WRECKING THE CRUEL HOCKEY GOD

Chapter 15: My Bait

✓Zykiel

"Gunner, you need to rethink your f*****g plans." Decks speaks, brushing his greyed out beard.

I sit up from the leather sofa, leaning forward so my girl doesn't catch the details from beside me.

"I've done enough rethinking, Decks. I'm moving with my plans."

Decks shifts closer opposite me, dipping his voice. "Listen to me, Zykiel. The Boss is happy. You and your team are making filthy bank off these underground matches, and your channel is printing tax money for us every single day. If you decide to make your team Pro level..."

"The Boss gets his cut because that was our deal when he sorted things for me two years ago. But my boys don't sweat on this ice just to stay a secret for long. I'm taking them Pro because they deserve it."

"You're ruining your plans, kid!"

I almost laugh at that. Twelve years older than me and he thinks that gets him the right to call me kid.

"Listen to me," he continues, looking around my club like he's scared of being seen.

"You keep bringing those cocky Pro teams in here, keep taking their millions with the bets. As long as you stay low and keep crushing their egos, it’s clean business. Nobody asks questions."

"My boys have proved they can beat any team out there. I'm done keeping them as underground savages."

"Going pro means light, Gunner! It means the sports media, federal checks, and police looking into where your money came from!"

"Let them look. I own every piece of this building, and I clean my own house."

"Gunner! You're not listening!" He grunts, almost snapping at me.

"You go back into the Pro spotlight, and the same bastard who stripped your career will be waiting to sniff the details of your comeback. What if they find dirt on you again?"

My chest heavy-thumps once at the word. Bastard.

Yeah, that's the story I sold to Decks and his boss two years ago.

After Mara wrecked my career, I needed money for Simone's treatment and enough cash to build a brand-new team.

'A bastard destroyed my name.' That's the lie I f*****g sold them.

How do I explain to Decks that the bastard is in fact a tiny, curly-haired reporter who can't pay her rent, has a loud mouth, and is busy throwing spaghetti at people in my party.

"I'm handling the bastard, Decks. He won't know how to use a laptop by the time I'm done with him."

"You’re playing the wrong game, Gunner. If you move with it, you’ll drag all our asses into a media scandal."

I rest my back on the sofa, taking a second to actually rethink his words.

His Boss saved my ass two years ago, and I pay his illegal casino syndicate two million bucks every three months without failing.

But my boys aren't underground animals. If they can beat the Pro hockey team in an unmonitored underground bet, then they deserve a real shot at the Pro league, and nobody takes that away from them.

Mikael shows up at the edge of the section, bringing Garrett through the crowd.

My mood turns easy. I tip my head toward Decks, who’s pulling out his second cigar. "You need to move, old man. Business is here."

Decks stands, pulling his black hoodie up to cover his face.

"Take that door," I say, pointing toward the private exit behind my couch.

He stops beside me, then pats my shoulder. "Think about it, Gunner. We'll finish this discussion when you find time."

"Yeah, yeah."

My men opens the back exit for Decks, while Mikael brings Garret straight up to my table.

The bastard marches to my face with a puffed out chest. Seems he's ready to start a riot.

"Look what dragged itself up my stairs," I tease, setting my glass down. "The f**k are you doing with your friend when she clearly broke my house rules, Garrett?"

"I'm just trying to figure out how you survive playing games with people's lives, Gunner, without thinking the consequences," he retorts, eyes aimed straight at mine with some fight.

"I sit here fine. In my house. You got problems with my ways buddy?"

"Oh, I’ve got zero problems with you, Gunner. Now tell me why the f**k I'm here!" He wrenches his arms out of Mikael's grip.

"Your friend broke my rules. And what were you doing? Comforting her?"

"She didn't break s**t! Eve threw a drink in her face! What was she supposed to do? Roll her eyes and let it slide?"

"She was supposed to keep her hands to herself. Just like you're supposed to keep your mouth shut right now."

"You're sick, Gunner. I've been dying to tell you that. And you know what else? f**k your rules. Nobody gives a s**t about them."

I sit back and take a loud, bored sigh. I don't get why four-eyes here thinks he's a big deal for me, but at least keeping him here serves me long enough to isolate Mara.

Garrett shifts his shoulder, still fuming like I called him here for a fight. "Are you done now? I'd like to go join my friend."

The red light suddenly catches a metal circle on his sweater pocket. It’s tiny, black, and way too shiny to be a normal plastic button.

The actual f**k? This i***t brought a hidden lens to my party?

I leave my drink on the glass table and stand. Giving him zero time to take a step back, I reach for the chip and snatch it out of his cloth, almost tearing the fabric.

It falls into my palms and I pick it up, inspecting it. Can't help the shitty, amused smile taking over my face.

Thanks to Mara Kensley, I've handled enough of these little things lately to spot one when I see it.

Garrett's face is white. Eyes moving from the chip to my face while he swallows a large amount of the words he was still shooting out.

"That's… I didn't…" He shakes his head, stumbling over words that aren't forming a reasonable lie.

I turn my head toward my men by the door. "Throw this i***t out of my party."

The big guys are already moving before I'm done talking, one dragging his clothes and the other grabbing his pants.

"I didn't know I had it! Wait, just let me explain!" He yells, fighting, twisting against their big hands.

"s**t, I'm sorry, Gunner. It won't happen again. I swear it won't…"

I look at his pathetic, sweat-soaked face and give an unfazed laugh.

I sit back down, glancing sideways at Cleo, who's still got my leftover cigar between two fingers, smoke dancing out of her lips.

"Let me have that, baby."

She passes it over without a word, eyes half-closed, watching us with mild interest.

I drop the little chip on the glass, press the glowing end of the cigar straight into it, and hold it there.

The plastic bubbles and blackens.

"You can't do that! I paid eighty bucks for that s**t!" Garrett pleads, trying to pull away from the guards.

"Your stupid mistake could cost me eighty grand, Garrett. Want to pay that instead?"

He shuts his mouth, staring at his ruined camera on the table.

I love that red-hot anger on his face, but I’d love it more if it were Mara instead. Tonight is getting good, I can't wait to have my fun with that one.

"Throw him out," I tell my men, while still melting his chip.

They drag him backward toward the stairs, despite his fights.

"It's the middle of the night!" Garrett screams, his sneakers squeaking against the floor. "You can't just throw me out! I don't have my phone! You fucker!"

They keep moving him down the steps and I signal to the one manning the entrance. He leans down near my face.

"Tell the men I don't care about the buddy. I want Mara. Make sure she sees them dragging his pants."

He affirms with a nod. "Got it,” then heads down the stairs just after them.

I pick up my vodka, swishing the ice cubes against the glass.

Either Garrett ends up sleeping outside on the pavement or Mara rages up these stairs to save her precious little friend.

I take a sip, eyes fixed on the stairs, waiting for my bait to work.