GAME MISCONDUCT (The Dartmouth Cobras) (35 page)

If you’re not on the first line, they don’t have to worry about you throwing the game.

He looked at the cop. “I’d like my one phone call now, please.”

D
awn oozed into the living room, a sickly yellow light, like the sun itself was reluctant to rise. Sloan raised his fist to knock on Mason’s door which had been locked all night. Several times Sloan approached the door and heard Mason whispering to Oriana while she sobbed.

Her pain chiseled Sloan’s heart—odd, because he didn’t do
empathy
—but he accepted Mason as the most capable of getting Oriana through this. Hopefully, he’d given her the strength for what came next.

He rapped on the door with his knuckles. “Oriana, Mason, we need to talk.”

The door whooshed open. Mason’s big body blocked the doorway. “You’ve got nothing to say to her, Callahan.”

A small hand curled over Mason’s shoulder, tugging him back. “Dominik, let him in.”

Lips pressed together, Mason inclined his head, then spun around and went to sit on the bed.

Oriana held out her hand. “Come on.”

Relief clocked him square in the chest. He gave her his hand and let her lead him across the room. She settled down by Mason and patted the mattress on her other side.

“Let’s hear it.”

The strain in her voice brought out every ounce of tenderness he possessed. He covered both her hands with his own. “Max called me.” Her brow wrinkled, and she blinked fast. “Before I say anything else, he made me promise to tell you he was—”

“Okay. Yes, Dominik made the same promise right after Max was arrested. I’ve heard all that. I know the basics of what happened. What I want to know is how much is his bail set for? You’ll pay it, right?” She tugged her hands loose when Sloan didn’t immediately answer and hooked the fingers of one hand to his collar. “
Right?”

If only it was that easy.
He licked his lips, searching for the words that would make things okay for her. And found none. “There’s no bail. Not yet. The charges were too serious for an after-hours settlement. But what’s more important is—”

“Nothing’s more important! God, Sloan. He’s in
jail!”
She shot of the bed and let out a little scream. “He’s your teammate. Your friend. How are you both so calm?”

Mason looked at him, then inclined his head in a way that said he would shelve their personal issues. For the moment. “Freaking out won’t do him any good, pet.”

“Don’t call me that! Not now!” Her whole body trembled as though physically, mentally, this was all too much. “I was out playing with Tyler and Sloan while Max paid for my actions. I’m not stupid. I know this is my fault.”

“Stop.” Mason stood and snapped. “Sit.”

Oriana sat, right there on the floor. Then scowled and almost bounced up again.

“Move and I’ll chain you to the bed,” Sloan said. He held up his hand when Oriana glared at him. “This isn’t the time for games, but if you can’t control yourself, the two of us are quite capable of doing it for you.”

“I can control myself just fine, thank you very much.” She gritted the words out through her teeth.

Sloan grinned at the feisty firecracker. “You’re very welcome, love.” He slid off the bed, onto the floor, putting them at equal level. “As I was saying, Max called me. He confirmed something we’ve all suspected for a long time, only it’s worse than we thought.” He paused to gather his thoughts. Part of him was still dumbstruck by the whole fucked-up situation. “A lot of people bet on the games. They use stats—player standings, ice conditions, et cetera. The bigger the odds, the bigger the payoff. There have been accusations in the past of player injuries being leaked—especially during playoffs when teams are really quiet about any exploitable weaknesses. We thought Paul might be giving out info to get a cut since he can’t actually bet on games. But he’s actually fixing the games. He told Max to throw the one tomorrow—as a condition to him leaving you alone. The man must be pretty desperate to show all his cards like that. Max thinks his ‘partners’ are putting pressure on him. We’ve been on a hot streak, so a lot of people are probably betting we’ll win, what with the playoffs as motivation. For the first time in years, we might make it.”

In a position almost identical to “the Thinker” statue, Oriana seemed to drift off for a bit, absorbing everything he’d said. Then she hopped to her feet. “Maybe Paul kept a record of the wagers or an account of his cut. If he doesn’t know that I know, they might still be at the condo!”

