Page 7 of Ruthless Deliverance

“What about your father? Are you ready for him to suffer the consequences of your decisions?” His voice isn’t threatening or menacing. But he knows I’ll fall into line because I have no choice.

“I can’t do my job if I’m not allowed to protect myself. And that fucker needed a quick lesson that I won’t put up with his antics.” He had been a pest all day but grabbing me crossed the line. “You coerced me into taking this assignment, using my dad as leverage, so don’t get pissy when I handle shit my way. You want answers, I’ll get them. But what I really need to know right now is why you didn’t tell me that Creed Kincaid is a student there. You know, a member of the founding family of the institution we’re digging into? That would’ve been a great piece of intel to have, being that I walked straight into a building his family owns.”

“You met Creed?” Philip asks. He seems curious rather than shocked though. “How’d it go?”

“Oh, it went fabulous. His bestie is the chump with the broken nose, but Creed somehow managed to get me out of trouble and sit in on my conference with the principal. He definitely has more pull at that school than anyone else, so it would’ve been nice to know to be on the lookout for him.”

“We’re not investigating the Kincaids. The family has been looked into already and cleared. This is about the school and whoever is trafficking through it.”

“And you don’t think it’s possible that the privileged brat who basically runs the school could be a part of the problem?”

“Of course he is, but he’s not the supplier. We need to know where the drugs are coming from and every person who has a hand in the operation, down to the fucking janitor if he is selling it between classes.”

“The janitor, really?” I shake my head, but that friendship seems like it’d be one of the easiest to form compared to the standoffish kids at the school. “Fine. I’ll clean out the janitor’s dirty little secrets from his supply closet and steer clear of Creed Kincaid. Now, get out of my room.”

“Spoken like a true teenage brat,” Philip mumbles, taking a look around before slowly leaving the room.

Hurrying over, I shut my bedroom door which I’m sure he left open specifically to piss me off, and it worked. How the hell am I going to get through the upcoming weeks without breaking Philip’s nose or at least knocking some sense into him. I might be acting the part of a bitchy teenager, but he actually is a dickish old man who blackmailed me to take this assignment in exchange for not turning my dad in to internal affairs.

For a split second, I wonder if I shouldn’t let Dad suffer the consequences of his own actions, but I agreed to do this one thing to clear his name. Only, I hope Philip doesn’t keep the folder in his pocket as leverage even after this is over. Whenever the fuck that will be. Because right now, I see no end in sight.

7

CREED

The blaring music drowns out everything around me, but I still feel the satisfying clank of the metal as I lift the weigh and drop it back down. I’m on my fourth circuit. Coach would probably say I shouldn’t have done the first, and he’d be right. Especially after getting the steroid injection in my shoulder after practice. Doc knew I’d be calling with the season starting up and was ready with my quick regimen. I pay top dollar to keep it that way—fast and discreet. He advised me to take it easy for the next twenty-four hours, but I can’t wait. The numbness in my shoulder allows me to push through the workout, so that’s what I do. Because as much as I want the pain to leave, when it does it’s replaced by nothing. And that hurts even more.

Movement in my peripheral vision catches my attention as I look over to see Mom. The fact that she’s standing in the room herself instead of the assistant she usually sends to find me, means she’s here for a reason, and more than likely, not a good one. Having a home gym definitely has its perks—privacy and readily available—but it’s not a great place for an uninterrupted workout.

Pulling out both earbuds, I drop them in the pocket of my basketball shorts, sit on the nearest bench, and drink down half a bottle of water while the tense silence grows.

“Sweetheart, I’ve been looking for you all evening. You weren’t at dinner.”

“I grabbed a quick bite when I got in.”

“From Chef?” Mom asks, waiting for me to nod as I take another swallow of water. “You’re as horrible a liar as your father is. I guess it’s because neither of you care to lie often, but when you do, there’s a destructive reason behind it. But only destructive to yourselves.” She takes a few steps towards me, tucking her hands against her sides as she crosses her arms over her chest. It’s a move she does when she’s uncomfortable. Just as she knows our tells, we know hers too.

“I just wasn’t hungry.” That is the truth.

“So, you went from school to football practice, then arrived home and headed straight to the gym but at no point worked up an appetite. Why is that?”

My head drops enough for my eyes to look away from her knowing stare. She might not have all the details of my day, but she realizes the real reason it was a struggle and confirms it when she says, “He wouldn’t want this for you. He would want you to enjoy your senior year.”

“Our senior year … that’s what it was supposed to be.” Not just mine. But the both of us graduating then going off to university together.

“It should’ve been. So go out there and live the year for the both of you.” She pauses for a second, assessing me. Probably searching for what to say. That’s a sign things are really fucked up because Mom is never at a loss for words. But there are none that will make his death less painful.

“I need to shower.” And get the hell out of this conversation.

“You can’t run from it, Creed.” My mom’s words halt me in my place, turning my feet to stone as I stand unmoving for a minute. When I slowly rotate to face her, the pain she conveys for me makes me want to punch the wall and have the entire house come crashing down on me. It must feel better than this.

“I’m not running. I’m living. I’m going to school. I’m playing ball. I’m doing what I’m supposed to do.”

“Going through the motions and actually participating in life are two completely different things. And if you’re not careful, you’ll wake up one day and realize you wasted so many moments of happiness—”

“Happiness?” I cut off her words. I know she’s trying to help, and she’s one of very few people I respect. But I can’t listen to this sappy advice. “How the fuck am I supposed to be happy when he’s rotting away six feet under and every time I close my eyes I see the accident that put him there? And every time I look in the mirror I see the person who put him there.”

“It wasn’t your fault.”