BREAKAWAY (The Dartmouth Cobras) (33 page)

Her breath lodged in her throat. Across her windshield the words 'No more Whore' were painted in big, red letters. Pulse pounding in her skull, she spit in her hand and scrubbed at the paint until the words were gone, ignoring Akira when she took the keys from her pocket and went back inside. The windshield looked like it was smeared with fresh blood. She held her hands up, and leaned against the hood of the car, trembling.

Just another stupid prank. Chill out.

Akira came back. With some paper towels and Windex. She silently cleaned Jami's hands, then went to work on the windshield.

Jami shook her head to clear it and laughed as she grabbed some paper towels. "Guess Amy knows I'm back in."

"I don't think this was Amy." Akira passed Jami the spray bottle and folded her arms over her stomach. "Can you think of anyone else who might do something like this?"

"No."

"Maybe we should call the police."

"Because someone painted on my car? Look how easy it came off." Jami pointed at the now shining windshield. "We would have had to take a picture, and even then I bet the cops wouldn't do anything. For all we know it's one of the team's bunnies, pissed off about seeing me with Sebastian and Luke."

"Crazy puck bunnies?" Akira's brow raised. "Now that's scary."

"Hey, those chicks can be rabid." Jami stuffed the paper towels in a nearby trash bin and unlocked the car. She started the engine as Akira climbed in. "Let's forget about it and enjoy our night. I really need that drink now."

"Me too." Akira wrinkled her nose as the stereo came on, playing
Every Breath You Take by The Police.
"Hey, mind if I change the station?"

"Go for it, I hate this song. It’s fucking creepy."

Akira turned the dial. It came off in her hand.

"Shit. Sorry about that." Akira tried to put it back on. "I'll pay for it."

"It's not a big deal." Jami looked over at the stereo and frowned. "That's odd. Is the CD player on?"

"Looks like." Akira leaned over and pressed the 'Skip' button. The song started over. Again and again. Every time she pressed the button. "What the—"

"Just turn it off."

"I can't. The power button . . . it's stuck."

Jami killed the engine to stop the music and bent down to get a better look. With only the streetlight to see by, it was hard to make out what was wrong with the stupid thing.

She wasn't sure she wanted to know. The confined space in the car became stifling and she suddenly wanted out.

"I got a better idea." Jami opened her door, forcing a smile as Akira met her on the sidewalk. "Let's take the bus."

* * * *

Ford polished the bar, chuckling as his bouncer and best friend,
Cort
, went over the books for the bar, mumbling under his breath about getting ‘Fancy shit for a dive’. A cute brunette sitting a few seats away from the big man waved to Ford for a refill. Her flirty little I'm-having-naughty-thoughts-about-you smile got him to abandon the bar to fetch her, and himself, a drink. The sweat from the beer bottles slicked his palms as he brought them around the bar and took a seat next to her. He hadn't gotten any play in days and her blatant, seductive lip licking told him he was pretty much guaranteed a good, uncomplicated, fuck.

Before he could even get past the 'my name is' preliminaries, the front door of the bar swung open and the regular patrons went silent.
Cort
stood, his hand inching towards the small of his back where he kept his gun. He let his hand fall to his side and eased onto his stool as soon as he caught sight of who had come in. Out of place in a no-nonsense black business suit, steely grey a few shades darker than his receding hair, the man had quite the build for a guy in his late fifties. But that wasn’t what made him dangerous. The shit he was capable of made him a scary mother-fucker.

"Hey, Dad." Ford grabbed the rag from the bar and quickly dried his hands as his father, Roy Kingsley, held out his to shake. He clenched his jaw so he wouldn't react to the intentionally painful grip, then went behind the bar to get a glass of his father's favorite whiskey. "What did I do now?"

"You've done nothing, Ford. And that's the problem." His father sat and didn't speak again until he'd taken a sip of the golden liquor. "I'm beginning to question your loyalty. Perhaps the benefits of being a Delgado outweigh those of being my son?"

