BREAKAWAY (The Dartmouth Cobras) (9 page)

"But
you
won't make an issue of it?" Silver looked over at Landon. "Either of you?"

Landon mumbled his accord.

"Good." Silver grinned and leaned back in Dean's chair, arms folded over the top of her large belly. "Now, just one last thing—"

"No." He held up his hand and shook his head. "I've reconsidered. No speech restriction."

"What?" Both Landon and Silver said at once, both staring at him.

"You heard me." He squared his shoulders. "It pleases me that my daughter felt comfortable enough to come to you."

Silver's hand drifted up to her throat. "But I promised . . . ."

"Extenuating circumstances. Don't worry about it, Silver." He reached out to cup her cheek with his hand. "I'm sorry I came down on you so hard."

Thrusting out of her chair, Silver stepped up to him and poked him in the center of the chest. Her eyes shimmered with fresh tears. "Fuck you! I made a mistake, I know I did and I said I was sorry!"

"There's nothing to be sorry about, dragonfly—"

"There is too, you asshole!"

"Silver." Landon put his hand on her shoulder and frowned down at her. "That's enough."

Dean studied her face, all blotchy and tight with frustration, her eyes red with unshed tears. He realized something, then, and had to fight to hold back a smile. His poor little sub felt guilty about breaking her word, and, whether it was right or wrong, she couldn't let it go without feeling that she'd made amends. If he wouldn't punish her for keeping this from him, she'd push to get punished for something else. He could count on one hand the number of times she'd sworn at him in the last few months. That she was doing so now told him everything he needed to know.

"I stand corrected. Speech restrictions then, pet. A few days considering what you should, and should not, say to me, will do you some good." He smiled at the relief in her eyes. She nodded and leaned against Landon. "What was the one last thing?"

She drew in a long, shuddery breath. "I want a nice, long kiss from both of you. Before you get all scruffy."

Landon laughed and turned her in his arms, giving her a deep kiss before rubbing his smooth cheek against hers. Eyes hooded, he whispered in her ear. "All that scruff will feel nice and rough when I bury my face between your thighs,
mignonne
. You may never want me to shave again."

Silver ducked her head and moved to Dean. He pulled her close and gave her a tender kiss, chuckling at her surprised look. He nipped her bottom lip and spoke quietly. "GMs don't grow playoff beards, sweetie. And if I hold you too much longer, I'll be sending our goalie off on his own so I can remind you how smooth cheeks feel between your thighs."

"
Arg
!" Silver pointed at the door. "You two are horrible. Get out of here before I decide not to let either of you leave."

Dean grinned and pressed a finger over her lips. "Your punishment has begun. Anymore and I'll have to add a spanking when we return."

She fixed his tie, smoothed it down, and gave him a look so full of love he was tempted to cancel his trip just so he could stay with her. But she nudged him towards the door. "I can't wait."

* * * *

Ford flipped through the photos on his desk, the scrape of his teeth grinding causing the ache in his throbbing skull to take on a sharp edge. He massaged his temples and looked up as Lee walked into his office, his doughy face slick with sweat.

Did you run all the way from the elevator?
He rolled his eyes as Lee collapsed into the chair at the other side of the desk, panting.

"Did you get the ticket?"

"Yes, sir." Lee fumbled inside his briefcase and slapped a plane ticket on the desk in front of Ford. "First class. I also reserved the best suite in the hotel—on the same floor as the players so you can—"

"So
I
can?" Ford frowned and pushed the ticket across the desk. "I'm not going anywhere. You are."

"Me?" Lee squeaked. "But I thought you'd want me to watch Jami!"

"Why the fuck would I want that?"
Idiot.
If Lee wasn't his dad's—Kingsley, not Delgado,
he
was just a convenient sperm donor—most trusted employee, he'd get rid of him. It made him feel dirty that this man had seen him with Jami—and countless others before her. His father claimed it was for his own protection, which he'd believed when he was too young and stupid to question it. But now he knew he could protect himself better than this tub-of-lard could.

Lee’s lips curled away from his crooked teeth. “Because if your dad finds out she’s still a distraction, it may be a problem.”

