Chapter 131: Playing the Dead!

Damon’s POV

I stood there in the middle of that dusty, unfinished second floor, staring at Noah Miller’s back like he had just grown a second head.

Thank you.

Those two words were still echoing in my ears, bouncing around my skull like a loud bell. Noah Miller didn’t thank people. He didn’t thank teammates who passed him the puck, he didn’t thank coaches who gave him awards, and he certainly didn’t thank a Silver. I honestly thought I was hallucinating from the adrenaline and the lingering fever.

For a guy who usually looked at me like I was a cockroach he wanted to crush under his designer boots, hearing genuine gratitude come out of his mouth felt like a glitch in the simulation.

Before I could open my mouth to tease him or demand that he repeat it so I could record it on my phone, Noah turned back around, his face snapping back into that cold, emotionless mask.

"We need to move," Noah said, cutting off whatever stupid joke I was preparing. "Now. Before someone finds this place."

He walked over to Micah, reaching into his pocket for a pocketknife to slice through the thick ropes still binding his brother’s wrists. The rough cords fell to the concrete floor with a dull thud.

Micah rubbed his raw, red wrists, his big eyes looking up at Noah with pure adoration and relief. "Can we really just leave? What about... what about the guy who fell?"

"Forget about him," Noah said flatly, grabbing Micah’s elbow to pull him toward the metal scaffolding stairs. "He’s not your problem. Let’s go."

I turned on my heel, ready to sprint down to my car, but the second my foot hit the top step...

WEE-WOO-WEE-WOO!

A chorus of shrill, piercing sirens suddenly echoed across the empty construction lot outside.

I froze. Noah froze.

Micah gasped, clapping both hands over his mouth as his entire body began shaking violently all over again. The sound of multiple police cruisers tearing down the gravel road outside was unmistakable. The red and blue flashing lights were already bouncing off the bare concrete ceilings.

"The police..." Micah choked out, tears instantly welling up in his wide eyes. "Noah, the police are here! We’re going to get arrested! We’re going to jail!"

"Nobody is going to jail, Micah. Calm down," Noah commanded, his voice dropping into a stern, steady tone, though his sharp eyes darted toward the exterior edge of the building.

"I don’t want to go to jail either!" I chimed in, panic flaring hot in my chest as I ran both hands through my hair. "Look at my face, Noah! I am entirely too pretty for prison! Do you know what they would do to a Silver in county lockup? I wouldn’t last twenty minutes!"

Noah’s head snapped toward me, his brow furrowing into a vicious scowl. "Shut up, Silver! You’re not helping!"

He turned back to his brother, grabbing Micah by both shoulders to steady him.

"Listen to me, Micah," Noah said, staring intensely into his tear-stained face. "You didn’t do anything wrong. You were kidnapped. You are the victim here. They cannot arrest you for being shoved off a damn building."

"B-but Father..." Micah sobbed, his voice cracking with pure, suffocating terror. "Father is going to find out! If the police get involved, it’ll be on the evening news! Father warned me... he said if I got involved in a single scandal, he would shave my head and send me to the army or the church! He’ll kill me, Noah! He’ll actually kill me!"

The boy was completely hyperventilating, his chest heaving so fast he couldn’t get a proper breath of air. He was spiraling out of control, terrified of his father’s wrath far more than the cops rushing up the stairs.

"Can’t we just jump out the back and run?" I asked, peeking over the scaffolding railing.

"Are you an idiot?" Noah hissed, not taking his eyes off Micah. "Our cars are parked right in front of the main gate. My black sedan and your flashy red sports car are sitting right there in plain sight. If we run, we look like fleeing suspects. They’ll issue warrants for our arrest before we even hit the highway."

"Then what the hell do we do?!" I snapped, my heart hammering against my bruised ribs. "They’re coming up the stairs right now!"

The heavy stomping of tactical boots and shouting voices was echoing from the ground floor.

"Clear the perimeter! Check the stairwells!"

Noah’s eyes narrowed, his brain calculating the odds in a split second. A look settled over his sharp features.

