Chapter Four

“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?”

“For now, just get dressed.” Stephan gestured vaguely toward the suit bag on the bed. He looked around room, nostrils flaring, lips pursed. “We will focus on the meeting, then discuss new accommodations. Is there a reason you share a condo with a teammate and his?.?.?. girlfriends?”

Scott laughed. “I was renting, but I got kicked out. Vanek gave me a place to stay, but now he wants me gone.”

“Ah. Well, I will find you appropriate lodgings. We need you to be completely accessible to the press. I’d like them to see you in a more permanent setting. To make it clear that you’ve made a home in Dartmouth and you plan to stay.”

“I do.”

“Good. Perhaps this job won’t be as difficult as Asher implied. You have a reputation for being quite?.?.?. unpleasant to work with.” Stephan shook his head. “I’ve spoken to several of your teammates. None of them had anything good to say about you.”

Damn. Not that Scott should be surprised. His teammates on his other teams hadn’t liked him either. And he always tried not to care. It was harder with the Cobras though. He liked a few of them—enough to want to stay even if they’d be happy to see him gone. Zach automatically came to mind, but Scott wasn’t sure where he stood anymore either. Did Zach want him gone too? Would he have had anything good to say if Stephan had talked to him?

Probably not.

Scowling, Scott moved to the bed and unzipped the suit bag. Charcoal black. White shirt. The blood red tie was a bit much, but nothing he couldn’t deal with. He snorted as he pulled out the small silver bag containing a pair of snug black boxer briefs and socks that matched the suit perfectly. The man had thought of everything. “In other words, they all told you I’m an asshole.”

“Flirting with married women is considered bad form.”

“The chicks like the attention.”

“Let them get it from someone else. I can’t force your teammates to like you, but you will do everything in your power to keep them from hating you. Let them see how dedicated you are to being an asset to the team.”

Seriously? “I am dedicated.”

“Are you? Are you on the ice before the rest? In the gym longer? Do you follow the instructions from the dietitian?” Stephan made a sharp motion with his hand before Scott could answer. “Don’t bother. I’ve done my homework. You are the laziest, least disciplined player on the roster—”

“I’m a loser. I got it.”

Stephan just kept talking. “—talented, but that hardly matters when you show up drunk. Or call in sick. That. Ends. Now.”

Fuck, if you weren’t such a fairy, you’d make a good Dom. Scott pulled on the incredibly soft dress shirt, then dropped his towel and stepped into the boxers, grinning when Stephan looked away. “Got it. Anything else?”

“We need to find you a nice girl.”

“A what?” Scott stared at the man who’d just officially reached certifiable. “I don’t do ‘nice girls.’”

“You do now.” Stephan propped his hands on his hips, then sighed and brushed Scott’s hands aside as he fumbled with the tie. He tied a perfect knot, then smoothed it over Scott’s chest. “You’ve given the media too much raunchy material to work with. They’ll get bored of you once you start courting an acceptable young woman seriously, and that’s exactly what we want. But don’t worry about that now. I’ll present you with a list of potentials by the end of the week.”

Okay, this was too much. “You get to choose who I fuck? What if I need a ‘nice’ stiff cock.”

Stephan sputtered. “No! Oh no, that can’t happen. I’m sorry, Scott, but if you are homosexual, you’ll have to hide it for now. You can’t afford to draw that kind of attention. We can work on you ‘coming out’ once you’ve become a fan favorite, but at this point—”

“I got it.” Scott shoved his hands into the pockets of his slacks. “Wanna fit me for a chastity belt now?”

The bastard’s lips quirked. “Don’t tempt me.”

“So do I get to have a life at all, or is that not on the agenda?” Damn it, Scott would do just about anything to stay on the team, but it grated to have everything he did under a microscope. Being a good boy in public, he could pull off. But Stephan was talking like he couldn’t do shit without his stamp of approval. “I appreciate what you’re trying to do, but I need some privacy. Down time, you know?”

“You’ve had plenty of ‘down time,’ Scott. And you’ve used it to become the most disreputable player in the league.” Stephan tugged Scott’s hands out of his pockets, straightened his suit, then stepped back to look him over. “Don’t waste my time or Silver’s money. She may not know it, but she’s paying me very well to remake you into a man the team and the fans can be proud of. If you’re unwilling to do what it takes to become that man, tell me now.”

