No siree.
“Are you serious?”
My eyes snapped to Sarina’s. “What?” I asked sheepishly.
“That’s what I thought.” She smiled and shook her head. “You weren’t listening to a word I said. Did you want to go grab the pretzel and cheese dip you’ve been talking about all day? If we go before the break, we’ll bypass most of the crowds.”
“Works for me.” I slid off the chair as Abram draped his arm around Sarina’s shoulders, guiding her through his personal party. I followed quickly behind, noticing how much he was relishing the thank-yous from all the people he invited to this event.
As we exited the field through a corridor, I thought back to player 11. He wasn’t a Seattle player. He played for whomever Seattle was playing against, and I suddenly realized I didn’t even know what team that was.
What a horrible fan I’d be. . . or a one-night stand. I wouldn’t even know his name or be able to gush about his team when luring him in. I held in a chuckle and picked up the ticket looped around my neck, North Carolina Hurricanes. I’d always thought it would be fun to visit there though, but not necessarily during a hurricane.
“Isn’t it odd to name your team after a natural disaster?” I asked Sarina.
She tilted her head and studied me as if my question was insane.
“The Hurricanes aren’t the only team like that,” Abram informed me as we stood in line.
“Yeah? What’s the other? Tropical Storm Georgia or Oklahoma Tornadoes?”
“San Jose Earthquakes, actually.” He nodded, tipping back on his heels.
I shuddered. “I’d never want to be in an earthquake.”
“You’ve never felt one?” Sarina asked. “It’s quite a ride.”
“Nope and I’d like to keep it that way.” I smiled and glanced at Abram. “When you said you had tickets to the game, I didn’t think you meant on the field, so thank you for including me. It’s definitely an amazing way to experience my first soccer game and my last night in Seattle.”
“Absolutely.” Abram nodded and walked up to the cashier, ordering a slice of pizza.
Never mind that we had a table full of delicacies waiting for us. Apparently, we all craved the junk food and stale beer stadiums offered in addition to the calamari and steak salad waiting for us.
“So is this a day in the life of Sarina?” I whispered.
“It is now.” She stuck out her tongue and I chuckled. She was exactly the Sarina I knew and loved from college.
Even though distance made our relationship change from constant companion to mostly phone and texts, I still counted her as one of my closest friends.
The cashier motioned for me, and I quickly made my way up to the steel counter and ordered a pretzel with extra cheese and their domestic beer.
But then the worst thing happened just as I stepped away from the counter with everything falling from my hands.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” I muttered, setting my beer down the counter quickly as Sarina and Abram jumped back in unison to avoid the cheese sauce and pretzel I’d just dumped on the concrete stadium floor.
“I’ve never seen a pretzel do a front aerial flip before,” Abram said laughing, right before he took a bite of his pizza.
They both moved out of the way so the cashier could help the next person in line, while I bent over and tried to clean up the yellow goo that resembled liquid plastic more than cheese.
“I’ve never known a man to know gymnastic moves that well, but I bet it’s the last time you two take me anywhere when I’m in town.”
“Not even in the slightest.” Sarina patted my shoulder as I rolled my napkin and lifted the pretzel out of the yellow goop.
“Can you grab my beer off the counter so I can toss this out?” I waved my pretzel at her and she nodded.
“As long as I don’t have to touch that mess, I’ll do anything. Do you want me to get you another one?”
“After seeing how this coagulated, I’d say no.” I chuckled, making my way to the trash, which luckily was right by the restroom. “I’ll be right back. I want to wash my hands and then I’ll swear we’ll get back to the game or is it called a match?”
“It all works.” Abram winked. “We’ll be waiting.”
I quickly rinsed my hands and turned to see a group of giggling women make their way to the stalls opposite me.
“If Blake Volkov lifts his shirt one more time to wipe the sweat off his face, I swear I’m going to jump over the wall and do it for him,” the bubbly brunette said, walking into a stall and locking it behind her.