Lee stood just a few feet behind his father, his heavy jowls jiggling as he restrained a laugh. They all knew the Delgado 'fortune' was almost nonexistent at this point. Without the Kingsley money—and whatever Silver managed to contribute, Ford admitted grudgingly—the Dartmouth Cobras would go bankrupt. The team was starting to bring in enough revenue to stay afloat, but it would be years before they turned more than a negligible profit.

The team didn't matter. The Delgado's didn't matter. But damn it, he wasn't a kid to cringe whenever his father's shadow fell over him. He leaned an elbow on the bar and shrugged. "Don't see how being a Delgado changes anything, but whatever."

"
Whatever?
" The muscle in his father's jaw ticked. "I suggest you take a more respectful tone when you speak to me."

"Sure, but tell me one thing. What exactly do you expect me to do? The league is watching our every move. I can't do anything that'll come back on us." Ford scowled at Lee. "Guess your little
asslicker
didn't tell you I found a way to mess with two important players? If I'm right I can—"

"Mr. Lee has kept me very well informed. You seem much more interested in that little tramp you were seeing than in using whatever you've learned about the players."

"What little tramp?"

"Don't play at ignorance with me, Ford. Threatening men with gossip won't decide games." His father lowered his voice and leaned close. "I've warned you to stay away from that girl, but in a way, I'm glad you haven't. She may prove useful."

Ford's eyes narrowed. There was a very short list of the ways his father considered women useful. "How do you figure? We'd already agreed using her against her father wouldn't work. He'd cave if she was threatened, yeah, but he starts telling players to throw games and we'll be in the same mess we were in with the coach."

"I have no intention to use her against her father." Brushing invisible dust from the lapels of his black suit jacket, his father gave him a razor slit smile. "I plan to use her against you. And as an added bonus, the other men she's involved with. They'll likely be off their game once they discover she's in danger."

The calm exterior he always managed around his father snapped. He slapped the glass from his father's hand and snarled. "Leave her the fuck alone!"

Pain exploded in his jaw. Blood spilled down his chin. He stared at his father as he picked up the rag to dab his knuckles. The man hadn't hit him in years—he usually had one of his thugs do it. He only did his own dirty work when he was really pissed.

"I didn't raise you to be this pathetic, but bad blood and all . . . not that it matters. You're costing me money, Ford, and you know that's never a good idea." Shoving the rag at Ford, he sighed, changing his tone to the slow, condescending one he used to make Ford feel stupid. "The girl will be fine—so long as you don't irritate me any further. She may be a little frightened, but that will only help our cause. Forget her. Actually, I see no need for you to involve yourself further in this. Continue as you have been. Control the money. Distract your sisters so they don't get in my way. I've learned something recently—which you failed to tell me, which will almost guarantee a loss tomorrow night."

"That's good." Ford circled the bar, spat into the sink, and observed his father from a safe distance. He swiped the blood from his chin and tried to make it look to his patrons—who were smart enough to pretend not to be watching—like everything was cool now. "Don't know what you've got, but the Cobras look like a sure bet next game."

"Yes they do." His father smirked. "Show your support for the team tomorrow—free beer on tap if they win. Buffalo wings and whatever else the fans like. You're not good for much, but you make an excellent bartender."

Ford plastered a stiff smile on his lips. "Thanks."

His father left and seconds, only seconds later, his sister walked in. His blood ran cold as he thought of what would have happened if she'd come in just a bit sooner. So far she'd managed to stay under his father's radar. Which would change if she got too close to Ford.

Yeah, well I
ain't
gonna
let that happen.
He pulled another beer out of the fridge beneath the bar and popped the cap. After a long swing, he arched a brow at his sister. "Can I help you?"

Folding her arms over her breasts, Oriana looked him over and frowned. "What happened?"

"Ah, this?" Ford pointed at his busted lip. "This guy came in, all upset because he found out I was fucking his mother. What can I say? I was in the mood for MILF."

