Player: A Secret Baby Sports Romance (76 page)

S
he's in trouble
.

I freeze outside the door to her hotel room once more, hand on the gun I picked up from an old contact of Lawson's on the way through the market on the way here.

She wasn't hard to find; not when you've got my and Major Lawson’s resources. And she should know that too, which makes it even more bewildering and annoying to me that she'd just up and take off the way she did to come here. As if I
wouldn't
follow her; or
find
her.

The sound goes silent inside her room, and I pause once more, poised to strike. But yeah, there it is again.

Fuck, she's in trouble.

I react on instinct, moving back and then crashing through the door, ready to murder whoever is trying to hurt her with my bare fucking hands.

There's a scream as I come smashing into the room, and I rise up with every hair-trigger response of my finely tuned instincts on edge as I level the gun at...

At Peyton?

She's alone. And naked; very,
very
naked. And flushed, and-

And then the puzzle piece falls into place, and I just start to laugh.

I mean, I'm also rock hard seeing her lithe, nude body scramble up the bed snatching at sheets to cover herself. But it's too late, and I can't help myself as the peels of laughter come roaring out of my mouth.

Part of it is relief, seeing as
that's
what I interrupted instead of some intruder hurting her, and there's a pang of familiarity in seeing those curves, and that line of her hip, and those perfect pink nipples; none of which I've ever managed to get out of my head.

Not that I
could
even if wanted to; as if I've been trying all that hard.

“What the
fuck
, Bryce!?”

I have to chuckle, seeing her look so furious at me; “Well,
excuse me
. I was coming in to help you,” I start to laugh again; “But I don't think you need any help coming by the looks of things.”

Peyton yanks the sheets up higher to her chin and glares at me with brightly flushed cheeks; “I don't know what you
think
-”

“Peyton.” I lean against wall behind me and smirk; “Like I don't know what you sound and look like when you're-”

“
Enough
, Jesus,” She says, wincing and shaking her head; “What are you doing here, Bryce?”

“Says the girl who broke into our offices, stole a bunch of money, and hijacked my plane to fly halfway around the world to, what, shoot her way into wherever Benson's got Logan and save him yourself?”

She's quiet for a second, which is a fucking rarity; “It was Logan's plane.”

“
Technically
, it was my plane, but we're splitting hairs.”

“I wasn't going to sit there while everyone hemmed and hawed about plans while Logan is-
God
, while my brother is who the hell
knows
-”

“Jesus, Peyton,” I narrow my eyes at her; “You think you're the only one that calls him brother? What the fuck were you even thinking?”

“That I don't need you to
protect me
, that's what,” She spits out.

I roll my eyes and look away. I know this Peyton; the surly, take-no-shit, tough-as-nails girl from the other side of the tracks act. Thing is, it's not really an act at all, which is one of the reason I l- Well, why I like her. Or
liked
.

Or, whatever.

Peyton isn't like, well,
any
other girl out there. I mean, I love the Archer sisters like they were my own flesh and blood, but there's something different about Peyton Rivers that's just
different
than them. Those girls have had rough times in life, but Peyton's the kind of person who's seen the face of the devil and taken the time to spit in it.

Kinda like me, which sort of explains the attraction in the first place, I guess.

“You do, actually. Need my protection, that is.”  Truth be told, in most situations, she wouldn't. Peyton's tough, but add four years of Logan teaching her how to fight, shoot, and know her perimeters and her enemy, has that girl in probably better fighting shape than I ever was even when I was in the Marines.

Peyton opens and then closes her mouth; “I'm not going back,” She finally says, setting her jaw and glaring at me.

“Yeah I didn't think you would.”

“I'm serious, Bry-”

“So am I.”

She keeps her glare at me another moment before the tension seems to diffuse half a degree in the room, and she exhales slowly; “So, now what?”

I grin; yeah, I was waiting for this part; “Now we act the part I've already set up.”

She looks at me quizzically; “Excuse me?”

The grin on my face grows wider; “How's the honeymoon so far, honey?”

The momentary lapse in glare on her face shatters as she narrows her eyes at me; “
What
?”

