Strike (Sphere of Irony 2)

g on. Campus security doesn’t have enough guards to contain the crowd.”

“So I have to be the one to go,” I growl, not wanting to admit defeat.

A very loud, very agitated, very familiar voice rises above the screeching crowd of women. “Kate!”

I shoot up from the bench, looking over the sea of people to find the source. “Dax?”

I should know better. I do know better. As usual, I wasn’t thinking when I called out his name. The rabid girls hear it and turn, jumping on Dax like wolves descending on a steak dinner. Our gazes meet for a brief second. I see enough in those angry, dark brown eyes to know what’s about to happen, and I watch helplessly as my life flies apart at the seams.

CHAPTER 12

Dax

“Davies! You’re out.”

The loud clank of a bolt turning followed by the screech of metal on metal rouses me from a half-sleep. My entire body aches, my back, my face, and especially my hands.

Fuck. I look down at them, red and swollen, and pray I haven’t broken anything. The guys will have a go at me if I can’t play guitar.

“Follow me.”

As exhausted and angry as I am, I manage to restrain my emotions. Yesterday proved to me exactly what happens when I lose that precious control.

Another lock opens, this one with the whirring sound of automation. I ignore several pairs of eyes that are fixed on me. Yeah, yeah, get your fill assholes. Everything I do is a walking three-ring fucking circus these days. Why should this be any different?

Finally, we arrive in the lobby, crowded, hot, and smelling like month old tube socks.

“In there,” my escort says crisply, pointing towards a small office. “Your friend was causing a near riot in the lobby, so they put him out of sight.”

I wonder who is here to pick me up. Not Adam, certainly? Guaranteed he’s either still drunk from whatever he did last night after the incident, or frightfully hung over this morning. Plus, he’s too recognizable.

When I enter the dingy, fluorescent-lit room, I see Ross staring at a wall of accolades and awards that must belong to the occupant of this office. I expected Ross. I didn’t expect to see Gavin, but it shouldn’t surprise me. He’s one of the most caring people I’ve ever known. The one person who is noticeably absent, causing a nauseating cramp to grip my stomach, is Kate.

Gavin smiles, rising from a tattered chair to embrace me, whispering in my ear so Ross can’t hear, “Got your back, man. Don’t worry about it.”

Ross doesn’t seem as chuffed to see me. His face looks years older, even with his clean shave and expensive suit. Mouth downturned, Ross gives me a thorough, disparaging look before speaking. “Well. They’ve dropped the charges, so we can go.”

I’m stunned. “Dropped them? Completely?”

He walks over, narrowing his eyes. “Why? Do you want to stay in jail, Dax? Did you have fun in lockup overnight with the drunks and petty criminals? Make a few friends?” His voice is hostile, on the verge of a shout. But he wouldn’t do that, not here. Not in listening distance of a half-dozen coppers and another dozen random people in the lobby of the precinct.

“What’s your problem?” I keep my tone low and even, knowing it’s even more important now than ever to keep my temper.

“My problem?” Ross asks incredulously. “My problem is that you went completely batshit crazy at a college sporting event, punched three security guards hard enough that they may sue you for damages, caused a near riot, and destroyed property on the UCLA campus. And you’re asking what my problem is?”

“You weren’t arrested, so what the fuck is it to you?” I fist my hands at my sides, itching to give Ross a piece of my mind.

Gavin must feel the stress radiating off of me, because he steps between us to talk me down off from a rapidly approaching cliff.

“Not here. Let’s get going.” He looks directly in my eyes, pleading with me to listen. “Everyone is tired, Adam and Hawke are worried, and I’m fucking starving. So can we leave this shithole and deal with this later?”

The tension in my jaw aches, but I nod. He’s right. This isn’t the place to do this. Plus, I’m on the fucking edge of going mental again, and after yesterday that’s not something I’m particularly eager to repeat.

“Let’s go then,” Ross says, tamping down his own irritation. For now. From the look on his face I’m certain to be getting a proper ass reaming later.

We leave the cramped office only to be stopped by a copper in full uniform. Thankfully, it’s not the same one that helped bring me in last night. The guy was a wanker. Kept mentioning how celebrities expect special treatment or some other bollocks. I didn’t expect anything, stupid twat.

“Where are you parked?” he asks, glancing at each of us.