Make My Move (Hannaford Prep #5) - J. Bree Page 0,24

and I shrug. Like it's nothing, keeping my eyes off of her because she handles shit better when there's less attention on her.

It's lucky too, because I spot the play before it happens. “Fuck, Aves, this is it.”

Daniel runs across the field like a fucking freight train, taking Rory down with one of his teammates in a maneuver that will easily break the asshole’s spine. Three other players pile on and I'm fucking positive that Rory will be fucked.

The crowd falls silent.

I struggle to keep the grin off of my face. I glance down at Lips, but she's watching every fucking move on the field as the medics all run out in a panic.

Blaise whistles and murmurs, just loud enough for us to hear, “He’ll be lucky to walk again.”

I take the opportunity to whisper in Lips' ear with a chuckle, “I paid enough to make sure he won’t.”

She smiles, a real and fucking beautiful smile, and I ignore my chest tightening up over it. Avery tucks her arm into Lips' and gives her a smug smile, all confidence and ruthlessness now her would-be rapist is broken in half on the field.

Rory never returns to Hannaford Prep.

Chapter Nine

Ash

Going back to the Beaumont Manor for the fall break is a fucking nightmare.

Joey spends the entire break too fucking high to function, which is a great thing, but it only means that Senior is pissed about his protege failing to perform and I end up facing the brunt of his anger on our first night home.

I don’t like letting Avery know when I’m in pain, but it’s pretty obvious that most of my ribs have been broken when I can barely fucking move. I sleep in her bed that night and I plan to every fucking night that we’re going to be stuck here, guarding her in case he finally decides that he’s going to come after her and drag her to his rooms, all the way to that fucking table that haunts my dreams.

The anticipation of that moment, the fucking showdown that will end with either Senior’s death or mine, is almost unbearable.

Almost, but I’d do anything to keep my sister safe, including spending my time in this fucking Manor with broken ribs and rationed bourbon because Avery is too worried about my blood thinning out while I’m injured to let me drink it properly.

It’s my own version of hell.

Thankfully, Senior has to take a flight to the East Coast the next morning and we get a reprieve for a few nights, meaning we’re sitting in the formal dining room eating dinner under the watchful eyes of Senior’s bodyguards when Avery gets the video call.

The Mounty never calls.

They text each other all the time but, then again, Avery texts everyone all the time. Everyone. Harley, Blaise, even that asshole Atticus—her phone is always charged to full power and in her hands for a reason, but the Mounty isn’t a phone call kind of girl and she definitely isn’t a video call person.

Avery glances at the bodyguard standing in the corner as she answers, lifting a finger to her lips as she gets up from her seat and takes off toward her room.

I stalk after her, trying not to look as interested as I am but I’ll be fucked if I’m letting the Mounty manipulate her while I’m around.

Not that Avery gives a fuck what I think about any of this.

The moment the door to her room shuts behind me, Avery grins at her phone and drawls, “Miss me already, Mounty?”

The Mounty doesn’t say a thing, not a single thing, and Avery’s eyebrows slowly inch upward. “Harlow, Annabelle, or Joey?”

Still not a single fucking word but whatever is happening on that screen, Avery lets out a squeal.

Fuck this.

I swoop down to have a look but it’s just… shoes. Avery’s Louboutins, the couture ones she had specially crafted that she loves more than all of her other shoes combined, that she’s been fucking raging about for weeks.

The Mounty grimaces at the sight of me on the screen and says, “Can you forward a picture onto Morrison for me? I’ve recovered his missing shirt.”

Avery shoulders me away. “Of course. Who had them?”

I can’t see a thing on the phone with the angle Avery is holding it at but when it buzzes in her hand, she shudders and frowns like she wants to peel her own skin off. Not a great sign. “Who lives in that cesspit?”

The Mounty huffs. “Harlow. She’s stealing and hoarding from