“Oh, yeah I set us up with a cover. But, oh, you had a plan for that didn't you?”

She sneers a fake smile at me; “The honeymoon is fine,
honey
.”

“Oh, lovely.” I grin right back at her before I reach down and pull the door off the floor and shove it back into the frame I knocked it out of. I should probably come up with something to say to room service about fixing that.

I'm sitting on the end of the bed and kicking my shoes off when Peyton loudly clears her throat behind me; “Um, what are you doing?”

“Settling into our room,” I say with a grin. I can practically feel her eyes burning laser-beam holes in my back, and I take a second to smirk to myself.

“Nope, no way,” She says. I can feel the weight shift on the bed as she gets up behind me, dragging the top sheet with her; “Nope, we’re not doing this. This is
my
room.”

I turn, flashing her my most saccharinely charming smile; “
Our
room, dear.”

“Stop calling me that.”

I shrug as I stand and start to pull my shirt off.

“Goddammit, Bryce! Get your own fucking room!” She's wrapping the sheet around her body and crossing her arms over her chest as she leans against the bathroom door.

“Not very inconspicuous, don't you think? Newlyweds with different rooms?”

“I am
not
sharing a be-”

“Oh, fucking relax, Peyton. And while you're at it, get over yourself. I'm sleeping on the floor.”

“Damn right you are.”

I roll my eyes as I snatch a pillow and the other sheet off the bed and toss it on the floor next to the bed. Her tough-girl bullshit is starting to grate on me.

“Get some sleep, darlin. Long day tomorrow.” I can hear her hesitate across the room as I drop down to the floor and wrap the sheet loosely over myself; “Peyton, sleep.”

“
Fine
.”

* * *

I
feel
my eyes close eventually, but fuck is it hard when I can hear her breathing right there. She's so close, and so untouchable, and this
isn't
about us at all, which is the hardest part. We're not here to play the re-hash game with our relationship or sling arrows at each other. We’re here for Logan, and that's what we need to concentrate on.

Except when I can hear her whimper softly in her sleep, and smell the lavender of her shampoo as the Mediterranean wind blows through the open window, it takes more than a deep breath to remind myself of that.

Fuck, this is going to be tough.

T
he market district
of Istanbul is thick with exotic smells, colors, and sounds as Peyton and I push our way through the crowds without talking, since she’s decided to play a ridiculous silent treatment game with me since last night.

I’ve been here before, on our way out of Afghanistan before we hooked up with Blackriver in Morocco. I shake my head at the memory of those hectic, wild days, when we didn’t know what the fuck we were doing; when we were looking over our shoulders every five seconds for the State Department, or worse. Two months of uncertainty, of lying in limbo. Me, high on hashish scrounging through back-markets looking for something stronger to numb it all away, Hudson almost getting us all killed when he went home with the wrong married woman, and Logan playing fucking damage control through the whole thing. Logan keeping us together, and alive, and moving forward; always moving forward.

Out of the frying pan, into the fire.
Out of the deserts of Afghanistan when we all made the decision to leave - when we knew we couldn’t do the horrible things that were asked of us anymore - and dive head-first into the unknown. Aimless, penniless; hell, fucking
country
-less. And through the whole damn thing, that tough bastard kept us going.

And you fucked his sister. Nice work, shithead.

A man in white linen meets us at the front door of the cafe where we're meeting our turncoat contact from Blackriver and quickly nods and bows as he hustles us past men in similar garb sitting drinking black tea and smoking from hookahs. He ushers us through the back door of the cafe and out into a half-shaded, tiny little courtyard with a small table with three chairs around it.

“Please,” He says haltingly; “Have a seat. She'll be with you shortly.”

She?
Fuck.

Peyton sits at the table facing the cafe door and toys with the edge of it; “So do you know this contact? From your Blackriver days?”

I sure fucking hope not.

“I don't think so.”

Peyton fidgets in her chair as I sit across from her; “I don't like it. Why's she switching teams?”

I shrug; I don't like it one bit either, but it's all we've got right now if we're ever going to figure out where Benson is with Logan; “If Lawson trusts her, we should t-”

“Bryce, darlin, how are you?.”