Still slightly dizzy from the vodka still in his system, sore everywhere from fucking and being fucked all night. Scott straightened and considered Stephan’s words. How bad did he want this? Bad enough to fit into the mold Stephan wanted to force him into? Could he really pull this off?

Did he have a choice?

“I’m willing to do whatever it takes.”

“Good.” Stephan followed him out into the hall, frowning when Scott grabbed his dress shoes from the rack by the door. Without a word, he took a knee and opened what looked like a big square brown leather purse. He pulled out a container of clear polish, a cloth, and jerked at Scott’s ankle to place his shoe on his other knee. “I have a feeling I’m going to have to inspect you from head to toe every time you go out in public. And a shopping trip is in order. How old are these shoes?”

Scott shrugged. “I’ve had ‘em for a few years. But I don’t wear them much.” He laughed at Stephan’s wide eyed look. “What?”

“The team expects the players to wear suits to all games.”

“I know. And I do.”

“Please tell me you don’t wear running shoes—”

“Fine. I won’t tell you.” The way the veins at Stephan’s temples bulged out couldn’t mean anything good. Scott quietly offered up his other scuffed and dirt-streaked shoe. “Look, I’ll wear whatever you tell me to, okay?”

“Yes. You will.” Once Scott’s shoes were as shiny as he could get them, Stephan stood and fussed with his suit a bit more. Then he checked his watch. “Go before you’re late. I’ll stay here—bring someone in to pack your things and figure out what you need.” He pulled a business card out of his breast pocket. “Call me as soon as the meeting is finished.”

“Will do.” Scott tucked the card in his pocket, eager to get the hell out of there. He spotted Chicklet, in the doorway of Vanek’s room, watching him, lips twisted with disdain. He missed the doorknob at his first grab, unable to look away from her. The woman hated him and he couldn’t blame her. He lowered his gaze and muttered, “I’m sorry.”

She took a step back and closed the bedroom door.

“Prove it, Scott.” Stephan patted his shoulder, then squeezed it in a way that was strangely comforting. “I’m not sure what you did wrong, but we’ll make it right. I’m here to help.”

“I appreciate that.” Damn it, he couldn’t resent the guy anymore. And worse, he owed Silver, again, whether she knew it or not. And the best way to pay her back was by proving to everyone that signing him wasn’t the biggest mistake she’d ever made.

He’d always been a mistake. A screw up.

But that was about to change.

*?*?*?*

The forum was dead quiet this early in the morning, no one around besides security. The place would be full in a few hours with the hard rock bands scheduled. The new owner of the forum had plans to use the place for more than games, which was damn brilliant. The Delgado family had lost a lot of money using the building for nothing but games and a few local events. If nothing else, the new owner was business-smart.

Scott fiddled with his tie as he crossed the gleaming marble floors with long strides. On the drive over, he’d thought over Stephan’s instructions. “Yes, sir.” “No, sir.” Sounded so simple, but it wouldn’t be. The new owner had his shit together, and he’d know Scott was a bad investment. Nothing short of a miracle would save Scott at this point. He’d gotten a fresh start with the Cobras, and he’d wasted it.

Fuck off. You weren’t that bad.

Waiting for the elevator, Scott’s lips twitched as he considered some of the crap he’d pulled over the last year. If he was lucky, the new owner didn’t know the half of it. But his luck hadn’t been all that good lately. Too bad he couldn’t just deal with Richter. At least Silver could smooth the way with the GM, since she had him wrapped around her little manicured fingers.

She’s done enough for you.

His thoughts wondered to Stephan’s plans for his future. To the “list” of appropriate chicks he’d be given. Out of all the parts of his life Stephan was taking over, that part rankled the most. Vanek had joked once that Scott was a sex addict. And maybe he was. Having a random body in his bed every night made him feel less?.?.?. alone. Yeah, getting in a serious relationship could do that too, but whenever a man or a woman looked at him like they wanted to go there, it was like they were putting a noose around his neck. He got away from them as fast as he could. And even when he was tempted to make things real, he somehow fucked things up.

Like he had with Zach.