"We won’t run," Noah declared coldly. "We’ll play the victims."

I blinked. "What?"

"We pretend to be unconscious," Noah ordered. "They ambushed us. They beat us down. We barely survived. If we are completely unconscious when the cops find us, they can’t interrogate us on the spot, and they have to take us to a hospital instead of a police station. It gives our lawyers and my butler time to scrub the scene and bury the evidence."

"Pretend to be knocked out?" I repeated, a hysterical laugh bubbling up in my throat. "Noah, you’re covered in four men’s blood! How the hell are you going to explain that while sleeping?!"

"I’ll figure it out later," Noah snapped. "Now lie down!"

"I can’t... I can’t do this..." Micah cried out, backing away toward a concrete pillar, clutching his head in utter hysterics. "My heart is beating too fast! The police will see me breathing! They’ll know I’m faking! And then Father—"

"Micah," Noah called softly.

"I’m sorry, Noah, I’m so scared, I can’t—"

Noah didn’t waste another second arguing. He stepped forward in one fluid motion, raised his right hand, and struck Micah cleanly across the side of his neck with the edge of his palm.

THWACK.

Micah’s eyes rolled back instantly. His knees gave out, his small body collapsing forward into empty air.

Noah caught him effortlessly before he hit the dirty floor, cradling Micah against his chest for a brief second before gently laying him down on his side near the pillar.

My jaw practically hit the floor. "Did you just knock your own brother out?!"

"He was going to blow our cover," Noah said without a shred of remorse, quickly kicking dust over Micah’s clothes to make him look more disheveled. "Now he doesn’t have to fake anything. He has a genuine concussion, zero memory of the immediate aftermath, and Father can’t blame him for being unconscious."

Noah looked up at me, his eyes dead and chilling. "Lie down, Damon. Or do you want me to do the honors for you too?"

"No, thank you! I can play dead just fine, you psycho!" I hissed, immediately throwing myself onto the cold concrete floor a few feet away from Micah.

I stretched my limbs out, closed my eyes, and forced my breathing to slow down. Noah dropped to the floor beside us, throwing his arm over his face, letting his bloody hand rest limply against the dust.

Less than ten seconds later, heavy boots pounded onto the second-floor landing.

"Police! Nobody move!" a harsh voice bellowed.

"Hold your fire! Hold your fire!" another cop yelled.

I kept my eyelids clamped shut, biting the inside of my cheek so hard I tasted copper. I wanted to laugh so badly. The absurdity of three elite college boys lying in the dirt like dead bodies while an army of armed officers surrounded us was almost too much for my brain to handle.

"Captain! We have three people down over here!" an officer shouted frantically into his radio. "Three male victims! They’re non-responsive! Call the paramedics up here right now! Call the damn ambulance!"

Footsteps rushed toward us. Gloved fingers pressed against the side of my neck, checking for a pulse. I went completely limp, letting my head roll to the side like a ragdoll.

Within minutes, the building was swarming with paramedics. Hands were grabbing my shoulders, strapping a stiff neck brace around my throat, and hoisting my heavy body onto a hard plastic backboard. I had to focus every single ounce of my willpower not to groan when they lifted me... the movement pulled agonizingly against my bruised ribs, but I kept my face blank, pretending to be out cold.

They loaded me onto a rolling gurney, wheeling me down while shouting medical vitals back and forth.

Through my barely cracked eyelashes, I caught a glimpse of the chaos in the courtyard. Police tape was being strung up everywhere, flashing red lights blinded the evening sky, and a crowd of patrol cars blocked the entrance.

Noah was loaded onto a gurney right behind me. They wheeled both of us into the back of the same large emergency ambulance, strapping our stretchers down side-by-side.

I saw another medical team carrying Micah toward a second ambulance. A wave of possessive anxiety tightened in my chest. I wanted to sit up and demand that they put him in here with me, but Noah’s motionless, bloody figure lying right beside me reminded me to stay completely still.

The ambulance doors slammed shut with a heavy BANG, the siren wailed to life, and the vehicle lurched forward into the evening traffic.