“Took a bullet or two, medically discharged, created Deamax.”
“What do you mean created?”
“I’m the Dea part of Deamax,” he said. Then he loomed over me and his voice deepened, “I have a very particular set of skills. Skills I have acquired over a very long career. Skills that make me a nightmare for people like you.” My chest tightened and I blinked at him as he snorted a laugh. “Liam Neeson, Taken. I thought we were doing movies.”
I clutched my chest. “Jesus,” I managed, and he was contrite at first, and then he grinned.
“My bad.”
After my heart returned to its normal rhythm, I wanted the conversation back on an even keel.
“Does that mean I’m special because I get the owner of the company?” I waited for more, but he didn’t offer anything else. I was just going to ask him more when my cell vibrated in my pocket. I pulled it out to see Kyle’s name on the screen. “I need to get this,” I said, and waved my phone in front of me before answering. “K.”
“Saw that post dude, what happened?”
“Team prank,” I lied.
“That’s kind of out there for a prank.”
“You know what it can be like.”
I managed to talk a whole lot to Kyle without once mentioning the stalker issue, which was hard because I shared everything with him. By the time I’d finished the call, shooting the shit and swapping ideas for the bachelor event, I was tired. Jason was on his laptop, deep in thought, and even though it was only nine p.m. I was ready to get some sleep.
“Think I might hit the hay,” I announced.
“Cool. Your schedule has you at practice tomorrow. Nine a.m., do you want to leave here at eight?”
“Seven-thirty, and I stop at Martha’s bakery, where I promise not take a photo in case my stalker tracks me down and pelts me with stale cookies.” I waved my hands as if I was panicking.
He shook his head in that way some coaches did when they thought I wasn’t taking things seriously. Of course that didn’t happen often, I hadn’t gotten to where I was by fucking about on the ice. Still, I loved that he was shaking his head as if I was an idiot. That was my happy place, making people smile, and I needed that tonight. He regarded me thoughtfully and I knew that he was going to say something profound about Martha’s or baked goods, or saving my life.
“That is not a good idea,” he said as I expected he would.
“It’s non negotiable,” I stayed as firm as I could.
He huffed irritably. “The bakery is a predictable routine and you need to break that. How about you do something spontaneous instead, keep yourself on the down low. Maybe you could buy your breakfast at a gas station.”
So serious.
I pressed a hand over my heart and fake-gasped. “But how will my followers know which muffin is Martha’s baked product of the day if I don’t post about it?”
He gave me the middle finger then, but he wasn’t pissed at me and there was even the hint of a smile. I went into my bedroom and shut the door, with one thought—that the next few days could end up being fun, if I got Jason to smile again.
Chapter Six
We didn’t go to Martha’s for muffins for four entire days, even though I started to get withdrawal symptoms and kept saying that not going was messing with my game. Some players had lucky pants, or a ritual of fist bumps with a fellow skater, all in the name of good luck. I had the entire process of buying muffins, and that included where I parked, who I spoke to, and what time I went.
Predictable equals unsafe.
I got that Jason was just doing his job, but we’d settled into this uneasy silence where we’d moved from exchanging smiles and had moved to me pushing his buttons and him frowning at me on more than one occasion. This was because after our easygoing first night he’d spent a lot of time telling me what kind of things could hurt me, and how it was his job to not let those things hurt me.
To him it was simple. I stayed inside my apartment and the boogeyman didn’t get me. I think he even resented that we had to go to the arena each day. But that was my job, whether it be for conditioning or practice, not to mention an antsy home game against a snapping Dallas team that had resulted in the biggest amount of penalty minutes in any game so far this season.
It started out normal enough, just a battle for the puck, but then Simba was called on a tripping penalty, and Loki was in on the action accusing the Dallas player, a thick-set Russian called Ivanov, of embellishment.
Everyone paired up to break the fight apart, but when one of the D-Men got a hit in on me, I was ready to drop the gloves and go for the takedown.
Weeks of stress and fear wrapped up in me dropping the Dallas guy in one, leaving him floundering on the ice, with me jumping on top of him. Referees tried to break us apart, but the asshole had my sweater, pulling it up and over my head, trying to drag it off me, and there was no fucking way that was happening.
Anyone watching was going to be absolutely sure that I wasn’t backing down when someone took liberties.
I punched at him, but he’d rolled to one side, and I had to pull the punch at the last minute before I cracked my hand on the damn ice. He took the opportunity, shoving me onto my back as I lost balance, and then Loki was there, dragging the guy off, shouting about Stokesy, our man in net, fronting off against the Dallas goalie.
This was turning into a yard sale, gloves and sticks all over the ice, Loki and the ref pulling the rookie off me, but I wasn’t done.
I had a fucking stalker, and he was making my life a misery and I was fucking done with it all.
I flailed out, catching the ref, Loki grabbing my hand, telling me to stop, and just as the adrenalin began to subside, the damn Dallas player caught my chin, and I felt the pain explode on my face, and tasted blood where a tooth split my lip inside.
Somehow, seeing blood on my hand, lifting my fingers to the cut on my chin, and seeing the scarlet there made me give in.
Flash fire, but as quickly as the fire had started, it stopped, exhausted of the temper and stress I held inside.
Stokesy and the Dallas goalie snapped and snarled at center ice, but fighting in goalie gear is hard at the best of times, and they ended up flailing around, taking it in turns to smack at each other.
Loki stick-tapped my calf, I did the same back, and we headed for the exit. With no time left in this period the penalties would be assessed with us off ice. I knew I was injured, but it had stopped bleeding, and I felt good.
Take that stalker! You fucking asshole. Look what I can fucking do.
“In here, now!” Jason snapped at me, before Coach could get anywhere near me, and dragged me into a room before shutting the door.
Five minutes he shouted at me, and I didn’t think he realized that he was scaring me as much as the stalker was.
“And then you deliberately get into a fight!” he shouted.
“And you’re making me jump at every single fucking thing!” I yelled even louder, because in the skate-sharpening room only the team would hear, and they’d already given me shit about having a bodyguard, and they knew I was pissed.
“You’re an idiot, Howell!”
“You nearly killed that fan waiting by the practice arena door, yesterday—”