Then again, according to Stephan, Zach wasn’t even an option anymore. He needed a “nice girl.” Which was funny. A real nice girl wouldn’t want him. He had nothing to offer. Even Zach, who seemed to want more, had pointed that out. Out of everyone he had to make things right with, Zach would have been first in line. Zach thought he was worth something. The last time they’d talked, he’d given the impression that he’d be there when Scott figured that out.

I should call him.

Scott slid his hand into his pocket, fisting it around his phone. A few words with Zach and he could make it through the meeting, confident that at least someone believed in him.

Not an option.

Until he cleaned up his image, he’d have to be all about “the woman” in his life. He enjoyed sex with women enough to deal, but it would be like being on some weird fad diet, stuck with the same thing night after night, deprived of his favorite food. And after just one night, Zach ranked right up there with steak and pot roast. Being with a “good girl’ would be like eating nothing but crackers and chicken broth.

Why do people care who I fuck? Scott jerked his suit jacket straight as he stepped onto the elevator, groaning as a button popped off and hit the floor. Why couldn’t he have it easy like Zach? Coming out publicly made the man a goddamn hero to the team, because they all knew he’d done it to take the focus off Luke Carter, a kid who’d just lost his rookie status, who’d gotten in deep with defenseman Sebastian Ramos. He wasn’t ready to tell the world he was bi. Whatever. Scott couldn’t care less if people knew he was, but he had to stick to the status quo. That very night, his agent had called him and told him to make it clear he ‘liked pussy’. His exact fucking words. It hadn’t been all that hard to find some bunnies to flaunt and fuck.

But he’d hurt Zach. And he kept hurting him every time he went out with a bunny under each arm. Even worse when he snuck out and found some stud to fool around with.

How would Zach feel when he saw Scott with the woman Stephan chose for him? He pictured himself with some pretty little thing by his side, smiling for the cameras. With Zach on the sidelines, watching him, pain in his eyes.

I can’t do this. The elevator doors slid open and he forced himself to move forward. He glanced at the doors lining the hall, dragging his feet as he headed toward the new owner’s office. If he didn’t go through with this, where would that leave him? In some other city, far away from Zach? If he found a way to stay, maybe he could make things right. I have to try.

Scott rapped his knuckled on the door to the owner’s office. This was it. Time to face the man who would decide where his life went from here.

“Come in.”

Stepping into the office, Scott glanced around, taking note of the classy setup. The owner’s desk was huge. There were three leather chairs set in front of the large, gleaming mahogany structure. Black and white portraits of hockey greats covered the walls. The man knew the game. Had a passion for it if the pictures with him and Roy, and Lemieux, and Richard were anything to go on. But that wasn’t what filled Scott with dread. He looked over the tabloids spread across the man’s desk. Pictures of Scott, drunk, half-naked, none of the headlines flattering. Scott stared at them as the man stood and leaned across the desk, offering his hand.

“Lorenzo Piers Keane. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Demyan.”

Yeah, Right.

“Scott.” With the shit he was about to get into with the man, informal would be good. He swallowed, tearing his gaze away from the papers.

I’m fucked.

He shook the man’s hand, then dropped into the chair behind him. “Umm?.?.?.”

“Yes. Umm.” Keane sat, then rested his elbows on the desk and steepled his fingers. He wore a simple, black Italian suit, tailored to fit his tall, trim frame. A bit of grey streaked through the brown hair along his temples. His dark brown eyes assessed Scott for several excruciatingly long moments before he let out a heavy sigh. “Scott, your stats make you worth every penny we’re paying you, but this?.?.?.” He motioned toward the papers. “The team cannot afford your reputation.” His lips curled slightly with disgust. “I have to admit, the charges of statutory rape concerned me the most. I considered sending you to the farm team on waivers without—”

“There were no charges!” Scott shoved his chair back, rage sizzling through his veins as he grabbed the tabloid with a huge picture of him making out with a girl whose face was blurred out. A smaller one of her slipping underneath the table. The last of them heading for the men’s room. “She was seventeen. We met at a bar and she had ID. I was set up!”

“Set up?” Keane arched a brow, his expression showing mild interest. “How so?”

“A reporter paid her to come on to me, then made a big deal about it. Believe me, she didn’t look like a kid. You know so much?” Scott jerked his thumb at the papers. “You’ve gotta know Hayley Turner is gunning for the team because she thinks Silver fucked her husband. Everyone knows that.”

