A Dare For The Hockey Bad boy

Parker’s pov

“Life isn’t fair.”

Those are my mother’s favorite words.

If you ask me, life is pretty fair to her, because all she did was have a one night stand with a billionaire, keep his baby, and spend the rest of her life sitting on her ass while a check arrived every month to take care of me.

Take care of me.

Yeah, right.

She couldn’t even manage that one thing.

Now I’m being carted off to live with a man I haven’t seen or heard from in ten years.

“He’s a good man,” Hassan, the driver, says, breaking the silence.

I snort.

He has you fooled then.

The SUV slows, and my stomach gives a small lurch when Hassan turns onto a private road between towering trees. The trees lining the narrow road somehow look like claws as the branches nearly scrape the sides and top of the suv.

For as long as I can remember, my father has preferred to live in seclusion. Nobody comes this far out of town, which is exactly why he chose this property in Northwood, Oregon. He had this house built for his young wife after they married, choosing the quiet town even though he had been living in Las Vegas when he met her, back when she was just a showgirl and he was drowning in money.

A match made in heaven.

“He’s rarely home,” Hassan tries to reassure me again, his brown eyes meeting mine in the rearview mirror.

Yayyyy…..Lucky me.

The trees finally thin, revealing a house you only see in movies. The driveway curves through manicured gardens and ends in a circular courtyard with a marble fountain bubbling in the center, water spilling from the mouth of a carved stone angel into a wide basin below. The house rises behind it, two stories of white stone, enormous windows and walls I remember climbing the last time I was here. A five car garage sits to one side.

The SUV stops and I step out.

“Parker? Oh my dear girl!”

I roll my eyes before turning around. Celeste comes rushing out of the house wearing black trousers and a matching blouse, her short blonde hair perfectly bobbed and her makeup flawless as if she just stepped out of an office.

She doesn't work.

“You keep getting bigger every time I see you.” She reaches me and wraps her arms around me.

I stand stiffly in her embrace, my arms hanging at my sides. “That’s what kids do. Hi, Celeste.”

“Welcome home.” She grabs my wrist. “Come inside.”

The decoration inside makes the house look more like a museum than a home.

“Your father left something for you,” she says, steering me into the kitchen.

She points toward the island. A brown folder sits there beside a set of keys, and a credit card. I open the folder first. It's my school schedule and beneath it is a single sheet of paper.

Got you a car. Don’t wreck it. Limit on the card is thirty thousand.

That’s my father.

Throwing money at every problem. Bought my mother a house which she lets go to wreck and sends her more monthly child support than she needs which she uses on drugs and her boyfriend instead of taking care of me.

“He got me a car?”

Celeste smiles. “Yes. Do you want to see it?”

“Later.” I close the folder and push it aside. “It’s late. I need to rest.”

I don't tell her it doesn’t take much time flying from Chicago to Oregon, I just want to get this day over with. She leads me upstairs, even though I remember exactly where my old room is.

“I didn't change anything,” she says as she opens the door. “We can go shopping later and decorate it however you want. I got you some things too.”

She gestures toward the bed. There are new clothes folded neatly across the comforter, a pair of slippers beside them, and several shopping bags arranged.

“Thanks.”

I drop my bag beside the bed and lean back on my sneaker waiting for her to go. One good thing with staying with my mum is that everybody left me the fuck alone. I will take silence over chitchat.

“Good night then.” She reaches for the door, then pauses. “Oh, Parker, be ready tomorrow by ten.”

My brows pull together. “Why?”

“We're going to church.”

The door closes and I fall backward onto the bed and stare at the ceiling.

I’m going to be babysat by my father’s young wife, who is old enough to be my older sister.

Five months till graduation. I can survive five months.

I pull out my phone and stare at the screen. No messages. My friends have probably forgotten me by now. I toss the phone onto the bed and close my eyes and then I hear a car and I open them. Then I hear voices.

I climb out of bed and cross the room, pushing the curtain aside.

There is a dirt road running parallel to the road behind my bedroom. I remember it from when I was younger because it leads up the hill toward an old cemetery hidden beyond the trees. A white SUV is parked below now, its doors opening as several figures climb out.

Four.

No, five.

They are all tall.

My eyes narrow as one of them opens the trunk and pulls a man out.

“What the…”

The man stumbles, nearly falling, and tries to run, but a fist catches him across the back, sending him to his knees before the group hauls him upright again.

Do they not know someone lives here?

Or do they simply not care?

Curiosity wins over common sense and I grab a black hoodie from my bag, pull it over my head, slip my phone into my pocket, and leave the room.

I crack the door open just enough to squeeze through, then crouch low as I move across the terrace. My heart beats harder with every step, but I keep going until I reach the far edge where the shadows from the trees cover me.

I peek over the railing.

Five figures are walking toward the hill.

Two of them are carrying the sixth man between them.

None of them are in a hurry.

“I didn't know,” the man cries. “I swear I didn't know.”

One of the guys laughs. “Liar. Have some fucking balls and admit it.”

“What are you going to do to me?” The man's voice pleads. “Please, don't kill me.”

More laughter follows.

I squint as they disappear farther into the trees.

Were they really going to kill him? Or were they just trying to scare him?

What the fuck is this?

I should go back inside. I wait a bit. I can’t see their torchlights anymore.

Fuck it.

I climb over the railing and land on the other side. Leaves crunch beneath my sneakers as I follow the narrow path toward the cemetery. I reach the edge of the trees just in time to see one of the guys straddling the sixth man and beating the hell out of him.

I pull out my phone and start recording.

Whoever these twisted people are, they aren't going to get away with this.

The man straddling kept punching like a mad man screaming something that sounds like “Give me what I deserve!” before slamming the man’s head on the ground over and over.

The sound is louder than I expect, and I feel something inside me freeze as the man's body stops jerking beneath him. Then one of the guys touches the killer and he stops, stepping away from the body.

I can't breathe.

My phone trembles in my hand as I realize I just watched a murder.

I'm in a cemetery, in the middle of the night, with five killers.

I take one step backward and the heel of my sneaker comes down on a dry twig, the sound making the five guys turn back.

The killer says something to the others, grabs a flashlight and starts walking towards my direction.

Fuck!

Fuck!