“I’d fight you for him. Can you imagine what he’s like—” another one began.
“I do imagine it. Every. Single. Night,” the brunette cut her off. “I’m about to lose it just thinking about it.”
I held in a chuckle and dried off my hands.
I had a funny suspicion they were referring to the blue-eyed wonder on the field.
So it wasn’t just me who he cast a spell on.
By the time I reached Sarina and Abram, I must have had an incredibly goofy look on my face because Sarina rolled her eyes and shoved my beer back in my hands.
“What’s that about?” Sarina asked.
“Is number 11 by any chance Blake Volkov?”
“Oh, now you take an interest in players’ names.” She giggled as we worked our way through the crowd.
“So is it?” I asked again.
“Yeah, that’s him.” She laced her fingers through Abram’s as we showed our credentials to the ushers and walked back onto the field.
The bright lights of the stadium made me squint slightly, and a chill ran through me, so I tugged on my newly purchased blue and green scarf.
“He’s a complete showboat,” Abram informed me, but a wicked smile spread across his lips. “But that’ll all change soon enough.”
The way he said it, sent a deeply unsettling thought into me.
“How come?” I asked, winding through the tables.
I glanced at the field and saw a couple of players sprinting toward the keeper at our end.
Abram shoved his mouth into a pucker as he sat down. “No particular reason other than the cocky midfielder will age out soon.” He coughed as I sat down. “If an injury doesn’t boot him out quicker.”
“That’s what Blake is? A midfielder?” I asked, noticing Abram’s demeanor changing rapidly. He looked agitated and glanced at the field clock before locking his eyes on mine.
“Yeah. That’s exactly what Volkov is.” A smirk rested behind his features, but I noticed his jaw tensed when a buzzer echoed into the air.
The stadium quickly cleared out as people went to get their beer and snack refills. Music blasted as the shouting fans exited, and I searched the field for Blake. He’d already left with the rest of the team.
Not that it mattered.
“Looking for someone?” Sarina teased.
“Not even.”
“Then why’d you just turn red?”
I rolled my eyes and took a bite of the steak salad that I still had in front of me. It was better for me than the pretzel and cheese sauce anyway.
“So is this like a halftime?” I asked, taking another bite of salad.
“It’s only fifteen minutes. Actually, I think there’s only twelve minutes with the injury time they added on,” Abram said, busily texting someone. I was surprised he was getting any service. My phone was so slow in the stadium I gave up trying.
I nodded.
“Looks like lover boy is coming back out,” Sarina said, pointing and standing up.
I smacked her finger down because with these seats, player 11 would literally be able to see us ogling.
I felt bad for caring just because a player was cute. I wasn’t usually that kind of person, but I also wasn’t a soccer person. Actually, I wasn’t into sports in general, so whatever it took to stay awake I’d fully embrace. If a good-looking player at eye level made me appear interested, so be it.
>
Sarina took a seat as a loud boom echoed into the stadium, signaling the second half was starting again, and the crowd went wild.
“Now for the good stuff.” Abram laughed, throwing his head back.
A knot formed in the bottom of my stomach for absolutely no reason.
I looked over at my friend to see if she noticed anything, which she apparently hadn’t, and I forced myself to get over it.
I took in a deep breath. This was precisely what happened when I spent three days straight discussing character traits and behaviors. A person could only be so mindful before going a little nuts, and I suddenly felt on the verge for thinking such thoughts.
Until Abram shot up from his seat and stared at the field.
I watched Abram, trading glances between his phone and the field. The energy rolling off him didn’t match the festive mood of the stadium. He was on edge, and he nervously tapped his index finger on his pants all while staying keenly aware of his surroundings. He was definitely waiting for something.
I took in a deep breath and forced myself to get a grip. Not everything had to be laced with diabolical intent. Not all men were like the ones I’d worked with. They didn’t all need to be analyzed.