“More than one media outlet covered the incident.”

Yeah, Becky had picked it up from some “source” for a behind the scenes sports special. News was slow. He guessed she had to give them something. But it pissed him off that she had to make him look like a goddamn cradle robber to get ahead.

“What can I say, I’m fucking fascinating.” Scott ran his tongue over his teeth, lowering back into his seat as he caught the way Keane’s eyes narrowed. He wasn’t making himself look any better to the man. He rolled his shoulders. “Look. Don’t think I don’t understand where you’re coming from. I need to smarten up. But some of this stuff isn’t as fucked up as it looks. They—”

“Ah, the infamous ‘they.’” Keane let out a tight laugh. “I have teenage daughters, twins—which you seem to enjoy.” He picked up another newspaper which showed Scott in a limo with a pair of hot redheads. After crumpling the papers in his hand, he tossed it aside. “But I won’t let my personal bias affect my decision. Especially since you feel targeted by the press. Let me see?.?.?.” He tapped a colored photo of Scott and cocked his head slightly. “Please explain to me how the media managed to get you drunk and onstage at a strip club. Did someone forcibly remove your clothing?”

Scott winced. He’d forgotten about that night. He’d been pretty wasted. “No. That was just me being an idiot.”

“I see. And the brawl you were involved in at a?.?.?. karaoke bar? Let me guess. You planned to sing professionally once you’d destroyed your career as a professional hockey player, and some asshole told you not to quit your day job.”

“No. I just got drunk and—”

“Stupid. Yes, that seems to happen a lot with you. And the street racing—which there were charges for.” Keane flipped open a folder. “According to your file, you spent several days in jail.”

“I was sober.” Scott’s jaw tensed. “I don’t drive drunk.”

“Commendable, but that doesn’t change the fact that you seem to have an alcohol problem. I trust you weren’t sober when you went streaking in downtown Montreal?”

“Actually?.?.?.” Okay, it was really hard not to laugh at that one. Middle of winter, he and a few of the guys had been hanging out with the Habs. The Cobras had a friendly rivalry with the Canadiens. Some French guy had dared Scott to a race down Saint Catherine. Naked.

He never turned down a dare.

Keane shook his head, flattening his hands on the desk. “Scott, I could tolerate these antics from a rookie, do my best to take him in hand. But you’ve been in the league for ten years. You’ve proved to be immature and, frankly, unstable. If it was limited to your actions in public, I would consider giving you a chance to improve your image. Unfortunately, your behavior on the ice is no better. You instigate fights with your own teammates. The amount of penalty minutes you racked up last year is unacceptable. And I’ve never heard of a professional athlete calling in ‘sick’ as often as you have. The only reason I haven’t already traded you is because Silver Delgado made the choice to sign you, and she’s done so much for the team, I can’t believe she would have done that without a good reason.”

The situation looked pretty damn hopeless. There was no point in lying to the guy. Scott slumped in his chair. “She didn’t know much about the game when she signed me. She was told I was good on the ice and figured I’d help change the team’s image. Bring in the younger crowd.”

“You have. But so have other men on the team, and they’ve done so without it reflecting negatively on the whole organization.”

Right. Time to go home and pack. Scott rubbed his hands over his face. “What can I say? I’m willing to change, but the way you’re talking, it’s too late.”

Keane stood, pushed his chair back, and gathered all the newspapers into a neat pile. He reached down, picked up the trash can from under his desk, and set it in front of Scott with a sharp clink. Then he stuffed all the papers into the stainless steel bin.

“Give me one good reason to let you stay.”

Lips parted, mouth dry, Scott gaped up at the man. Why even give him a shot? Why risk millions on someone who could potentially bring the whole team down?

Why question it, man? Give him a reason!

Scott swallowed and lunged to his feet, speaking in a rush. “I already told my image consultant I’d do anything he asked me to. Change my attitude, my clothes, my whole life if it means I can be a Cobra. I want to be with this team when they make the Cup. I want to retire with this team. I’ll take a pay cut if it means I can stay. Just tell me what I have to do and I’ll do it!”

“Why? Why does it matter so much? There are other teams that would have you.”

