“All right, but please be careful.” Jami came up behind her, speaking quietly. “I don’t want to see you get hurt.”
Damn it, she couldn’t be mad at Jami about this. Jami was blind where Ford was concerned, and she was just being a good friend. Akira turned and pulled Jami in for a hug. “I’ll be careful. And . . . I think Cort expected me to find out a bit about his past. Enough for me to want to stay away from him.”
“You’re not going to though, are you?” The short blue strands of Jami’s hair tickled Akira’s neck as she shook her head. “He got to you. You’d already decided to see him again.”
“Yes. I don’t know what it is, but I can’t stop thinking about him.” Akira took a deep breath. “What he did for you makes him seem better, not worse.”
“He killed a man, Akira. He didn’t even hesitate.”
Akira’s lips slanted slightly in a tight smile. She patted Jami’s cheek. “I wouldn’t have either.”
* * * *
The scent of leather as he crossed the threshold to the Blades and Ice BDSM club made Cort smile. Country music played low in the background—a little off in this setting, but whatever. The place was pretty empty. He paused by the coat check, looking over the tiny woman wearing nothing but a strip of what looked like duct tape over her breasts and pubic area. She didn’t meet his eyes as she took his leather jacket. Interesting.
“I need to talk to some guy named Dominik. He here?” Cort asked. He’d left Ford under the watchful eye of his new bouncer, Cam—Dominik’s brother, actually. The man had been damn pissed that Ford hadn’t called him because he “didn’t want to cut Cam’s time with his family short.” Cort liked the guy already. He was the one who’d suggested coming here to talk to Dominik about how much Ford’s sisters needed to know.
And whether or not Cort really needed to take over Ford’s management position with the team. Cort secretly hoped Dominik would say no.
“He’s right back there. With Cheryl.”
Cort looked to where she pointed and cursed under his breath. He rarely forgot a face. Never after he pulled a gun on someone.
In the far corner of the bar, the big, black man had a large, leather flogger in his hand and was using it to redden the shapely ass of a woman strapped to a high, padded bench. Cort’s first instinct was to go over there and protect the woman, but he hadn’t been living under a fucking rock. This shit got some people off, and the woman was making some happy noises every time the leather licked her flesh. Dominik Mason, who’d come to Ford’s bar once with Silver, was shirtless, his skin glistening with sweat. Big guy, built a lot like Cort, which was why Cort hadn’t hesitated to draw his piece when the man had gotten too close to Ford.
A fistfight would have been a lot more fun, but Cort didn’t fuck around when it came to Ford. He’d been paid to protect the kid once. He still considered it his job to protect the man.
More than a fucking job. No one fucks with my boy.
Setting the past aside—he hoped Dominik would as well—Cort took a minute to take in the twisted decor. Lots of chains and crosses and whips lining the walls. Some stuff he didn’t even wanna think about being used on another human being. The cages made him grind his teeth. No fucking way he could see being locked up as erotic.
He inhaled slowly through his nose, drawing in the familiar smell of leather again. Reminded him of his dad’s bars. Got him nice and calm, because that’s how he had to be around the bikers. His dad wouldn’t put up with Cort losing his shit over a trigger like a cage. He could almost feel Sutter’s grip on his arm, painfully tight, a subtle warning that he expected better from his son.
I’m good. Let’s get this bullshit over with.
He would’ve thought a place like this would be closed on a Tuesday, but Cam had told Cort his brother was training a nurse as a submissive and had the club opened different nights to accommodate her schedule. Decent of him. Cort had a feeling he’d like the guy from the little his brother had said about him.
Too bad they’d gotten off to a really rocky start. Maybe the guy would understand if Cort was straight with him. He looked back at the coat check girl. “Should I be bugging him while he’s doing that?”
“Ah . . .” She blushed, glancing up at him quickly as she shook her head. “Not unless it’s important. I’m sorry, I’m new at this. Master Dominik will play with me later, but he asked me to watch the door in case any of the other guys came in. As you can see, none did. They lost against the Sabres. Never a good thing.”
Yeah. Whatever. He didn’t really give a shit who the Cobras lost to. The Red Wings were doing just fine, and his home team was the only one he ever rooted for. But the man might be in a mood, which could be an issue.