“She’s not.” Ford pushed the photos away from him and stood. “You know I’m not into coke heads.”

“True.” Lee’s thick lips twisted into a sneer. “But she’s all cleaned up now, isn’t she? Except for being a whore.”

“Don’t call her that!” Ford turned away from Lee, realizing too late that he’d just given the man the upper hand. Bile rose in his throat. His own man,
Cort
, who handled his bar 'The Office' for him, had found out that Jami's new ‘friends’ were getting paid by his father to mess her up. Not long before that, dad had told him the truth about his biological father. Dad would have gotten rid of Jami if she hadn't dumped him. And strange as it sounded, overdosing was probably the best thing that could have happened to her. She'd gone to rehab and moved away, which meant his father wouldn't bother with her anymore.

Ford didn't want to give his dad any reason to turn his attention to Jami again. But the photos had pissed him off. What the hell was Jami thinking?

What the hell was
he
thinking? He should have called
Cort
.
Cort
would have gotten something on Ramos, clean and easy, no questions asked. But he'd figured, under the pretense of wanting a way to blackmail the defenseman, he could get his dad off his back about fixing the games.

And still keep Jami safe.

She wasn't for him. The things she needed, he couldn't give her. But he cared about the kid.

You should have cared enough to stay out of it. Too late now,
fucktard
.

He closed the folder on his desk when he caught Lee staring at the pictures and leaned forward. "Jami is useless to us. Ramos, however, is in the spotlight, messing with the GM's daughter right out in public. If we're lucky, he'll be on the outs with his team. He's new, but he's an important player, and if we can get to him, right before the playoffs . . . ." He watched Lee's pudgy face take on a hungry, greedy expression. The man had made a shitload the last time they'd rigged a game. Hopefully he'd stop thinking about Jami and start thinking about the money that would be coming in if he pulled this off. "He's hiding something. Find out what it is."

Lee frowned and his pudgy neck swallowed his chin. "What makes you think he's hiding something?"

Ford opened the folder, hoping to confuse Lee's small brain with some facts as he held out a photo of Jami with Ramos. "He
ain't
stirring up this kind of controversy for nothing. Man like him isn't interested in a kid like her. Out of all the Ice Girls, he chooses the GM's daughter? Come on. He's diverting the press."

Taking the picture, Lee held it up and licked his lips. "She's a very pretty girl, Ford."

He fought not to snatch the picture away and let out a harsh laugh. "I've had prettier. And so has Ramos. Trust me, he's using her."

"Like you were?" Lee smirked and arched a thin brow. "Sometimes with a few of your friends."

"Yeah, exactly like that." Ford scowled and plucked the photo from Lee's sausage-like fingers. "What is it, Lee, you still bitter that I never shared her with you?"

Lee shook his head slowly. "No. I was never interested in sharing her." He took the plane ticket and stuffed it in his briefcase. "I'll shadow the man. Find out what he's up to. But I'm not stupid, boss. You can't pretend you don't care that he's got her. And since I'm such a nice guy, I won't say anything to your father. But stay away from her."

Ford laughed uneasily. Maybe Lee wasn't as stupid as he seemed. "I plan to."

"Good." Lee mumbled something to himself and nodded. "Very good."

A chill crawled over Ford's flesh as the man left his office. Something wasn't right about him. He needed to have a talk with his dad. If he had to have a handler, he'd rather have someone else.

Anyone else.

Chapter Four

Luke crunched on an apple and stretched his legs out as far as he could in the confines of his seat on the charter bus that would bring the team from the airport to the hotel. His pulse beat hard inside his cotton stuffed skull and he hoped eating something healthy would make the aftereffects of tying a few on before lunch go away. If Coach found out that he'd been drinking on a game day, he'd take him out of the lineup. Leave him at the hotel with nothing to do but think about what a loser he was, a feeling he couldn't seem to shake ever since the night Chicklet . . .

You let her top you, you wimp. You're lucky the guys don't know. You'd never live it down.