"You're lying."

"Yeah, I do that." Ford's lips curved into a smirk. "So what do you want? As you can see, I'm very busy."

"Don't be like that, Ford. We're family—"

"Like I give a fuck? Sorry,
sis
, but the Delgado clan is only useful to me as a way to screw around with the team. You do know I'm still doing that, right? You and Silver make it so easy, since you're both . . . ." His jaw seemed to lock and his stomach turned. Damn it, why couldn't Silver have come instead? He couldn't look Oriana in the eye while being an asshole to her. "Well, you get what I'm saying."

"No, I don't think I do." She gave him a hard look, her eyes, so like his, flashing with rage. "Say it. Since we're both the team whores."

He turned his head to hide his wince and distractedly picked up the bloody rag to toss it in the trash. "Yeah, pretty much."

"You're better than this. I came to you for help, but now I'm starting to think you're the one who needs it." She put her hand over his on the bar and stared at him until he met her eyes. "Is it your dad? Maybe there's something I can—"

He jerked his hand out from under hers and grabbed her wrist. His voice was harsh, but low. "Promise me you'll stay out of anything involving my father. Promise me and I'll help you in any way I can."

She bit her bottom lip and nodded.

Smart.
He relaxed his grip and backed up a step.
At least she's smart.

"Sloan's playing hurt. I tried to talk him out of it, but he insisted the team needs him and he's right. But it's gotten worse and if he keeps going the way he is, he'll end his career. As long as the trainers tell the coach he's good to go, he'll let him play. I know you've got a couple under your thumb."

Ford brought the beer bottle to his lips, grip tightening to stop his hand from shaking. She knew way more than she should. "What makes you think that?"

"It doesn't matter. Just do it. Please?"

"I'll see what I can do. Just get out of here." He glanced over at the few people seated at tables circling the bar. They were too quiet. Any one of them could be working for his father. Maybe he was paranoid, but he had plenty of reasons to be. "Next time, call me."

"Sure, but you do the same, all right?" She gave him a grim smile. "Even if I can't do anything, I need you to know I'm here for you."

Fuck.
He hated it when she was . . . nice. People weren’t nice to him. He didn’t let them because it made him weak. If she’d grown up with his father, she’d know better. Hell, even growing up with Anthony Delgado, she should know better. But somehow, she’d turned out decent. She shouldn’t be wasting her time with him. It would be a lot safer if she didn’t, even though he
kinda
wished . . .

"I can't replace Antoine, Oriana. I can't be your brother, not the way you want me to be."

"I don't expect you to replace Antoine." She reached out and patted his cheek in that big sisterly way she had which let him know he was family, whether he accepted it or not. "But you
are
my brother. Get used to it."

A few minutes after she walked out, he closed the bar, scrapping tabs to make up for making people leave without finishing their drinks. Ford had a few shots to loosen up the ache in his chest, Oriana’s words coming back to him. ‘We’re family’.

Yeah, well family just means blood. And that shit’s messy.

Cort
, the only person left in the bar, helped himself to a bottle of Vodka, pouring them both a shot before resting his huge, tattooed forearms on the bar beside Ford. "You giving the little girl a heads up?"

Ford shook his head. "No. It'll just make things worse if my dad finds out I warned her. She'll talk to the guys she's with and they can look out for her. If it messes with their game it might be enough for him to back off her."

"They won't be back for a few days."
Cort
took his shot, then refilled his glass. His dull green eyes, his rough, almost ugly face, made most people see him as nothing but a hired gun, but he was damn smart. Nothing got past him. Those who knew him, respected him.

He was the closest thing to a brother Ford would ever have.

Staring at his glass, Ford nodded slowly. "Yeah. You mind—I mean, until they get back? You'll have to be careful—"

"Not a problem. Won't be the first time."
Cort
grinned and slapped his hands on the bar as he stood. "You pay in cash and ass. I don't mind a bit of overtime."