He didn’t want to interrupt, but . . . fuck, Ford was in the hospital. He needed his sisters. Or, at least one of them.
Dominik could get his goddamn freak on later.
There was no reason to be a jerk about it though, so Cort crossed the room, moving to a spot where Dominik could see him, but Cheryl wouldn’t. He leaned again a large, polished wood X with his arms folded over his chest. And waited.
Not for long. Dominik stiffened as he noticed Cort. His grip tightened on the flogger. His eyes narrowed and he glanced toward the front of the club. “Katie, please come help me with Cheryl.” He stroked the curvy woman’s back, then bent down to kiss her cheek, giving her his full attention, which Cort thought was pretty damn decent. “How are you feeling, pet? Can you sit with Katie for a bit while I take care of something?”
“Yes, Sir.” The woman let out a soft, blissful sigh. “I feel wonderful. Thank you, Sir. I will wait for you if you want to give me more.”
Dominik chuckled. “I’m sure you will.” He undid her restraints. “There’s my good girl. Up with you.”
Ignoring Cort, Dominik helped the naked woman settle on a big, circular chair with the coat check girl, Katie. Only once both women were comfortable did he acknowledge Cort. He nodded toward a short hall with several doors and small windows.
Cort followed him into one, not taking his eyes off the heavy flogger still held tight in the black man’s fist. He closed the door behind him. No need for the women to be disturbed if things got violent.
“So . . . care to tell me why you’re here?” Dominik eyed Cort as he laid the flogger on what looked like a teacher’s desk. The room had a blackboard on the wall and three old-fashioned desks, with chairs attached, in front of the big one.
For some reason, the setup made him think of his tiny in a cute little schoolgirl outfit, sitting at one of those desks while he paced in front of her, playing the tough teacher. Fuck, he’d never done any role-playing shit, but he suddenly wanted to.
Focus, Cort. Cort tore his gaze away from the desks and met Dominik’s eyes. “I talked to your brother. Cam told me you’d be here. And that I should talk to you about contacting the Delgado sisters.”
Lips in a hard, thin line, Dominik took a step forward. “About what exactly?”
“Their brother. Ford’s in the hospital. Kingsley had him beaten.”
“Jesus.” Dominik took a deep breath. “Why? How bad is it?”
Cracking his knuckles, the image of how Ford looked in that hospital bed flashing behind his eyelids, Cort did his best to keep his tone level. “Can’t give you details yet. But pretty bad. They kept him in because he was pissing blood. He looks like shit. With Silver’s condition, it probably wouldn’t be good for her to see him like that. Part of the reason I came to you first.”
Dominik nodded slowly. “He needs Oriana.”
Man doesn’t need a paint-by-number. Good. “Yeah.”
“I’ve gotta say, I’m a little surprised you cared about protecting Silver, but maybe I shouldn’t be.” Dominik rested his hip against the side of the big desk. “You’re Ford’s man. She wasn’t a threat to him, but I was. Did you bring a gun here?”
Cort had a feeling the man already knew the answer. But he gave it anyway. “No. Don’t ne
ed it. You want a go at me, that’s fine. I’ll try not to hurt you.”
Laughing, Dominik looked him over. “Not saying you could, but why try not to?”
“My boy loves his family. The team’s all wrapped up with the Delgados, so messing up one of their players would probably be bad.” Cort studied Dominik, realizing he was vaguely familiar. And not just from the time he’d held a gun on him. “You play defense?”
“Yeah. You watch hockey?”
“Sometimes.”
“Which team?”
“Detroit.”
“All right, no accounting for taste.” Dominik grinned, standing and hooking his thumbs to the pockets of his leather pants. “I’ll talk to Richter about Silver. And give Oriana a call—she’s still in Calgary, but I know she’ll come. Thanks for letting me know about this first. Ford didn’t want to tell anyone, did he?”
“No.” Cort scowled. If Ford wasn’t already laid low, he’d be tempted to kick the kid’s ass himself. “Your brother’s pissed that Ford didn’t call him. And I’m not too fucking happy that I was only called in for the bar and the goddamn team.”
