ENEMIES(93)

I pounded the doorframe. “See you later. Remember what I said…watch her.”

And because there was an unwritten guy code and my job was to pick on the younger bucks, I pounded on the other door. “Don’t forget to pull out, Harrington!”

There was a scream in there, too, and then from him, “Shut up!” He groaned. “I was fucking sleeping, douche.”

I pounded the door a second time, laughing, then I was down the stairs and out the front door. I had a block to walk to my Jeep and a game to get ready for.





Chapter Forty-One





STILL STONE





I was jacked. I was hyped. I was ready to tear heads off bodies.

Morpheus was currently camped out on Dusty’s street. He was given orders to grow roots if he needed, and if she walked somewhere and refused the ride, he was supposed to be her personal shadow. And I had a call in to my manager. A brand new Honda HR-V would be parked in her spot by tonight, and the keys were getting hand delivered to her door. I texted with her and found out her plans were to study at the house. Perfect. She said her roommates weren’t having a party, so it’d just be the girls, their guys, and my girl all watching my game. I told her to wait for me that night. I was coming for her.

Her response:

Dusty Girl: Ready and waiting.

That made me laugh, but onto the game. I had a job to do.

We were in the locker room, music blaring in our headphones. Russ, his Flute song, was blaring in my ears, and I was there. I was on the field. I was running, dodging, losing the other motherfuckers. The ball was mine. It was coming right for me.

It was another extension of my body, just no one else knew.

That was my job. I’d teach them. I’d school the fuckers. They’d know by the end of the game, each time I ran into the end zone and not once, twice, three times. Four. Five. I’d keep going all day long, all night long. I could score in my sleep and pity to the fools who didn’t believe in me. They’d be schooled real quick.

“Yo.” A hand appeared in front of me.

I reached up, meeting it with mine, and Colby was there, pulling me up to my feet.

We were in this together.

This game. Him and me. There’s nothing like the dynamic between the guy who throws the ball and the guy who can catch it, especially when no one else can catch him. That was me. That was what I got paid to do. We were going to go show everyone again, because you know, they all needed reminding.

His eyes were ready.

He was amped up.

So was I.

We go out and we win. We got paid to do this shit, and after the coach had his say, after we ran to the field, after the anthem, the coin toss, the kickoff—it was my turn.

Colby came up to me on the field. His fist to mine. “You ready?”

I gave him a nod back. Fuck yeah, I was ready. I was salivating over getting out there, doing my thing.

He grinned, reading me right. “You’re in a mood today.”

Another cocky smirk from me. Fuck yes, I was. I was gonna score here. I was gonna win here. Then I was going home to get my woman. But all I did was tell him, “Throw it to me. They won’t expect a long throw to me on the first play. And trust me, they won’t be able to catch me tonight.”

He studied me a second longer, then nodding. “Okay. Yeah. I’m seeing that. Let’s do this.”

He called the play as we were lining up. Everyone knew. I didn’t have the headphones any longer, but that music was with me. It was in my head and I tuned into it, remembering it, and I envisioned how this play would go.

Ball was snapped and I was off.

Pumping.

Running.

Lighting up the field.

Then I was right there, right on target, and Colby had already seen it all. The ball was in the air, and holding back, reading that—yes, yes, yes. It was right on point. I kicked off more speed, saw three players heading for me. Saw two of mine coming to cover, and with a quick spin, I was around one guy and going full force.

The ball sailed, so pretty, and it was a perfect play.

A perfect throw.

I didn’t have to jump, move, none of that shit. I just ran and that ball fell into my arms. I was cradling it like a baby as my foot came down in the end zone.

That was our first score.

There was no celebration. I was doing my job.

I tossed the ball to the ref, ran to the side and pointed at Colby, who was running diagonally with me. “That was the first one.”

He dipped his head. He knew my mood. He knew what to be prepared for this game. It was the first of many. He said, “Got it. My arm’s ready. You be ready.”

There wasn’t even a question. I’d been born to do this shit.

All night long, I be scoring. All night long, I be winning. All night long, because I was Stone The Rampage Reeves.

Tonight was a Rampage Game.

DUSTY





“Stone Reeves is on a Rampage tonight.” The announcer was excited, smiling wide, turned to the other announcer with him. Both in their suits, with the crowd cheering behind and beneath them. “I love these nights. We don’t get them all the time, but every now and then…”

The other announcer finished for him, smiling just as big, “Every now and then we get a treat to watch Stone The Rampage Reeves perform, because that’s what he’s doing tonight. He’s performing. He’s giving us a show.”