“Because?.?.?.” He frowned, searching for the truth. And then he found it. “Silver believed in me. She took a lot of flack for it, but she stood by her decision. I need to prove to her that it wasn’t a mistake. That everyone was wrong about me.”

Slapping his hands on the desk, Keane smiled. “That is exactly what I needed to hear. I need to know you have solid motivations to make all these changes. Following your IC’s advice will go a long way in convincing me to offer you a contract. The season doesn’t start for months. I want to see your face in more papers, but I want every article to express what a positive addition you’ve become to the team. I don’t care if you’re kissing babies or setting fashion trends. You will be a man young boys can look up to. Let the other teams hate you. I don’t give a shit how much you chirp on the ice. But your fans, your teammates?.?.?.” He took a deep breath. “They will love you. I won’t accept any less.”

That’s it? Scott’s head reeled at the abrupt shift. It had all seemed utterly hopeless, but in the end, he’d gotten the chance he’d so desperately wanted. His lips moved soundlessly, then he nodded quickly. “I can do that.”

“I’ve faxed your IC a list of appearances I’ve set up for you and several of the other players. Can I trust you to be at each and every one?”

“Absolutely.”

Keane inclined his head. “Very well. You may go.”

Just like that, Scott was dismissed. He thanked Keane again and headed out, practically knocking Sloan Callahan, the team’s captain, on his ass in the hall.

“Watch where you’re fucking going, Demyan.” Callahan snarled before striding into the office and slamming the door behind him.

Scott righted himself, glanced over to the other man who stood by the door, Dominik Mason, the team’s most vicious defenseman, and muttered a vague greeting. Mason spared him a brief glance before pulling out his phone. He sighed and dialed, then spoke softly.

“I’m here, love. Sloan’s with Keane.” He pressed his eyes shut and nodded slowly. “I’ll do what I can, but I can’t promise anything. If he’s determined to?.?.?. I know. But he won’t listen to me—I love you too.”

Leaving Mason, Scott hunched his shoulders and headed to the elevator. The shit going on between Mason and Callahan was pretty serious. Unlike him, they deserved to be here. They’d worked their asses off for this team. Oriana Delgado, Silver’s sister, was a sweet chick. And the trouble with her men made Scott’s seem even more pathetic. He’d brought this on himself. The captain and Mason’s problems stemmed from loving the same woman and barely tolerating one another. Keane was probably trying to convince Callahan to stay.

Scott kinda hoped the owner succeeded. Because the captain was one of the few people Scott respected. One of the people he hoped would be around if he actually managed to pull this off.

*?*?*?*

Dominik rested his head against the pristine white wall of the hall, pressing his eyes shut as Sloan stormed out of the office, slamming the door for a second time. Part of him wanted to go to Sloan, to force him to see they didn’t have to come to this. They loved the same woman. The same team. They could make it work.

But Sloan wouldn’t listen. Things had become tense in the house they shared. Max Perron’s house. Oriana was Max’s wife, and that meant more than the fact that Dominik had collared her, or that Sloan had marked her. No matter how much Oriana cared for them both, she would follow her husband. And Max had done the unthinkable by making leaving the team an option.

It’s not an option for me.

Dominik hauled in as much air as his lungs would hold and pictured Oriana, kneeling before him, pouring her heart out.

“I don’t want to go, but Sloan?.?.?.” Her face crumpled and tears spilled down her cheeks. “Sloan may never play again. I can’t let this be the end for him. He needs me.”

“I need you.” Even on her knees, she had all the power. He’d accepted that when he’d let her into his life. His heart. As long as he shared her with two other men, she would never be his alone. Which felt so wrong as he watched her suffering between the three of them, desperate to please them all. “Tell me what you need me to do.”

“Come with us.”

He’d looked away from her then. That wasn’t what she really wanted. She was telling him what she thought he needed to hear. Nothing would change if he followed her to Calgary with Sloan and Max. He would still be an obstacle. The man who challenged Sloan, who made sure the fucking sadist never pushed too hard, went too far.

