t have to think about. Like this kind of loyalty didn’t cost him a fucking thing.

He didn’t ask me to be grateful. He didn’t ask me to be careful.

He just said, “This is yours. Do what you need to do.”

Dominic Kincaid would go to war for me. Not because he was reckless, but because he was mine.

My breath came out in sharp pants as I pressed my lips together, my jaw tight. There was no one around to see how close I was to breaking again — only this time it wasn’t from fear.

Dom didn’t just see me. He believed in me.

Unconditionally .

I’ve always had trouble genuinely letting people in, trusting them. All the people I’d surrounded myself with had turned out to be backstabbers.

Even my parents never really believed in me. To them, I was just a pretty face with unrealistic dreams, playing athlete until I inevitably gave up and settled down. No matter how hard I worked, it was never enough to convince them I was serious.

Trusting no one had become my new normal. But he showed up for me — again and again. No hesitation. Never wavering.

That was what love looked like, wasn’t it? Not flowers or promises. But this . Showing up for one another.

I was certain he’d crossed some lines to obtain this final piece of evidence. Maybe even broke the law. This was so much more than just evidence, though.

It had gotten so cold, my hot breath escaping in little clouds of steam. The tip of my nose felt like it might freeze off, and yet sweat was running down my back.

Dom had handed me a crown like an offering. All for me . And for the first time, I wasn’t afraid of what that meant. I was ready to burn it all down … and I wasn’t doing it alone.

God help whoever tries to fucking take that away from me.

I was cutting across the quad, rounded the edge, and fate — predictably cruel — threw me right into Jasmine.

Sorority treasurer. Former best friend. Now a parasite clinging to the crumbling throne.

We were on a collision course, but Jasmine flinched first, making the corner of my mouth tick upwards in satisfaction.

“Still going for runs?” Jasmine sneered. “Trying to outrun your reputation?”

I pulled my earbuds out, one brow arched and a mocking, patronizing smile on my lips.

“Nah. I’m not a fucking backstabber. There’s nothing I’d need to outrun, contrary to … other people .”

Jasmine scoffs. “You’re not scary anymore, Sierra. Just sad. Desperate .”

“Mm.” My smile turned razor-sharp. “I must be, to waste oxygen on you.”

Jasmine flicked her hair over her shoulder, her fake confidence faltering.

“Tell me,” I said, stepping into Jasmine’s space, my tone low and venomous. “When you forged those receipts, was that your idea, or did the Beta Chi boys give you a little tip?”

Jasmine’s lips parted. Just barely.

But I didn’t give her time to lie. “Careful, Jas. You’re not good at this. The timestamps on the receipts were off by three days. You really thought no one would notice? Fucking amateurs.”

“I don’t know what you think you saw—”

“Oh, I don’t think I saw anything.” My voice dropped to a hiss. “I know what I saw. And you should be praying I don’t decide to show it to someone who gives a shit.”

Jasmine recovered quickly, but it was solely performative now. Under that false bravado, she was fucking shaking in her boots.

“You don’t have proof.” She sneered.

I smirked, turning to leave, but glanced back once over my shoulder. “Don’t think I’m not fucking coming for you.”

With that, I shoved my earbuds back in my ears and stalked off, my pace even and my heartbeat steady.

I left Jasmine standing in the middle of the quad, arms crossed tight like she was trying to hold herself together — or keep me out.

My own hands felt useless, weighed down by everything I hadn’t said.

Fine . She’d made her decision.

I was halfway to the athletic center when I checked my phone.

One missed call. No caller ID. One voicemail.

A chill snaked down my spine. I veered off the main path, cutting behind the tennis courts where no one could see, and tapped play.

After a moment of static, a cold, distorted voice slid into my ear.

“Curiosity kills, Sierra. Keep digging, and it won’t just be you who gets broken.”

My lungs seized. The voice was warped, metallic. But the threat? That was real.

The message cut off with a mechanical click.

I just stood there, the glowing screen in my hand.

Should I save it? Report it? Should I throw the whole fucking phone into the nearest trash can?

Somewhere nearby, a car door slammed. I flinched hard. My heart stuttered.

I was on the edge, this close to spiraling, but then it just … stopped. Because amidst the panic wanting to sink its claws into me, I realized I wasn’t alone anymore.

There were people who had my back now, who believed me.

I was not alone.

I deleted the voicemail. My thumb hovered a second longer than it should have. Then I shoved the phone into my pocket, squared my shoulders, and stepped into the light with a quiet fury humming under my skin.

They had no fucking clue what was coming.