“The team?” Dominik’s brow shot up. The desk creaked as he pushed away from it, but it didn’t move. Apparently it was bolted to the floor. Dominik’s tone became dangerously low. “Why would you have anything to do with the team?”
Cort shrugged. “Well, Ford’s a manager. Not sure how important a part he plays, but I’ll step in if I really need to. And I’m good to have around if Kingsley decides to start putting pressure on the new owner or the Delgados.”
“Yeah, I can see that . . .” Dominik’s jaw ticked. “Like I said, I’ll talk to Richter. The GM.”
“Got it.” Cort inclined his head at the other man, then turned to leave.
“Hey . . . I didn’t get your name,” Dominik said as Cort’s hand touched the doorknob.
“It’s Cort. Cortland Nash.” Cort glanced back at Dominik, giving him a half-smile. “Should probably apologize for pulling a gun on you.”
“That’s in the past.” Dominik made a vague gesture at the room. “Like what you see here?”
Cort shrugged, not wanting to seem too interested. He was still processing the whole flogger thing. “Still deciding.”
Dominik nodded. “Well, let me know. Since you’re gonna be around, I wouldn’t mind showing you the ropes.”
Yeah, the man was pretty cool. Cort was glad he hadn’t shot him. He grinned, looking back at the desk. Never been interested in this stuff before, but something about the kinky shit he’d seen so far . . . he inclined his head.
“I might take you up on that.”
Chapter Four
“Thanks for calling, Dominik. Yeah, I’ll talk to her. No . . . calling me was better. This is gonna be rough either way, but I might could smooth things over a little.”
Max Perron finished up his conversation with Dominik, then put his almost dead phone back on the charger. Both Oriana and Sloan were watching him across the dinner table, but he couldn’t look at them. Not yet.
And he couldn’t sit still much longer either. He rose, tucking his chair back under the table after he stepped away, then went to the fridge for a beer. He held two up, finally meeting the steady gaze of his wife and his best friend. He brought the beers to the table when they both nodded.
Then he cleared his throat. “We’re going home.”
“You’re fucking kidding me.” Sloan gnashed his teeth audibly, shoving away from the table to stand. “Just like that? Fuck, Max! You know I can’t just take off. Some of us have a job.”
Oriana covered her mouth with her hand, paling. “Sloan, please don’t—”
“It’s okay, sugar. I know how Sloan feels about me not signing with the Flames.” Max rolled his shoulders, leaning the one he’d messed up in a rodeo over the summer casually against the fridge. He knew it would piss Sloan off to see him all calm, but the man could suck it up. This went beyond what Sloan wanted. “I’m healed. And we’re needed in Dartmouth.”
“Because you still want to play for them?” Sloan pressed his eyes shut and tipped his head toward the ceiling. “You couldn’t have said so months ago?”
Max shook his head. “No. This is what you wanted. And what Oriana needed at the time. But now her—”
“Bullshit! Are you trying to tell me you were good with how things were? You put her through all this just to change your mind?”
Well, fuck. You really aim to go there, pal? Max crossed the room in three long strides. “I didn’t put her through anything. None of y’all asked me what I wanted. I came here for her. I gave her the choice I don’t reckon you could’ve.” Damn it, his accent was getting thick. This kept up and neither Sloan nor Oriana would be able to make out much of what he was saying. And they needed to understand every goddamn word. “While you and Dominik were playing tug-of-war with my wife, I was trying to be the man she needed me to be.” His jaw hardened. “I didn’t want to leave my fucking team!”
“Max, sweetie, we could have stayed. I would have . . .” Oriana came to his side, tears in her eyes as he took her in his arms. “All you had to do was tell me.”
“You had to get away from there, love.” He kissed her forehead. “It wasn’t Dominik. It wasn’t even just how badly things were going between the four of us. I couldn’t stand to see how much power your father still had to hurt you. But that doesn’t matter anymore. It’s Ford who needs you now.”
“Ford?” Oriana swallowed hard. “Is he okay?”