Sarina cheered, and my gaze fell to the field in front of us where Blake and the blond player from before seemed to be juggling the ball back and forth. I watched the blond kick it away before a different player kicked it back when Blake intercepted the ball. Everything was fine. I was enjoying my first soccer game with friends.
And that was when it happened. The blond swiped at Blake’s leg and I heard it.
A crack.
The bone poked through Blake’s flesh, and my heart sank, watching Blake and his livelihood slump to the ground in agonizing pain.
I stood up and ran to the low fence separating our area from the field. Abram came up beside me, his eyes as fidgety as his fingers.
The stadium remained silent as Abram looked at me and then back to the unfolding scene. He glanced over his left shoulder into the crowd, giving a slight nod, before turning his attention back to the field.
Medics and teammates from both sides swarmed a writhing Blake Volkov, and my heart hurt for him. Deep crimson had spread onto the field, and my body began trembling from the sight.
I felt hollow, but I couldn’t look away. I was watching a man who was experiencing a pain that would have most screaming in agony, but not player 11. The writhing motion slowed, and his expression remained stoic and determined to get through whatever was before him.
The blond player had backed away and fallen to his knees, digging his hands into his long hair, looking shocked and horrified at what he’d just done.
But it was an accident.
I closed my eyes and said a little prayer for the man on the field. He was strong and unwilling to let others see the pain inside him. I recognized the ability to pretend the hurt wasn’t as bad as it looked to outsiders.
I opened my eyes to a deathly silent stadium as the medics rolled player 11 onto a stretcher. My eyes connected with Blake’s, and what I saw scared me more than the accident.
Desperation and sadness overrode whatever pain Blake was in. I swallowed back the tears that my profession so easily produced as I put myself in player 11’s shoes.
“My gawd. That was awful,” Sarina said, coming up behind me. “If that doesn’t give you nightmares on the plane ride back. . .”
I shivered and nodded slowly, watching Blake being hauled off the field.
Abram’s phone buzzed, and I glanced at a text that came over his screen.
Mission Accomplished. Nice work.
My body stiffened as Abram’s cold, brown eyes met mine, and I knew Abram Vasiliev was behind whatever just went down.
Have you read about Luke and Hannah? If not, check out Hidden Sins (Luke Fletcher #1) and be prepared to fall in love with Mia’s brother, Luke Fletcher!
Keep reading for a look at Hidden Sins. . .
Chapter One
Hannah
I let out a sigh as I sat in the dusty, blue truck that had miraculously managed to make it across the country. Between the funny interior smell, the engine knocking at speeds over fifty miles-per-hour, and the tricky method for locking the driver’s door, I hadn’t even been sure I’d actually make it out of my hometown. I found a ’99 GMC Sonoma for only eight hundred dollars, and I bought my way out of a life that wasn’t my own. Or at least, I hoped I had. Only time would tell. I turned off the radio and watched a family wander into the Starbucks. My chest tightened as I thought about who I’d left behind. But it had to be done. I couldn’t second-guess my decisions now. There was no turning back.
I grabbed my wallet and slid out of the truck, feeling the warm California air kiss my skin as I slowly walked across the parking lot toward the coffee shop. I wasn’t used to temperatures like this in March, but I was certain I’d quickly learn to love the weather. From what I’d read, Southern California skipped over the entire winter season, which sounded perfect to me. New England winters were brutal and long—really long.
My stomach growled as I pulled the door open and smelled the aroma of coffee and pastries waft through the air. I hadn’t eaten anything since the night before and desperately wanted a big cup of coffee. I’d tried not to spend much money on the long road trip in case I needed any extra cash for emergencies. Lucky for me, I’d made it to my destination without one hiccup and could splurge on a measly cup of coffee.
Yay me!
