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“We’re going to The Sixth Floor after this.” I tap the dashboard, giving him a wicked look. “You can replace this girl with another one. All of the sorority chicks on campus are part of some dance competition. The guys on my team are going. You know Jamie… he’ll be there, too.”
Most of the time, I keep my school life separate from the sketchy parts of my life. My friends have met my teammates, but they don’t like hanging out with outsiders, not when several of them are the sons of famous hockey players and draw tons of attention at all times. That’s the last thing any of us need.
But I promised Jamie O’Connor I would meet him there tonight. He’s like a brother to me. I’m close with his family and have known Jamie since grade school. Jamie’s the reason I’m a hockey player and a programmer. And he’s practically connected at the hip to Preston Parker, our team captain.
Preston made a bet with Bex Bryant, our hockey coach’s daughter, that he could beat her in a game of HORSE. She’s a basketball player, so she should have won. Though, I doubt she anticipated Preston having his mom’s basketball skills. His mom is a legendary sports agent and was an even better basketball player during her time at Villanova.
Because Bex lost to Preston, she has to dance on stage in front of a packed club with a bunch of sorority girls. Coach Bryant has been riding my ass so hard the last month that I couldn’t turn down the opportunity to see his daughter fulfill the dare. She’s hot, has a beautiful body and decent tits, so why not?
Chase moves his hands behind his head and leans back against the headrest. “Yeah, I’m going. That’s the plan. Just gotta get out of this sweatbox first.” Chase grips the collar of his polo shirt and fans himself. “It’s hot as balls in here.”
I open the door to give us some air, but it isn’t any better. We’re trapped inside a large metal box with Roman driving down the highway like a fucking maniac.
“We’ll be there in a few.” I remove the water bottle from my bag and hand it to him. “Here.”
He takes a sip, his mouth twisting in disgust. “What the fuck? Water?”
“What did you think I was giving you?”
Chase hands the bottle back to me. “Vodka, maybe. Definitely not fucking water.”
“I could go for a few shots of Jack.” My mouth waters at the thought.
“And a girl with big tits and no gag reflex,” Chase adds.
We both laugh, and I finish off the bottle of water, crushing it in my hand. I’ve been friends with Chase and Roman for so long they’re like brothers to me. They’re my family, and this family will do anything for each other. Lie, cheat, steal, kill—you name it, and we will do it. Our bond is unbreakable, which makes us lethal together. But it’s our bond that threatens my hockey career. It’s also the reason college was even possible for me.
Once we reach the final drop point—a quarry where we’re meeting the buyer—Roman opens the truck for us. Chase is drenched in sweat by the time he hops down and onto the pavement, while I wait for Roman to lower the loading ramp. After he gives me the okay, I sling my backpack over one shoulder and stroll down the ramp.
“We have one more car,” Roman says, shoving a hand through his dark hair, looking annoyed.
I stop dead in my tracks. “The Shelby was the last one.”
He shakes his head. “No, I got a call from Nate on our way over here. Remember the Mercedes AMG S 63 Coupe you found in the parking garage near your school? The one the buyer crossed off the list last week?” I nod, and he continues, “We have one hour to bring it back here, and we’ll get an extra five grand.”
“What are we waiting for?” Chase interjects.
Roman locks the truck behind us, and then we pile into Chase’s cherry red Mustang parked in the far corner of the lot. Fifteen minutes later, we’re driving into the parking garage across from Strickland University where students who live on campus park their cars. At this hour, no one is around, the only light coming from the dim overhead bulbs.
“I’ll take care of this one,” I tell Chase and Roman, pushing open the door.
“You sure?” Chase gives me a worried look.
“Yeah, I’m sure. I can handle it.”
He nods in answer.
Once I’m outside of the car, I remove a handheld device from my backpack, tapping on the keys until it comes to life. A new Mercedes is harder to steal than a Honda Civic, but it’s not impossible. With the right technology, I’ve learned you can have whatever you want.
