See No Evil

I wait patiently by the stairs, knowing Stone will have to come this way sooner or later to get to her next class. It’s been five days since East and I went to that shitty bar she works at, and I was really starting to think the only way I could see her again was if I went back there. Although we’re being blackmailed—and all that nonsense—I’d really rather not step foot in that dump again if I can help it.

Thankfully, one of Easton’s so-called buddies came through and got her schedule for me. I have to say, it was fucking impressive. It wasn’t the fact that Easton’s guy was able to get hold of a student’s personal info that fascinated me. I know damn well you can get anything if you’re willing to pay the right price. No, that wasn’t what grabbed my attention.

What impressed me was Stone’s college courses. Being a scholarship kid, I knew the girl had to have some serious brains on her, but I never expected to such an extent. Stone has some heavy workload on her hands with two majors—one in pre-law and the other in political science. And if Easton’s intel is on point, she has been kicking ass and taking names in all her classes since her freshman year.

Even though I know nothing about Stone, the piece of paper holding her daily hustle tells me that not only is she as smart as a whip, but she also has the fierce drive and discipline to work her butt off, striving to be the best in everything.

Stone’s ambition and commitment is something I understand wholeheartedly, so I can’t help but respect the smart-mouthed girl for her take-no-prisoners attitude. Even though our backgrounds are as far from each other as two could possibly be, I guess the hunger to be the best is one thing we have in common.

On and off the field, I give my very all in everything I do. Sure, my heart might not be in playing ball anymore, but that doesn’t mean I have the luxury to half-ass it. Not only does my team depend on me to get us into the national playoffs, but so do all the fans that come out every weekend to cheer us on, screaming from the top of their lungs in elation every time I score a touchdown.

For me, being second best is the same thing as losing. One thing that being Hank Walker’s son has taught me is that losing is never an option. Even if I were at the Olympics playing any sport other than football and only brought home the silver medal, I’m sure my father would throw it in the trash and bitch-slap me so fast it would make my head spin.

Second place doesn’t cut it in our family, and neither do slackers. Your disgraces are a direct reflection of the Walker name. If you suck, so do the people around you who enabled that defeated mentality. I guess when you hear that type of talk all your life, you do everything in your power not to bring your family dishonor or lose the faith your fans and teammates have put on your shoulders.

It’s a fucking burden, but it’s my reality just the same. My type of desperate drive comes from some pretty dark places sometimes. Places that will have you doing whatever is necessary so as not to visit often.

I know by heart what my motivations are. I just don’t know Stone’s. However, I hardly think you have to be a rocket scientist to figure them out. The shithole she works at and the part of town she lives in is kind of a dead giveaway as to what her reasons are behind her fearless gumption. The girl wants out of the hellhole she was born into and will claw her way out with gritted teeth and sharp nails if she needs to. You have to admire that. But somewhere along the way, Stone must have pissed off the wrong fucking people.

If she hadn’t, then she wouldn’t be on The Society’s radar.

They haven’t made any further contact after their first letters to Lincoln and me, so I’m still not sure exactly what they want with Stone. However, it’s clear she’s persona non grata, enough for them to put me on her scent. If they are as organized and ruthless as legend claims, then they’ve done their due diligence and know damn well I won’t quit until the job is done, whatever that may be. That’s just who I am, whether I’m comfortable with it or not.

Whatever I have to do, I just hope it doesn’t have too much of a blowback on Stone. Not that I care about the girl, mind you. I mean, how could I when I don’t even know her? It’s just, after I’ve had a few days to think about it, I can’t say it sits well with me to intentionally mess with a girl who has her shit together and wants a better life than the one afforded her.

Yep. The girl definitely made an impression.

Can’t say I did the same for her, though, since she had no qualms in demonstrating exactly what she thought of me—or as she so eloquently put it, my kind. To Stone, I’m nothing but another spoiled, rich asshole from the north end of Asheville, who has nothing better to offer the world than to throw a fucking ball.

I guess we all have our prejudices and misconceptions of people just from which side of the fence they’re born on. I have to admit, I’ve been guilty of being just as judgmental as she was. However, the minute I took one look at her schedule and realized I’m probably going to fuck up this girl’s life somehow, the idea of it made me a little nauseous.

But a sick stomach can’t compare with living behind iron bars for the rest of my life.

So there’s that. No matter how shitty this situation is, it can get a whole lot worse. If I have to protect myself and my friends, and ensure our freedom by doing some shady shit to the Southie, then so be it.

Sorry, Stone. Guess you’re on the losing team.

I’m still deep in my own twisted reverie when I catch a raven ponytail with bluish tips bouncing off in the distance across the courtyard. But she turns a corner, heading in a completely different direction than what I was expecting.

Shit!!! Where the hell is she going?

I rush my step, leaping over a stone bench and weaving around the i

I hear my name being called out by a group of girls curled up together with their iced coffees—or whatever girly drinks are in at the moment—clutched to their hands. Absentmindedly I throw them a wave, causing a fit of giggles to rise from them in the process. I’m not sure if it’s the perks of being me that has most girls acting like they don’t have all their brain cells, or if chicks nowadays are, in fact, just shallow creatures who swoon over any asshole who can score a touchdown.

He’s not even here, and I can already hear Easton teasing the fuck out of me for being so judgmental when it comes to the opposite sex. If it’s not for fucking, I don’t really see the appeal of hanging out with a chick. I haven’t found one who has anything in common with me or is even halfway cool enough to be tempted to spend time with them, unless it involves being stark naked and fucking like bu

Not that I’ve recently had the pleasure—or even the will—to get my dick wet. Since shit hit the fan in the worst way imaginable last semester, my sex drive took a nasty-ass spill and hasn’t made a reappearance yet. If Viagra is the little blue tablet a guy takes to get his Johnson working, then a dash of murder is the bitter pill you swallow to kill off the libido for good.