Page 4 of Callous Shot

“Because unlike you, I’m not a stuck-up bellend who thinks they’re better than everyone else.”

“No, you’re just a lowlife criminal and a mediocre hockey player.”

“Oh, fuck you. My stick skills are better than yours, and we both know it.”

“Keep telling yourself that. It doesn’t make it true.”

“You and I both know it’s true, lacrosse.”

“Fuck. Off.”

“Oh, did I hit a nerve? You were a mediocre lacrosse player at school, and now you’re a mediocre hockey player at uni. Maybe you should try running. You’d be good at that. Y’know, because you’re always running from the truth.”

Lincoln brought his hands together in a slow, obnoxious clap. “Great comeback.”

This absolute— Before I could reply, he spoke again.

“Listen. I know comprehension isn’t your strong suit—you didn’t get into Hatherley Hall or Whelford—so I’ll break it down into simple terms for you. I. Know. Nothing. About⁠—”

My patience snapped, and I launched myself at him with a roar. He was the same height as me and just as strong—maybe even a little stronger than me physically, given his extra few pounds of muscle mass, but I’d grown up fighting, and I knew a thing or two about taking people down. My right hook connected with its target, Lincoln’s head snapping to the side before he lunged back at me with a jab straight into my flank. I snarled, swinging my leg out in a roundhouse kick, but changed my trajectory at the last possible second when a streak of movement cut across my field of vision.

“Hey! You!”

Shit.

Campus security.

I flung myself away from Lincoln, darting down the side of the library. I couldn’t let myself be caught here in enemy territory. And I wasn’t even talking about Bellingham; I was talking about Whelford Uni in general.

When I’d successfully evaded security and made it to the quiet side street where I’d parked my Range Rover, I dug my keys out of my pocket, panting. That had been a complete waste of my time. And I didn’t have time to waste. We needed to steer this Operation Foxglove away from the Attwood clinic. Bryan Attwood was a respectable businessman, but his side hustle as the doctor for several high-profile crime outfits was not something we needed getting out. If he was investigated, all of us could be at risk.

Not to mention, he was the dad of one of my two best friends. Friends I’d do anything for. Anything, including getting answers out of my nemesis.

Maybe I needed to try another way. Talking to Lincoln didn’t work. Should I use violence, maybe? A little slice of my knife, and he’d offer up all the information I could ever want.

Nah. It couldn’t be that easy. He’d probably let himself bleed out, just to piss me off.

I’d have to think about it. But I knew something for a fact. One way or another, he was going to give me the information I needed, because there was no other choice. We’d been tangled together for two years now, ever since that fateful night.

Everything in my life had been going so well. Right up until Lincoln fucking Bellingham crashed my best friend’s eighteenth birthday celebrations…

2

DAN

TWO YEARS AGO

“Mask.” My best mate Ryker Thorpe, aka King, held out his hand. I stared at it for a moment before I smacked the Purge-style LED mask into his palm.

“What do I look like? Your butler or something?”

He smirked. “Yeah, a bit.”

“Fuck off. It might be your eighteenth, but it doesn’t mean you get to order me around.” I punched him in the arm, and he shot me a warning look. From the other side of Ryker’s ridiculously oversized bedroom, my other best mate, Jayesh Attwood, sighed heavily.

“Something to say?” Ryker tilted his head towards our friend.

Jay ran his hand through his thick black hair as he leaned back against the flocked wallpaper, acting all nonchalant. Too nonchalant, in fact. Suspicious. “Maybe. Who’s your target tonight?”