Fuck
. I can feel my jaw tighten at the sound of the Aristocratic, Queen’s English voice I mercifully haven't heard in years. It's like I'm instantly yanked back in time, back into the darkness and back into the grey clutches of addiction. Yeah, it's her. I grit my teeth as I stand, taking maybe a moment longer than normal before I steel myself and turn around to face the woman I'd hoped I'd never see again; “Hello, Sasha,” I say icily, hating the smirk in her eyes and the familiarity of her face.

She looks healthier, I’ll give her that. It’s amazing what not injecting chemicals into your veins or shoving them up your nose will do to your skin and general health and well-being. From the looks of things, she’s probably clean, which is certainly something.

But she’s still got the same jet-black hair, the same dark eyes like twin black-holes dragging in the light and warmth from a room. She’s still pale, still vaguely vampiric looking, which is sort of right on the money considering the bloodsucker she is. She’s still got that crafty, cold smirk on her face, like she’s sizing-up prey, or looking for a weakness, or chink in the armor with any and every social encounter.

There’s a coldness that seeps into me, seeing her like this. It’s not a comforting familiarity that her presence brings, it’s all the dark parts of my life from way back then; back when I was another man in another time. Sasha is a ghost from a time in my life that I just want to keep in shadow. She's like the remnants of a bad dream that you get another passing glimpse of in your memory, weeks later.

It's
not
what I can tell Peyton
thinks
it was from the look on her face, even if I am getting a guilty twinge of satisfaction letting her think that. But that’s not what Sasha and I were. Heroin does lots of things for you. A libido is not one of them. Ours was - fuck, I don't know; an arrangement of convenience?

But whatever you want to call it, that woman had me in her fucking
clutches
, and I
hate her
for it.

“What's your angle here, Sasha.” My voice is leaden and cold, almost as if being near this haunting from my past has me right back to the empty nothingness of heroin addiction all over again.

“Oh calm down, tough guy,” Sasha says with far too much familiarity in her voice as she laughs obnoxiously and dismisses me with a wave of her hand that has me bristling. My eyes dart to Peyton, and the icy grip on my chest tightens as I see the recognition written large across her face, her eyes narrowed as she follows the back and forth between Sasha and myself.

Fuck
; this plan sucks already.

“I'm here to help, Bryce; nothing more.” She smiles at me, as if we're old buddies; “You look well, by the way.”

“I'm clean.”

“Me too.”

“Wonderful,” I say shortly, my voice tight.

“So,
you two
apparently know each other,” Peyton says with the most fake, most insincere smile in the world on her face as she darts her eyes between the two of us.

“Oh, dear, Bryce and I go
way
back, you know.” Sasha is giving Peyton the fake smile right back, and I'm slowly shaking my head over her shoulder as I lock eyes with Peyton.

“Super. So where's my brother?”

Tact; Jesus Christ, Peyton.

Sasha laughs; a cold, jagged sound; “Jumpy, are we?”

“Let’s just get to it, Sasha.”

She rolls her dark eyes, as she pulls a silver case from the back pocket of her black jeans and takes out a cigarette; “My
my
, clean Bryce is all business now isn’t he?” I give her nothing, keeping my face set and neutral, only shaking my head when she holds the cigarette case my way.

Sasha sighs dramatically as she produces a small pack of matches and lights her cigarette. She keeps her eyes locked on mine as she inhales, before she turns to lean into Peyton, smoke exhaling through the corner of her blood-red lips; “You know, you really should have seen Mr. ice-cool over here was the life of the party when he got into a little of the
nose-candy
, if you know what I-”

“I’m not here for games, and if what I’m told is right, you’re in no position to play either,” Peyton says with lead in her voice, instantly silencing Sasha and making the dark-haired woman drawback in honest surprise.

Well,
damn
. The girl’s direct, you have to give her that. I can see Sasha bristle at her own frosty attitude tossed right back at her from the small blonde girl that people like her just seem to
love
underestimating.