She tore off her nightshirt, then dove for her suitcase. Her tits bounced as she flung random clothes around the room. Mason stared. Sloan did his best not to laugh. Much better. Once she set her mind on something, there was no stopping her, no matter how crazy the idea. Her energy sizzled into him, and he almost believed this one would pay off.

Mason didn’t look so sure. “There’s no guarantee, bunny.” He bent over and started picking up the undergarments littering his floor. “I don’t want you—”

“Shut up,” Oriana said, pulling on a loose shirt, not bothering with a bra. Then she wiggled into a pair of tights, straightened, and put her hands on her hips. “Do you have a better idea,
Master?”

Eyes narrow and black with ire, Mason fairly growled. “Yes.”

Oriana’s brows arched under her tousled bangs. “Unless it’s a way to help Max or the team, I don’t want to hear what you have to say. Punish me for my rudeness later.”

“I plan to.”

Focused as she was, Oriana still shuddered in response to the threat in Mason’s tone. Sloan got a little hard, considering the ways he’d involve himself in disciplining her. Because he would. And with all those bruises he’d left . . . Mason wouldn’t spank their mouthy little sub. Actually, Sloan would be surprised if Mason ever used spanking as a punishment unless he needed a spur-of-the-moment way to make a point. The girl had no idea what she’d gotten herself into.

* * * *

You might want to get your stuff out. Your dad sold the condo.

Oriana crumpled the note from Paul in her hand and took a deep breath. Bile rose in her throat. Her father had taken everything, which shouldn’t have surprised her, but—

God, I really mean nothing to him.

Closing her account hadn’t been enough. She’d been stupid enough to move here for him, to become dependent on him, giving him all the power. And in return, he’d tossed her away like so much trash.

I’m homeless and broke. This is what I get for trying to be the perfect daughter.

Of course, the “perfect daughter” wouldn’t have resorted to blackmail.

What else was I supposed to do? Stay with Paul?

No. Maybe things hadn’t gone as planned, but at least she was free. Whatever happened, she was finally worth something to someone. Several someones. She had everything she could ever want. Except Max’s freedom. Which she was working on.

“This might take a little longer than planned.” She tossed the words over her shoulder as she unlocked the door. “There are some things I need to get out of here. I have no idea how much longer this place will be mine.”

She dropped the paper and went inside. A crinkle behind her told her one of the men had picked up the note. Didn’t matter. She could stay with Max until she got a job and found a place. Despite her pride’s protest, reason prevailed.

Once again, she needed evidence. If she found some, everything would work out.

“Where did Vanek go after you came back?” She heard Dominik ask Sloan from somewhere below while she scoured through the office off the bedroom upstairs. “I haven’t seen him.”

“He took off right after we pulled in,” Sloan replied. “Probably went to stay with one of the other guys.”

Her chest tightened. That was her fault too. She couldn’t make amends with Tyler now, but as soon as she dealt with the mess she’d gotten Max into . . .

She flipped through all the account books on Paul’s desk, frustrated when she realized she had no clue what to look for. None of the books would be labeled “Fucking Over My Team.” One labeled “Stats” looked promising, but the numbers beside each player’s name matched everything she already knew.

“Find anything?” Sloan asked as he stepped into the room.

There was no hope in his tone, only acceptance. He didn’t believe they’d find anything here.

Please let him be wrong
.

She opened a big black book without a label and ran her finger over the games listed by date. A discrepancy quickened her pulse.

“You won this game.” She pointed at a date in March. “But this says loss. That’s got to mean something?”

Please tell me I’m right?

Sloan took the book and propped his hip on the edge of the desk while he balanced the book on one hand. “We did win.” He ran his finger down over the dates. “And look. There’s a few other games, wins and losses, scribbled out.” He flipped through the pages. “The last game he marked as a loss was scratched out so hard the page is ripped. This is it!”

She hopped up and hugged Sloan. “That’s exactly what I wanted to hear!”