He suddenly wanted another drink. Worse thing was, he couldn't decide what made him want one more—having his girlfriend throw herself at another man to get him to break up with her, or having his mentor decide he needed his ass beaten. He used to give subs a knowing smirk when they shifted in their seats for days after a good canning, but never again. Hell, the nagging pain had him rock hard. Too
freakin
' weird.

Doms
don't get off on getting hit. They get off on doing the hitting.

But he hadn't gotten off.

You wanted to.

Sitting forward in his seat, grateful for the grey suit jacket that covered the erection straining against the zipper of his pants, he took another bite of his apple and glanced over at Landon Bower, the team's starting goalie, his road
roomie
, and best friend. They talked about stuff—maybe he could ask him what he thought about the whole thing with Chicklet. See if he'd ever subbed to anyone.

Not a question you can just blurt out.
And not something to ask on the bus. Fine, a lot of the players were into kinky stuff, but not all. They could shoot the shit back at the hotel.

Besides, Bower looked distracted. Luke followed the direction of his glare to the back of Sebastian Ramos' head. Ramos was a big guy. A damn good defenseman. He and Bower got along pretty well, but Ramos had some history with Bower's fiancé. Had he made a play for her?

As Bower's buddy, Luke wouldn't stand for a teammate fucking with him. But he had to make sure before he put the Spanish giant on his hit list. So he elbowed Bower in the gut.

"What did he do? Silver's knocked up with your kid. He didn't try to fuck her, did he?"

Bower sat up straight and blinked at him. "What?"

"He covers you good while you're between the pipes. I can't see you being pissed at him unless he dipped his wick in your ladies cunt. Or tried to." Luke ran his tongue over his teeth. "Say the word and I'll deal with him for you. Get under his skin, you know? He'll look like an ass out on the ice when I'm done with him."

Laughing, Bower smacked his shoulder. "Kid, that man could destroy you. Leave it alone."

"Fuck that." Luke stood and stumbled across the bus aisle, vision a little blurry from less than two hours sleep in the last 24 hours. And maybe a tad too much to drink. He chewed an apple chunk to pulp and latched onto the back of a seat as he made his way to Ramos.

You don't fuck with the goalie, man. 'Specially not when he's my friend.

He caught Demyan's eye as he passed him and shook his head as Demyan made a drinking gesture. "I's all good. Just
gots
to deal with something."

They were about to start up the playoffs. Just one more game. Bad time to start up drama.

Coach scowled over at Luke as he tripped and jarred his knee against a seat. "Will you sit down, Carter. The bus is about to—"

The bus jerked to a stop, spilling Luke to the floor. A few guys laughed behind him. He scrambled to his feet and managed to block Ramos just as the man was stepping out.

Luke retreated a bit so he didn't have to strain his neck looking up at the man. In an Italian suit that probably cost more than anything Luke owned, long black hair all slicked back nice and neat, Ramos didn't come across as someone who'd bust in a man's face on the ice. Until you met his eyes. He could trap a person in those rich earthen depths even as he beat them to a pulp. The chicks all thought he was mysterious, but he was dangerous. No one really knew what he was capable of.

Not like I'm scared of him or anything.
Luke squared his shoulders and cleared his throat.

Ramos frowned at him. "Can I help you?"

"Need to talk." Luke slurred, ignoring the grumbles from the men crowding the aisle. He stuck his thumbs in his pant pockets. "
Gots
to clear up a few things."

"Do we?" Ramos' lips slanted with amusement. "Right here?"

Umm, yeah. Here might not be the best place to have it out.
Luke jerked his chin in the direction of the door. "'
nside
the hotel be fine."

Inclining his head, Ramos gestured Luke forward. "Lead the way, hombrecito."

"Buddy, you best not have just called me a fucking pussy." Luke strode to the front of the bus, took the first step—and almost face planted after the next few vanished out from under him. A firm hand on his shoulder saved him. He shook his head to clear it and wrenched away from Ramos as the man tried to propel him to the curb.

"I'm good.
Lemme
go."

Arms folded over his chest, Ramos studied him with his eyes narrowed into dark slits. His lips drew into a tight line and he leaned forward, speaking low in Luke's ear. "You're drunk. I suggest you head inside before the coach figures it out and scratches you from tonight's game. I’ll get your bags—"