Sasha narrows her eyes; “Let’s have a seat and get right to it then, shall we?” She smiles thinly at Peyton, her eyes flicking over her as if trying to read her or most likely looking for some sort of weak point.

Except that girl has thicker walls up than a fucking castle; believe me.

“Benson and his outfit-”

“
Your
outfit.”

Sasha narrows her eyes at Peyton at her interjection; “
Yes
, dear. As I was
saying
,
we’ve
set up operations in an old Christian monastery north of the city, near Yayla. That’s where your brother is.”

Peyton frowns; “So he’s just being held in a church? That’s it?”

“If by ‘just a church’ you mean a fortress from the Crusades with thirty-foot walls and a literal
moat
, then yes, let’s call it that.” Sasha smiles patronizingly at Peyton, a gloat teasing her lips.

“Then
why
didn’t you-”

“Ok, enough.” This is going fucking nowhere, fast, and I’m also not here to play fucking games with Sasha; “How do we get in, how many guards; details, Sasha.”

She smiles thinly at me, smoke curling from the tip of the cigarette dangling from her fingers; “How many
guards
? As if you’re going to walk in the front door and
take them
?” She rolls her eyes at me patronizingly; “Still a hot-head, I see, Bryce.”

“Jesus Christ, Sash-”

“There’s actually just
one
guard we need concern ourselves with.” There’s a wicked glint in her eye when she winks at me that has me on edge, even before she turns to Peyton; “And you are
just
his type, darling.”

Peyton’s brow furrows; “Excuse me?”

I can feel the hair on my neck standing up, my whole body bristling. She hasn’t even said anything yet, but I know where this is going, and the answer is “over my dead fucking body.”

“What do you mean ‘his type’?” Peyton says more forcibly, frowning at the way Sasha is just smirking at us both.

“Oh, please; you’re a bright girl,” Sasha says, crossing her legs and sitting back in her chair as she arches an eyebrow at Peyton. This is classic Sasha; waiting and watching like a fucking vulture, ready to swoop in for the carcass; “His name is Anderson. He’s a sergeant within the Blackriver ranks, close with Benson, access to say,
back doors
of certain monasteries? He’s not too bright, and he’s a bit of a
boorish
fellow,” She winks as she reaches out and pushes a lock of Peyton’s hair behind her ear, making her frown; “And he does
love
the blondes, you know.”

“Not a fucking chance,” I growl; “Not even an option, there’s no way I’m let-”

“It’s no problem.”

I jerk my head towards Peyton, who’s jaw is clenched as she stares at me; “
What?
”

“I said it’s no prob-”

“No, I fucking heard you, but I’m not-”

“
You’re
not ‘letting’ or ‘
not
letting’ me do anything at all, actually,” Peyton says icily, narrowing her eyes at me.

“Peyton-”

Sasha starts to laugh as she stamps her cigarette out in the ashtray on the table; “Are you
sure
you’re up for something like that?” She says, eyeing Peyton.

“Jesus, I said it’s no problem, and you don’t know me.”

Sasha shrugs and smiles that sharklike smile at her; “Sounds like you are, then.” She stands abruptly, before I can even say another word; “I’ll be in touch about setting the meet.” She winks at me, and I can feel my frown deepening, my hackles rising; “Lovely to see you again, handsome.”

And then she’s gone, like a tornado leaving a path of destruction as she blows back out the door.

“Well,
she’s
just
wonderful
isn’t she?” Peyton’s smiling thinly at me across the table, her arms crossed and her brow raised.

“
That
is not what you think it-”

“Hey, none of my business and not my problem, Bryce. None of your dirty little secrets are my problem anymore, remember?”

I grind my teeth together, carefully eyeing her; “You’re not doing this.”

“The fuck I’m not. Got a better idea to save my brother?”

I’m working on it.

But I’m silent, staring her down as if the scowl on my face alone is going to change her mind. As if this girl was
ever
that easy.

“Peyton, this-”

“This is what it takes, Bryce; end of discussion.” She stands abruptly and storms out, leaving me alone with the lingering curls of smoke from Sasha’s cigarette and the fury bubbling under my skin about this plan.