Page 8 of Dirty Hit
There’s a long pause where he just looks at me, like he’s trying to read beneath my skin. I don’t know what he sees. Fear, obviously, but it must be something else too, since I’m not shaking, crying, or even begging.
“Good boy,” he murmurs.
The phrase makes heat flare up my throat, and he leans back again, dragging a hand through his hair, leaving a faint streak of blood near his temple. “So. Constitutional Law.”
The absurdity of it almost makes me laugh.
“You want to… start?” I ask weakly. “Right now?”
He shrugs. “You’re the tutor.”
I stare at him, trying to reconcile the image of the man kneeling over someone on the floor with the one sitting across from me now, discussing academics. My mind feels split in half.
“You’re failing,” I say automatically, slipping into the familiar script because it’s the only thing I know how to do.
He grins. “So I’ve heard.”
“You can’t afford to fail,” I continue, my voice gaining strength as I cling to structure. “If you drop below eligibility, you’re benched. If you’re benched, your draft prospects suffer.”
His eyes narrow slightly. “You think I don’t know that?”
“I think you don’t care,” I reply.
The words are out before I can stop them, and his expression changes.
“That so?” he says softly.
My palms are sweating profusely, but I hold his gaze. “You don’t care about school,” I clarify, “that much is obvious. But you have to care, at least enough to pass.”
He watches me for another long moment, then chuckles under his breath again. “You’re braver than you look.”
“I’m not brave,” I say quickly.
“Then what are you, Brendon Lane?” he asks.
I don’t have an answer as I sit there, heart racing. I’m trapped, but I’m going to help him pass, because that’s what I do: I help.
Even when it terrifies me.
Even when it makes me sick.
Even when the man sitting across from me just ended someone’s life and smiled about it.
I swallow hard, my throat dry. “I… I’m here to help you with your coursework,” I manage, the words sounding absurd even to my own ears. “We can start with—”
He holds up a hand, cutting me off. “Before we do that, we need to be very clear about something.”
I wipe my palms on my pants, and swallow hard as I listen to him, knowing a threat is coming.
“You’re going to keep quiet. You’re going to tutor me like you were assigned. You’re going to pretend this never happened. You didn’t hear anything. You came here, you tutored me, and you left. If anyone asks, that’s the story.”
I nod again, too fast. “Yes.”
He tilts his head, studying me. “Yes, what?”
“Yes,” I repeat. “I understand.”
A slow smile curves his mouth. “Good boy. Now, if you ever forget that story, if you ever think about running your mouth to a priest or a cop, you need to remember: I know where you live, and where your parents and your little sister are located. I know your schedule. I know exactly how easy it would be to make you disappear. That’s why this is going to be easy for you. You’ll doexactly what I tell you. You’ll help me get my grades up. You’ll keep your mouth shut. And you’ll go home every night and pray about it if that makes you feel better.”