He hooked an arm around her waist and held her firmly in place. “Yes, but you do realize this won’t stand up in court—or even under the scrutiny of the commissioner. But—” he cuffed her chin lightly with his fist when she let her disappointment show “—it should be enough for an investigation. We’ll get Max a good lawyer. With his testimony and this, maybe the league will—”

“Let me see.” Dominik took the book, pacing while he studied the pages as though memorizing every condemning detail. “We tied all these games, Callahan, then either won or lost in overtime. This proves nothing.” He sighed. “Besides, even if you’re right and Stanton ‘predicted’ the games ahead of time, how do we prove that now? We’ll look like we’re setting him up—and doing a lame ass job of it, too. All we have to go on is Perron’s testimony. He’s got a clean record, which should work in his favor. All he has to do is threaten to go public—if he did, the league would have to do an inquiry just to save face.”

Oriana thunked her forehead against Sloan’s chest. “So we did all this for nothing.”

“Not for nothing.” Dominik bent to kiss the exposed flesh above the collar of her T-shirt. “We might have found something. In any case, Perron just called. He’s got a new lawyer, one who might be able to get him out on bail by the end of the week. He sounds optimistic—and he wants to talk to you.”

A starburst of happiness exploded in her chest. She looked over her shoulder at Dominik “He’s on the phone? Now?”

“Yes.” Dominik hooked a Bluetooth over her ear, hit a button on his cell, then motioned for her to “go ahead.”

“Max?”

“Hello, darlin’. Are you all right?” His tone sounded gruff with concern. “Mason told me Sloan hurt you, then left you alone. I thought you were just going to meet his dad . . . shit, I don’t mean you shouldn’t have . . . well, you shouldn’t have done anything extreme, but—”

Oriana moved away from the men, cupping her hand over her ear so she could hear Max better. She had to get herself a Bluetooth; she loved the way he sounded like he was right there with her. The only thing better would be if he really was.

“I told Sloan I was okay. Maybe I wasn’t completely honest, but that’s my fault. Besides, I would have gotten real bitchy if he hadn’t gone after Tyler. He needed Sloan more than I did.” She went to the bedroom, to her bed, and nestled into the pillows. “What about you? Dominik said you made him wait outside. You wouldn’t be locked up if you’d had a witness.”

Max was silent for what seemed like a very long time. Then he said quietly, “I needed to face Paul alone. Maybe it wasn’t smart, but, you know, what’s done is done. Forget that. I want you to do something for me.”

She didn’t even think twice before answering. “Name it.”

“My lawyer got me half an hour of phone time. I want to spend it with you—picturing what the men are doing to you.”

Two sets of footsteps dragged her attention from the pillow she was hugging to the door. Dominik went to her dresser and shuffled through the top drawer. Sloan crawled onto the bed behind her.

Air jammed in her throat. She stuttered. “W-what will they—”

“They’ll do exactly what I’ve asked them to.” Max’s breath sounded ragged in her ear. “And I’ll be here for a bit to make sure you’re okay, then Mason will take over. Do you trust my judgment?”

Her body trembled with excitement, fear, and other feelings she had no words for. She hissed in a breath as Sloan pulled her hands behind her and positioned them at the base of her spine.

“Don’t move,” he said in a way that guaranteed she wouldn’t.

Something rough, yet pliant, looped around her forearms. A rope. Slightly cool, and smooth, like satin. Like the curtain ties from her living room windows.

He wound the rope around and around, from just above her wrists to just below her elbows, tight enough to draw her shoulders back without putting any strain in her arms.

Sloan tugged the ropes. “Comfortable?”

She nodded. Then shook her head. The ropes felt odd, much more secure than hands or a belt.

“Oriana,” Max said. “Trust? Answer?”

Oops.
“I told you I trusted you. I always will.” She meant it, but . . .

“Good girl.” Max’s approval made her all glowy from the inside out. “Dominik is going to blindfold you. Is he doing it?”

He was. One of the red and gold silk scarves from Oriana’s collection—all gifts from her sister who didn’t “get” her lack of fashion sense—slid over her eyes. Sunlight filtered through the sheer fabric, and she could just barely make out the shadowy shapes of her dressers, the bed frame, and . . .
Dominik?
Yes, had to be Dominik, Sloan was still behind her, testing the snugness of the ropes by running his fingers under them. Then he trailed his finger up her arms. The featherlight touch grazed a ticklish spot, and she jumped. The ropes seemed to tighten, like living things, snakes, inhibiting movement. She twisted her wrists.
I’m stuck.
Her heart hammered in her chest.
Oh, bad. Very bad.