The family from outside was still in front of me, placing their order as I stood in line. The mom’s latte order had so many components I lost track. It was no longer just a drink with coffee and milk. I watched her movements carefully, noticing every blonde hair was in place and her suit flawless. She seemed so in her element, and for some reason that made me feel completely out of mine. Her husband was put together just as impeccably, and I found myself running my hands along my sweatshirt to press out the wrinkles that had formed from the countless hours of driving. I was in yesterday’s yoga pants, which were now technically today’s, and my blonde hair desperately needed to be washed so it was piled on top of my head in a clip. I glanced around Starbucks and noticed that the family in front of me wasn’t the anomaly. Everyone looked put together and ready to conquer the world. I was the odd one with tired brown eyes.
There was a brunette in the far corner who wore Hollywood shades, and her khaki capris showed off her model legs. The guy at the next table over looked like he’d just stepped out of the pages of a Men’s Fitness magazine as he intently stared at his iPad. This had to be the best-dressed coffeehouse in America.
“Miss, I can take your order,” the male barista said, as the family walked to the drink counter.
I snapped my head to see a friendly guy about my age, motioning for me to step forward to the counter.
“Oh, sorry,” I said, nearly tripping to the register.
“Take your time.”
“I’d like a large coffee,” I said, smiling.
The guy’s blond hair was shaggy and his blue eyes playful as he grabbed the white cup. “Pike Place or French Roast?” he asked.
“Pike I guess,” I muttered, unzipping my wallet.
“A Venti Pike Place, and can I get your name?”
“Hannah,” I said, feeling a breeze from behind as the door swung open.
A wave of shivers ran across my skin, and I started to laugh at how quickly I became acclimated to the warm weather. The barista wrote my name on the cup and called out my drink as he rang it up.
“Two-eighty,” he said, as I felt someone come up behind me in line.
“Can I add a blueberry scone too?” I handed him my debit card as he nodded.
Taking my card, he quickly added the scone to the order and swiped the debit.
“So how’s your day been?” the barista asked, waiting for the transaction to complete.
“Really good. Yours?” Another wave of goose bumps ran along my body, and I
glanced around, unsure of the source this time. There was no breeze.
“Been great.” His eyes landed on the screen, and I saw his jaw tense as he swiped the card again. “Do you by any chance have another form of payment?”
My heart sank and my body felt like it was on fire. I had no other cards, and there should be plenty of money to cover a scone and coffee.
“Can you try it again?” I barely squeaked out. “Third time’s a charm.”
The barista gave me a sympathetic grin and swiped the card once more.
“Sorry. Same result.” The barista handed the card back as my entire body turned into a hot mess. I was absolutely mortified. It wasn’t like I was trying to buy a television. I just wanted a lousy cup of coffee. And what was worse was that the money in the account needed to get me by until I could find a job in town. So where was the money?
“Umm. I’m sorry. Can you cancel my order,” I whispered. All I wanted to do was run out of the coffee shop and hide in my truck. I wasn’t supposed to meet my roommates for another hour, but maybe they wouldn’t mind if I showed up early.
Just as the barista was about to key in the cancellation, a male voice interrupted my mini-hell of humiliation.
“I’ve got it covered. Technology can be such a pain.” The guy from behind me took a step forward, and a surge of warmth flooded through me. His voice was gravelly, sexy, and didn’t relay a bit of sympathy for my predicament. His immediate dismissal of the crisis at hand actually made me feel immensely better, like this sort of thing happened all the time. And then I felt him, his energy, wrap around me.
He was intense.
“You don’t have to do that,” I said, turning to see the guy take a step next to me, handing the barista his card.
My heart nearly stopped when I saw how good-looking he was. All six-foot-something of him towered next to me and I felt abuzz with delight. He was dressed like everyone else in this mystical coffee house. But on him, the black suit stretched across his shoulders in such a way that I could almost imagine what lay under his jacket. After all, I was in the land of mirages. Men like this didn’t exist in my world. His wavy, dark brown hair framed his chiseled features, and his green eyes were beyond striking as he smiled at me briefly.
Mia: A Standalone Romantic Suspense: A Luke Fletcher and V Mafia Crossover Novel (Luke Fletcher Series Book 4) Page 20