But what was too much for Dominik wasn’t too much for Oriana. Her husband might cringe at the marks Sloan left on her, but he simply tended to the wounds and accepted that the extremes satisfied Oriana, so there was nothing wrong with them. Dominik had tried, so very hard, to do the same. But there were times when Sloan sank so deep into his needs as a sadist that he couldn’t handle the aftermath. Which left Dominik holding Oriana, blinking back tears as he carefully bandaged the marks on her body, trying not to hate Sloan for making her bleed. He’d taught Sloan as much as he could, but the pupil had outgrown the teacher. Become a master in his own right. Begun to question everything he’d learned because Oriana needed more.

“Be honest with me, Oriana. Do you really want me to come with you?”

She refused to look at him as she answered. “They need you here.”

“Do you want me to stay behind?”

“Yes.”

“Then I will.”

Eyes, tearing, she blinked, then rested her head against his chest. “This is one of those times where I want you to take control. Where I don’t want to have a choice.”

“Sweetheart, I wish I could tell you what to do.” He kissed her forehead. “But I can’t. Not with this.”

“Mr. Mason?” Keane held the door open for him, then quietly followed him into the office. The door clicked shut, and Dominik took a seat, waiting for Keane to take his place behind the desk.

Instead, Keane stepped in front of him, arms crossed over his chest, hip resting on the edge of the desk. Despite the silver streaking the man’s dark brown hair, something about his bearing made him look younger than forty. He was tall, fit, but not especially muscular. Clean-cut, always well put together, the man had a presence that made it hard not to sit up and take note when he spoke. He’d only had one meeting with the team so far, but already, he’d made quite the impression. Men who’d whispered about “getting out” before the team folded were singing a different tune now.

Except Sloan. But Dominik knew Sloan wasn’t leaving because he’d lost faith in the team. He was leaving because he needed to regain the control he’d lost. Over his career and his personal life. The man wasn’t known for his patience, though it had improved over the years. He wouldn’t let an injury hold him back.

Or another man.

“Do you know why I worked so hard to acquire this team, Mason?”

Dominik frowned. What kind of question is that? “Honestly? You’re a rich man. There aren’t many other teams for sale. I assumed you wanted to own one badly enough you took what you could get. Even if the team fails here, there are other places you could move it to where it would thrive.”

Keane nodded. Chuckled. “Mr. Richter told me you don’t pull any punches, so I appreciate your tact. But there are plenty of teams for sale. I wanted the Cobras, and I’ve been making offers to the Delgado family for years just to get a piece. Ford Delgado—”

“Kingsley.” Dominik ground his teeth. “The little bastard only took on the name to make his new daddy happy.”

“Legally, he is a Delgado. Which is beside the point.” Keane’s tone lightened with amusement. “He’s not too crazy about ‘you kinky fuckers’ either. But he acted in the best interest of the team. Do you know he asked me if I could handle the alternative lifestyle most of the players are involved in? He seemed quite relieved when I told him not only could I handle it, but I could relate to a majority of the players.”

Rubbing his jaw, Dominik laughed. “Really? So you and your wife like to play?”

“No. I’m not married.” Keane gave Dominik a level look. “But I uncollared my slave of five years months ago. My point is that I understand where you’re coming from.”

Rising slowly, Dominik faced the man. “No disrespect, sir, but if you brought me here to discuss my relationship with Oriana, I’m not interested. As openly ‘kinky’ as the team may be, I value my privacy.”

Keane held up his hands in a calming gesture. “I don’t expect you to. But the team needs stability. I asked Mr. Callahan to come here because he is the team’s captain. The uncertainty in his future creates unrest with the men. That is no longer an issue. He is leaving—all that remains are a few contracts to be signed.” His eyes darkened. “I need to know if you are staying. If you are, I’d appreciate your help. The team needs a leader.”

Fuck! Dominik paced away from Keane, then back, shaking his head. “Why me? Ask Richter, or our coach, Tim. I’m the most volatile player on the team. The men expect me to protect them on the ice, to throw my weight around. Not to lead them.” He let out a harsh laugh. “Besides, you have no fucking say in who leads the team.”

“I’ve spoken to both the coach and Richter. Granted, they hadn’t considered you as a suitable captain, but things have changed. They’ve both seen how you handle yourself at the club—”

“The club is not the goddamn ice. I’m not the same man out there.”

“You can be.”

