Offside (8 page)

Her eyes went wide. “You’re not serious, are you?”

“No. I already know you’re a very intelligent woman, Becky.” He took the towel from her as she stood, using it to wipe the beads of moisture from her cheeks. “Challenge me. I look forward to it.”

She placed her hand over his, holding the towel against her face, her eyes searching his. “I’ve never had a real relationship with a Dom. Was never sure I wanted one. Sometimes, the way I get when I’m in a scene . . . I’m afraid to lose myself.”

“I won’t let that happen.” Pulling her into his arms, he rested her head against his shoulder and kissed her damp hair. “I want you, little doe. All of you.”

“H
ey, Demyan?”

Light sliced through Scott’s eyelids and cracked into his skull like a pickax as a familiar voice came from the open door. He groaned, rolling away from the body pressed against his side, practically gagging as he ended up with his face too close to the wide open mouth of the man snoring on his other side. Morning breath with a side of ashtray and vodka. Nasty.

He squinted toward the door. “What is it, Vanek?”

Tyler Vanek, a superstar rookie whose career had likely been ended by a concussion, took a step into Scott’s bedroom and gave the men crowding the bed a look of disgust. “Fuck, man. You’ve sunk to a new low.”

Scott snorted and shoved at the man sleepily grinding against his ass. He knew his roommate wasn’t homophobic—even in the darkness, it was obvious the guys Scott had picked up were hookers, cokeheads, or both—but the poor kid still thought Scott had standards.

“I’m as low as I can get, sport.” Scott sat up and tried to smile, but a throb between his eyes at the movement made it more of a grimace. “What’s up?”

“Richter called. Your ‘keeper’ is on his way.”

“My what?” Scott scraped his tongue with his teeth. Damn, how much did he drink last night? His stomach lurched, and he took a deep breath to settle it. “I’m not up to this shit. Call him back and tell him I’ve got the flu. May be fatal.”

“You’re shitting me, right?” Vanek inched closer to the bed, glanced back over his shoulder, then leaned over, speaking low. “You’re meeting the new owner in two hours. You blow it off, and you might as well pack your stuff.”

The meeting.
How the fuck could I forget the goddamn meeting?
His head cleared slightly, despite the sharp, pulsing pain. “Christ. All right, I’m up. Thanks for the warning.”

“No problem.” Vanek shook his head and tossed Scott a pair of boxers from the pile of clean clothes on his dresser. “You want me to call them a cab?”

“Naw, I’ll take care of it. Get back to bed before Chicklet comes looking for you. She already don’t like me. She’ll be ripping if she finds out I’m exposing you to this shit.”

“I’m her boyfriend, not her kid.”

“You’re her sub.”

“And? Seriously, all that time you spend at the club and you still don’t get it, do you?” Vanek squared his shoulders, solid, though not broad. He was a good looking kid. But his angel face made him look really young. “Yeah, I’m her sub. But I’m still a man.”

I do get it, but . . .
Hell, Scott wasn’t getting into the fact that
he
wanted to protect the boy from the depraved crap he did. Besides, saying so wouldn’t mean much since he’d brought it into the condo they shared.

“Just get out.” Scott crawled to the bottom of the bed, pulled on his boxers, then reached into the mini-fridge by his dresser for a bottle of water. He took a few long gulps, then grunted. “I’ll get rid of them.”

As he fumbled blindly through his mostly empty drawers for a T-shirt, he heard the bedsprings creak. The alcohol in his system had him moving too slow. From the corner of his eye, he saw the bigger guy on the bed grab Vanek’s arm.

“You’re pretty.” The man slurred, roughly pulling Vanek onto the bed. “You suck dick as good as your friend?”

“Let me go, you nasty piece of shit!” Vanek twisted in the man’s fumbling embrace, snapping his head to the side to avoid a slobbery kiss. He threw his elbow at the man’s face, missed, then did his best to roll off the bed when the man loosened the grip on his arm to grope him. “Scott!”

The door hit the wall just as Scott lurched toward the bed. He slammed into Vanek as Chicklet jerked him away from the man. Blood red nails flashed in the light glaring from the hall. The meaty sound of a fist hitting flesh filled the room.

“You son of a bitch!” Chicklet snarled, punching the man again. His nose caved under her fist. She bared her teeth and wrapped a hand around the man’s thick neck. “You’ve got five seconds to get out before I take a razor to your fucking balls.”

