Chapter One
Motherfucker, that hurts!
I shake my hand, looking down at Jager’s busted face. My friend’s eyes are wide, and blood is gushing out of his nose like a freaking waterfall.
"What the fuck, McGuire?" He tries to push himself off the ground, but I plant my boot in the middle of his chest, holding him down.
Thanks to the farce of a press conference, followed by Lilly’s revelation about trench-coat creep, and an endlessly long call with Nate and George, I was two hours late for school. I arrived just as the bell announced the end of second period. With one objective in mind, I made my way through the crowded corridors, ignoring the conversations that halted mid-sentence and the fact that everyone, except the freshmen who are too chickenshit, openly gawked at me. Entering the senior hallway, I spotted Jager coming out of his classroom.
Perfect timing.
As I let my tunnel vision take over, I picked up my pace and reached his side precisely as we were in front of the guys' bathroom. My hand shot out, gripped his neck—probably tighter than necessary—and steered him through the door.
"LEAVE!" I barked at the two juniors taking a leak. Both whirled toward my voice and immediately scrambled to get out—one of them still having his dick in his hand as he headed for the exit.
I pushed Jager against the closest stall and let my fist fly—a well-aimed cross punch straight at the nose. Dude went down like a ragdoll.
Pussy.
With my footnow on his chest, I contemplate what to aim for next. As much as I want to let all my pent-up frustration out on the fucker, Spence's number one rule won't allow for it. Unless it's a life-or-death situation—for you—you never use your feet on someone that’s already down.
That would make hands acceptable, right?
I shift so my knee replaces the shoe on Jager’s sternum and am about to strike again as something wraps around my wrist.
"What the fuck are you doing?" my best friend's voice penetrates the pounding in my ears.
Still in a full-on rage, I whirl on Wes, and he takes a step back, holding his hands up. "Dude, you gotta snap out of it. They called Harvey."
I want to laugh. Wes is fully aware that my baby sister would have a better chance holding me back than Harvey. He’s the school's forty-some-year-old security guard. Five-foot-six and two hundred-plus pounds—he's a joke. He's also a huge wrestling and football fan and kisses my ass whenever he sees me.
"Let him come," I scoff, turning back to Jager who is halfway to his feet. "Did I tell you to get up?"
Hand in front of his face, which is completely stained crimson, my teammate lets himself drop back to the tiled floor.
The door flies open, and Harvey walks in, in all his non-threatening glory. "What's going on here?" he booms then does a double-take between the guy on the floor and me. "Rhys, my man. You're back!" His face lights up like a Christmas tree.
"Sure am, Harvey, my friend." I slap his palm as if my classmate is not lying at my feet behind me.
Wes rolls his eyes behind the security guard’s back.
"Uh, is everything okay in here?" Harvey glances around me.
"Ab-so-lute-ly." I plaster a fake grin on my face and point my thumb behind me. "Jager here slipped and hit his pretty nose on the edge of the sink. Isn't that right, Kellan?"
I don’t bother turning around to make sure he’ll confirm my explanation. My superfan bobs his head slowly. I didn't take him for being that dense, but whatever.
"Well"—Harvey clears his throat—"if that’s all, I’m not needed here."
"Yup, it’s all good," Wes chimes in, plants his hands on Harvey’s shoulders, and steers him out the door. He then moves in front of it so no one can come back in.
I lock eyes with my best friend and rub my hands together, slowly turning. "Let’s continue our chat."
Jager's eyes widen. I'm channeling my inner George and must have succeeded, because the boy on the floor looks like he's about to shit himself.
"Rhys, bro, we’re c-cool. N-no hard feelings," he stammers.
"No hard feelings? I thought you were hard for my girlfriend. Didn’t you want to tap that?" I force my tone to remain eerily calm. If I learned one thing from George, it was the calmer you act, the scarier you are.