Page 182 of Play Dirty

A flicker crossed Sutherland’s smug face. It was gone just as fast.

“Business decision,” he shrugged.

“Yeah,” Ares muttered. “We heard you were good at those.”

Sutherland ignored him, but I could tell it wasn’t easy. His eyes stayed locked on Grayson.

“Funny thing about captains,” Sutherland said quietly. “They always know.”

A span of silence followed. One loaded with tension and menace.

“Besides, this one’s not so ridiculous,” Sutherland went on, flicking the Sentinel’s logo with one finger. “You’re the Reavers, not the Reapers. Did anyone tell you that yet?”

Ares leaned forward slowly, forearms braced on his knees, eyes locked on Sutherland like he was already measuring distance.

“Careful,” he said.

All eyes followed Sutherland’s slow, smooth movement, as he leaned in close to Grayson.

“You saw what you saw,” I heard him murmur, adding a shrug. “Don’t act like you didn’t…”

He was too focused on Grayson’s reaction to pay attention to anyone else.

That was the mistake.

Ares moved first. Not a warning, not a shove.

A punch.

Short. Fast. Brutal.

His fist drove straight into Sutherland’s jaw with a crack that cut through the bar like a gunshot. The goalie’s head snapped sideways, his body staggering back into the edge of the table.

Chairs scraped. Someone shouted.

After that — all hell broke loose.

Sutherland came back swinging, wild and pissed, but Ares was ready for him. He slammed into him again — this time shoulder-first — driving him hard into the neighboring table. Glasses toppled. Mozzarella sticks flew. Beer splashed everywhere.

Sebastian was already on his feet, yanking one of the Sentinels off Ares before he could grab him from behind.

“Bad idea,” Sebastian muttered—

— and shoved him straight into another guy, sending both of them stumbling.

Grayson was slower to stand.

But when he moved, it mattered.

Sutherland lunged forward again, trying to regain ground, but Grayson caught him.

One hand fisted in his jersey, the other locking onto his shoulder. He drove him back, hard, pinning him against the wall with a solid, bone-jarring thud.

“Don’t,” Grayson said, low and controlled, right in his face. “You don’t get to spin this.”

Sutherland laughed. Even bleeding.

There was something off in the laugh, now.