“You bitch! You broke my nose!” Eyes wide and wild, the man shoved Chicklet off him and lunged for her.

Scott threw himself into the man and they crashed into the wall. The bedside lamp hit the floor and shattered. The man pushed against him. Scott pushed back. The other man scrambled from the bed beside them, tipping over the night table. The drawer slid out and crashed on to the floor. Scott cursed as the man he held spotted Scott’s gun, going for it even as Scott scrambled to snatch it away.

A small, slender hand grabbed the gun before the man closed his hand around it. Laura, Chicklet’s other sub, skidded backward, then lifted the gun, holding it steadily.

“Hands up. All three of you.” Even in a long, nearly transparent white lace nightgown, Laura didn’t look like a chick you wanted to mess with. Despite the chaos, her tone was dead calm. Her cold gaze showed that she saw Scott as no different than the two scumbags he’d fucked earlier. Not as the guy she’d joked with the day before over breakfast. Scott took a step back and put his hands up. The other two men straightened and did the same. “Clasp your hands behind your neck and don’t fucking move. Tyler, get my zip ties.”

Vanek hesitated by the door, subconsciously rubbing the stark red marks on his arm. “Not Demyan, Laura. He fucked up, but this isn’t his fault.”

This is
all
my fault.
Scott stared at the marks, already picturing the nasty bruises they’d form.
I did that.

Laura’s jaw tensed. She glanced at Scott, in total cop mode. “This gun registered?”

“Yeah.”
I’m not that stupid.
“Do what you’ve got to do. Getting hauled in will just make my fucking day.”

“He didn’t
do
anything!” Vanek took a step forward, but Chicklet hauled him back. He groaned. “Nothing happened. I’m not pressing charges. I just want them gone.”

“Assault is
not
nothing, Tyler.” Chicklet put her hand on Vanek’s shoulder. “I’m not letting them get away with this.”

“You nailed the guy before I had a chance.” Vanek wrenched away from her. “Just leave it alone.”

Gun still on the men, Laura glanced over at Chicklet, then jutted her chin toward the door at Chicklet’s nod. “Out.”

The men grabbed their clothes, slamming into each other as they scrambled for the door, still naked. After they were gone, Laura checked the barrel of the gun, then arched a brow at Scott.

“One bullet?”

Scott shrugged. “Didn’t figure I’d need more if someone came after me.”

“Why would someone come after you?”

“It doesn’t matter,” Chicklet said before Scott could come up with an answer. Her brow creased as she looked at Vanek, who folded his arms over his chest and avoided her gaze. “This is your place, Tyler, but I honestly think it’s a bad idea for Scott to keep living here. You don’t need this. You’ve been working so hard to get better.”

Vanek pressed his eyes shut. Bowed his head. “You’re right. I’m sorry, Demyan.”

Swallowing hard, Scott nodded. “Don’t be. I don’t blame you. Just . . . just give me a few days to find a new place?”

“Yeah. Sure.” Vanek sighed. “And this stays between us. The team needs you.”

Right. Like they need more bullshit.
“The owner has no reason to keep me, man.”

“Silver put her neck out for you.” Vanek ground his teeth. “Give him a fucking reason.”

As soon as Vanek walked out, Chicklet strode up to Scott, practically spitting in his face. “I don’t know what’s wrong with you. And honestly, I don’t care. You wanna trash your life? Go for it. But I’ll be damned if you bring him down with you.”

“Got it.” Scott watched the two women leave his room, then sank to his bed and dropped his head into his hands. His throat locked and he swallowed back a sob. Vanek was the only person who gave a fuck about him. He’d started to think about the kid like a brother. He’d gone to physical therapy sessions with him, more invested in the kid’s career than he was in his own. He just couldn’t accept that Vanek wouldn’t recover, even though all his diagnostics seemed hopeless. But like always, Scott didn’t fucking think about how his own actions affected anyone else. After leaving Zach’s place, he’d hit the closest bar and gotten hammered. He didn’t remember anything much after that.

A buzzing from his jacket, hanging on the hook behind his bedroom door, drew his attention. He dragged himself off his bed, fetched his phone, then checked the number.

His brother. He answered. “This is a bad time.”

“It always is.” Jimmy let out a shaky laugh. “Spot me twenty K and I’ll leave you alone.”

“Only twenty this time?” Scott’s stomach heaved. He dropped the phone and stumbled toward the trashcan under his desk. He puked, then picked up his cell, shaking hard. “I’ll put it in your account.”