“I don’t know. He’s no better than Silver in telling everyone he doesn’t need anyone. But Silver has Dean and Landon. And the team. Ford has no one but the people who work for him.” Max hated that his words put pain and regret in Oriana’s eyes, but he couldn’t sugarcoat this. “I can’t tell you what to do, Oriana. I couldn’t before either, but I will tell you what I’ve seen with you here. You’ve lost your love of the game. You’re in school, and that’s awesome, but . . . you could go to school anywhere. I saw how hard it was for you to leave your sister the last time you visited. I know you want to make peace with your father, and—”
“And Ford needs me.” Oriana pressed her forehead against his chest. “Max, I want to go home.”
“So do I.” Max met Sloan’s hard eyes. “What about you? You gonna stick with this team? They just sold to a new owner. He won’t keep you on. And they ain’t making the Cup, no matter how hard you work them.”
“You think I don’t know that?” Sloan rubbed his temples, then shook his head and went back to the table to grab his beer. But he didn’t sit as he finished it. “The thing is, I can’t play, Max. And I can’t just quit. Being a coach is the only shot I’ve got at being part of the game.”
Oriana groaned. “Damn it, I can’t do this again. I’m not choosing between you.” She lifted her head. “Yes, you’re my husband, Max. But I love Sloan, too. And I won’t—”
“I’m not asking you to.” Max pressed a finger to Oriana’s lips, then kissed her nose. “Our man will be unemployed soon. Then he’ll come home and we can take care of him while he’s bitchin’ about ‘the ol’ days.’”
“Yeah, fuck you, Max.” Sloan walked over to the window, pressing his fist to the windowsill, rocking his knuckles over the chipped, white paint as he nodded. “You’re probably right, though. About me ending up unemployed. If that happens, I’ll go work with my dad.”
“Then I’ll never see you!” Oriana pulled away from Max and approached the table. “You could be an assistant coach for the Cobras. I’ll talk to Richter.”
“No thanks.” Sloan inclined his head as Max brought him another beer. His brows drew together. “They won’t welcome me back now. I doubt they’ll be happy to see you either, Max. The Cobras have had a pretty crappy season.”
Max frowned. “And this is somehow my fault?”
“Yes!” both Sloan and Oriana exclaimed before laughing.
Real funny. “Reckon I’m missing somethin’.”
“They didn’t call you ‘The Catalyst’ for nothing, man. Lots of strong personalities on that team. You knew how to handle us.” Sloan rubbed the back of his neck, his expression showing he knew he was one of the men Max knew how to “handle.” “Tim is phenomenal. I love the man, but he’s not on the ice when egos start getting in the way.”
“But you don’t think they’ll welcome me back with open arms?” Max couldn’t see them doing anything else. They all understood why he’d left . . .
Didn’t they?
“Max, Sloan is right.” Oriana rubbed his arms. “They won’t be all warm and fuzzy. And the press will have a field day with how you shafted the Flames.” She took a deep breath. “You still want to go? I will either way, but I can leave and come back and—”
Well, ya ever find yourself in a hole, best thing to do is stop diggin’. Max was still pretty damn sure the men would be happy to have him back on the ice, but Sloan and Oriana would have to see it to believe it. So he shook his head and grinned. “No need, darlin’. We’re both going. Sloan will come along shortly.”
“And what if I can’t?” Sloan tipped his beer to his lips. Went still, then inhaled noisily. “Damn. If this is even half of what Dominik felt, I owe the man an apology.”
“You do owe him an apology. You were an asshole to him and y’all were friends.” Max didn’t hold back. He loved Sloan like they were blood, but the man hadn’t even had the gumption to say goodbye. To Dominik or the team. “We’ll be fixin’ that when you join us.”
“You can’t fix everything, Sir.” Oriana’s tone became soft as she gazed up at him, giving him that look that said she needed him to be more than a husband or a lover. A role he too often left to Sloan—and at one point, Dominik. Because she often needed a harder Dom, a stricter Dom, than he knew how to be. Her voice caught as she spoke. “I want you to be happy. Whether that’s here, or back home—”
“I know, sugar, but enough talk now. I know you. You’ll be fretting about this until we get ourselves on that plane. And likely for a while after. Close your eyes for me.” He smiled as she closed her eyes, then turned her slowly to face away from him. “Get me my ropes, Sloan.”
Delayed Penalty (The Dartmouth Cobras #5) Page 5