I don’t need this shit! With a few strides, Dominik went up to the window and stared out at the streets below, crowded with cars, tourists, all basking in the blazing summer sun. This place had become home. With Oriana, and Max, and?.?.?. even Sloan. Without them, he had no idea where he belonged. Put him on the ice and he could forget everything else. But now, Keane was asking for more. For renewed dedication in the game, in the team.

He wasn’t sure he had it in him. For the first time, his summer hadn’t been devoted to training, to making himself a better player. He spent every moment he could with Oriana, feeling her slip further and further away from him. His jaw tightened as he blinked against the burning in his eyes. When she’d gone with Sloan and Max to visit Sloan’s father, he’d declined the invitation to join them and headed down to Chicago to visit his mother, spend some time with his sister and his brothers. His mother knew something was wrong. She’d asked him why he hadn’t brought his “sweet girl” with him.

All his life, he’d confided in his mother. There wasn’t much about him she didn’t know. But he couldn’t bring himself to say it out loud.

He’d lost his sweet girl to another man.

There wasn’t much left for him besides the game. Keane was giving him an opportunity to focus entirely on the team. Not the imposition it first seemed. Maybe a blessing in disguise.

“I’ll do it.” He kept his back to Keane as he spoke, needing a few moments to compose himself. Accepting the position brought him one step closer to saying goodbye to Oriana. But it was a step he had to take. “Tell me what you need from me. I hope you’ve got a fucking list because I need the distraction.”

Keane stepped up beside him. “I need to ask you to do something rather?.?.?. unconventional for me. But I think you’re up to it.”

“Go on.”

“The Ice Girls are a hit. They’ve kept the spotlight on the team, even after the season ended. But the most talented girl has certain?.?.?. issues. Issues that distract from her abilities.”

“Is she a sub?” Dominik pressed his lips together, not sure he could stomach being involved with a woman, even if it was good for the team. But why else would Keane ask?

“She may be. However, that is irrelevant.” Keane’s lips curved at the edges when Dominik glanced over at him, confused. “I’m no matchmaker. Your skills as a Dom will be useful, but she may be a little young for you. Not that I care if you decide to take her on. All I ask is that you help her get past her fear of men.”

Dominik went perfectly still. “Why is she afraid of men?”

“One can only guess. The Ice Girls will be going on a cruise with several of the players. The media will be watching them. I want her on the Ice Girl team, but she won’t make it if she’s so afraid she won’t let cameras catch the beautiful, outgoing woman I know she can be.” Keane went back to his desk. “You are already scheduled for the trip, but I’d like you to work with her beforehand. I can give you suggestions if you’d like?”

“I can manage.” Dominik tugged his suit sleeves straight. “Let me guess. The girl is Akira Hayashi.”

“Yes.”

Cute kid. Shy, but a vision on the ice. She couldn’t be more than twenty. Way too young for Dominik—even though Oriana was only five years older. He recalled the way she’d cringed the last time a male reporter had approached her in a crowded room. Whatever had happened to the girl was serious enough that it affected every aspect of her life. Getting her past that would be a challenge. It would take time. Thankfully, he had plenty of that.

“Leave it to me.” Dominik arched a brow at a timid tap at the door. The girl in question peeked in, her olive green eyes wide. Keane didn’t look all that surprised to see her. Dominik scowled. “You knew I’d agree.”

“I know what kind of man you are,” Keane said under his breath, waving Akira in. “And you need this as much—if not more—than she does.”

“You wanted to see me, sir?” Akira fidgeted with the buttons of her crisp, beige jacket. The way she lowered her gaze brought to mind every natural submissive Dominik had ever met. Yet nothing about her stirred anything besides his protective instincts. The way she hovered near the door, as though ready to run out to something—or someone—who could keep her safe had him crossing the room to stand between her and Keane before his brain could catch up. Being in here alone with Keane, despite the man’s good intentions, was the last thing she needed.

Akira trembled as Dominik approached. The door was still open a crack. Dominik pulled it open all the way, biting back a laugh as he caught sight of Jami Richter, the general manager’s daughter and Akira’s best friend, standing close enough to the door to listen in.

“If you’d like me to deal with the girls, Mr. Keane, then perhaps I should get started.” Dominik gave Jami a slow smile as she skidded backward into the hall. “Your instructions are clear. Please excuse us.”