“Thanks, bro.”

Jimmy hung up. Scott numbly dialed his bank and transferred the money. Like he always did. Not like the massive paycheck he got from the team went to anything meaningful anyway. And he didn’t want to deal with the people his brother borrowed from. Not again.

He managed to make it to the shower before he broke down. Hunched over, muscles trembling, he let the water pound on him. He emptied his stomach over the drain. Bile seared his throat.

When will it end?

Never. Jimmy needed him to be strong. Hell, his brother had lost his daughter. Scott couldn’t even begin to grasp how much that must hurt. He’d cradled Ashley in his arms moments after her first breath. Gone to her first dance recital while she was still healthy. Watched the leukemia steal her life away and held his brother as he fell apart the day she died. They had both been through so much, he couldn’t expect Jimmy to pull himself together after he’d lost the only person he’d truly loved. They were both fucked up. Not worth much. But Ashley’s short life had been worth something. And he’d give his brother whatever he needed to get through the loss. For as long as it took.

Hauling in a lungful of warm mist, Scott forced himself to stand and scrub his body hard enough to get his blood flowing. Being clean made him feel a bit less pathetic. He had to pull himself together and make himself presentable if he wanted to stay on the team. Might not show it much, but he loved the guys. Playing for a rival team wasn’t an option.

A soft tap on the bathroom door came just as he was turning off the shower. Someone was in his bedroom. Not Chicklet, she’d had her say. Maybe Laura wanted her turn. He grabbed a towel as he stepped out of the bath and called out, “I’ll be with you in a sec.”

After wrapping the towel around his waist, he opened the door.

“Well, at least I’ve got something to work with.” The short, skinny man waved Scott into the painfully bright room. He held up his hand when Scott opened his mouth to ask who the hell he was. “My name is Stephan Vaughn, and I’m your new image consultant. Mr. Vanek let me in.”

Stephan circled Scott, one long finger thoughtfully tapping his pointy chin. His silky, dirty blond hair fell across his forehead, neatly styled with not a single flyaway. He wore a shiny, midnight blue suit with a pale blue shirt and a creamy yellow tie that stamped him as metrosexual. The suit bag draped across Scott’s bed made Scott a little nervous. He could so see this guy having fun dressing him up like some Ken doll.

The man’s next words confirmed Scott’s fears. “From this point on, you do not go out in public wearing anything aside from what I’ve picked out for you. We will discuss anything you say to the press to make sure you are giving a good impression. I will be monitoring every aspect of your life.”

You’ve got to be shitting me!
He might as well head out to the kitchen, bend over, and let Chicklet peg his ass. Giving himself over to the Domme sounded like more fun. Was this guy fucking high? Scott’s lips curled away from his teeth as he folded his arms over his chest. “And I’m going along with this why?”

“Because the team won’t keep you otherwise. Silver’s lawyer contacted me and explained the situation. Asher and I have worked together with some of his unsavory, yet high profile clients in the past. He managed to talk the new owner into giving me a shot at you. Silver doesn’t know how precarious your position on the team is. Or how your reputation reflects on her. In her delicate condition, it’s best that she doesn’t find out.”

“Yeah . . .” Scott ducked his head and water droplets sprinkled from his hair to his cheeks. He swiped them away with the back of his hand. Twice now he’d been reminded that Silver had done a lot for him. She’d taken plenty of slack for signing him. She didn’t need more while she was pregnant and not supposed to be stressed. He didn’t want to let her down, but still, this seemed like a bit much. Unless . . . unless it worked. “You think you can keep me from getting traded?”

“So long as you’re willing to cooperate?” Stephan’s neat brows lifted. He smiled at Scott’s nod, flashing toothpaste-ad-white teeth. “Yes. As far as the press, and the new owner, are concerned, you’re cleaning up your act. You are a humble man, well aware that he’s ‘fucked up.’ You will listen to whatever the owner has to say and reply politely, always addressing him as ‘Sir.’” He sniffed. “And I will do my best to make sure he can’t tell you’re hungover.”

“Some toast and Gatorade and I’ll be fine.” Mostly. He cursed himself again for drinking so much, but he was feeling a bit better already. Things weren’t hopeless, not if Stephan could pull this off. All the attitude he’d wanted to give the stuffy bastard vanished as he considered how fast he’d have been shipped out without his help. “What else do you need me to do?”