Keane nodded and took a seat behind his desk, looking over some folders. “Miss Hayashi, I had planned to introduce you to your new sponsor. I’m sure you are aware that several girls have players in that position for either financial or moral support?”

Did they? This was the first Dominik had heard of it. Ice Girls on other teams weren’t so closely involved with the players. Not that the Cobras followed the norm in any way.

“A couple of girls do, sir, but?.?.?.” Akira squared her shoulders. “My parents are quite capable of supporting me. And I just put in an application—”

“I’m sorry, my dear, but you will not have time for a job.” Keane folded his hands on the desk, his tone low and full of compassion. “Akira, your father called me to ask if there was any financial aid available. It is becoming difficult for your parents to pay for you to stay here. You have a bright future with the team. I would fund you myself if it wasn’t a conflict of interest while you are still competing, but since that is not an option, I strongly suggest you accept Mr. Mason’s generous offer.”

“But?.?.?.” Akira blushed and ducked her head. “The other girls got their sponsors because?.?.?. I mean—”

“I expect nothing from you, Akira,” Dominik said, his tone much sharper than intended. Keane obviously planned to fund Akira in his name, but he didn’t need it. And he refused to allow the girl to believe she had to compensate him in any way. The way she paled had him continuing quickly, his voice as calm and gentle as he could manage. “The Ice Girls are important to the team. You are important to the team. That’s the only reason I’m doing this.”

“Thank you, Mr. Mason.” Akira nodded quickly, then moved as though to dash out.

“Not so fast.” Dominik joined her at the door, speaking softly. “We need to talk.”

“About what?” Jami put her hand on Akira’s arm and narrowed her eyes at Dominik. “She said thank you. She appreciates your help, but she’s got training and stuff. As far as I’m concerned, there’s nothing more to talk about.”

Lifting his hand, Dominik brushed Akira’s fine, black hair off her cheek. He took a step back when she winced and let his hand fall to his side. “I disagree.”

“She’ll be fine! Just leave her alone!” Jami placed her hand on his chest and shoved, so much like an angry, spitting kitten he had to fight not to laugh. It was sweet that she wanted to protect her friend.

But not very helpful.

Dominik latched on to Jami’s wrist and leaned down to whisper in her ear, the short strands of her spiky blue hair soft against the side of his face. “Sebastian asked me to watch over you while he stayed in Spain with Luke. I’ll be careful with her. I won’t push her too far. But you?.?.?.” He pressed a light kiss on her pale cheek. “Do. Not. Test. Me.”

She gulped audibly, fisting her hands by her sides. “Sebastian wouldn’t—”

Dominik kept an eye on Akira, who looked torn between making a run for it and staying to protect her friend. “He wouldn’t what, Jami?”

Jami glanced over at Akira, then sighed. “Never mind.”

So Sebastian had spoken to her. Had likely told her to stay away from the club. To behave herself. Dominik knew Sebastian had asked Jami to remain in Spain with him and Carter and had only given in when she insisted Akira needed her. But he’d made sure Jami would feel his presence through Dominik. He trusted Dominik to respect his limits. Not that he would sleep with Jami even if it had been permitted. He’d known the girl since she was little more than a child. But discipline didn’t have to be sexual, and he had no problem taking her over his knee if she needed it.

Between Sebastian and Keane, Dominik had been given plenty to distract him. Which was good. Maybe it would be easier to say goodbye to Oriana when the time came. When he held her at the airport and did his best to let her go with no regrets.

“Sir?” Akira skirted up to his side as he made his way to the elevator, surprising him by touching his forearm, her tiny hand looking even smaller with the contrast of her light olive skin against his dark flesh. He turned and nodded. She drew in a sharp breath. “I’m still not sure why you’re doing this. And?.?.?. I’m not sure I’m comfortable taking your money or anything else while giving nothing in return. It’s not much, but?.?.?. I can tell something’s bothering you. You can talk to me if?.?.?. if you want.”

She was adorable. Scared to death of him, but braving her fears to reach out. He put his hand over hers, smiling when she made an obvious effort not to pull away.

“That means a lot to me, Akira. And I may take you up on your offer.” He squared his shoulders. “But for now, this is all about you.”