by Jill Shalvis
“I’m sorry, Jennifer.” He kissed the back of one hand, his distant, polite manner bearing no resemblance to the charming cretin who’d stomped into her life on skates after a sweaty practice earlier that week.
“Damn you, Axel.” She wrenched her hands away from him, hurt to the core even though she shouldn’t be. Even though there was no way a woman could care so much for a man she’d only just met.
And oh, God, who was she kidding? Not once in her life had she slept with a man she didn’t l-o-v-e. Would spelling it make it any less real, she wondered? Any less true?
“Jennifer, I have to leave.” He stuffed his hands in his pockets. “I already talked Kyle and Marissa into giving your camera guys an at-home interview tonight, which will keep Kyle too occupied to follow me. Marissa has offered for you to stay overnight afterward so I know you’re safe.”
“Do you honestly think you can dictate where I spend the night or orchestrate my life for me when you’re willing to walk away over this?” Sure, she hadn’t wanted to be a trophy girlfriend of some wealthy NHL player. But Ax was more than that.
They could figure out something if they stayed together. Fought for a future.
“I’m trusting you not to put your life in danger for a relationship that was never going to work anyhow. But if I have to, I’ll call Kyle and he’ll make sure you stay put for the night.”
Anger and hurt fired through her, but he was so cool and distant she knew he’d made up his mind. No amount of arguing was going to change it.
“You’re making a mistake,” she told him finally, hearing the media room doors open in the hallway and the sounds of the team filtering out into the corridor.
“I’m fixing a mistake,” he told her, his square jaw flexing. “I should have done it a long time ago.”
13
“ARE YOU MAD AT ME?”
Misty’s question was the first thing Chelsea heard when she answered her cell phone shortly after midnight.
Exhausted from her last-minute volunteer shift at the shelter and even more drained from her encounter with Vinny the night before, Chelsea sank onto the futon in her tiny living room. She pulled the homemade afghan, a gift from a long-ago social worker, onto her lap.
“Hmm. That begs the question, do I have a reason to be mad at you?” Tipping her head against the futon cushion, she closed her eyes for a moment until she remembered that Misty was still in New York with her SUV. She bolted upright in her seat. “Oh, God. You didn’t get in an accident, did you? Are you okay?”
“I’m fine. The car is fine.” Misty’s singsong voice assured her. “You didn’t watch the first installment of the Phantoms documentary series, did you?”
“Not yet.” Grabbing the remote, she flipped on her television and the ancient VCR player beneath it. She was happy with her tag-sale furnishings and Craigslist purchases for the most part, but one of these days she needed to update her electronics. “Although, using my ever-reliable technology from a million years ago, I did try to record it.”
She rewound the tape long enough to see footage of the game in New York. Still, she didn’t have the heart to watch the show tonight. In the end, she’d given the director permission to use the clips of her and Vinny. When she’d said yes, she’d been excited about the possibility of seeing him more. Of moving toward some kind of real relationship with a guy she already trusted.
That was before she’d been scared spitless at the thought of meeting his parents.
“Oh.” Misty paused awkwardly, an uncommon occurrence for the woman who had an answer to everything. “Well, then. I might as well prepare you.”
“For what?” Her imagination ran wild. What if Vinny denounced her on national TV? Or what if someone researched her past and revealed private things about her that she wouldn’t want other people to know? That she’d been kicked out of that one gym, for example, where she’d used a fake membership card….
“Nothing big,” Misty rushed to reassure her, although that was too little too late. “I just…I didn’t realize they were going to show the footage where I talked about your dream of running a shelter geared toward women and children.”
“You broadcast my dreams on television?” Chelsea’s finger hit the rewind button again—she needed to find out the extent of the damage.
Was privacy so much to ask for? Yes, safety and security came first. Yet after all the homeless years, after all the nights in shelters where anyone could walk past your bed while you were sleeping…damn it, she treasured her privacy.
“I didn’t think it was secret, per se—”
“But you knew I wouldn’t be happy about it or you wouldn’t have called asking if I’m mad at you.” She came to the start and hit Play. “Damn it, Misty, you of all people know—”
“Look, Chels. Never mind. I’m not sorry and I did it on purpose, okay?” She blurted the words. “Maybe that’s half the reason I wanted to visit family, just in case you were going to freak out on me. But I’m your friend, and I love you. You deserve to have that shelter and I wanted to put it out there in the public eye where—”
“What are you thinking?” Chelsea hit Fast-forward, but stopped dead when the screen came to her and Vinny talking. Oh, God. Her chest felt as if it had caved in, and she forgot to be mad at her best friend.
“I’m thinking that it doesn’t hurt to share a dream on the most popular cable network in the world,” Misty countered. “You’re a sweet girl with a big heart and one of the sharpest, most streetwise people I know. Viewers are going to see that. And by morning, some rich philanthropist is going to want to donate a jillion dollars to make sure you have the chance to do good in the world…. Chels?” Misty cut the diatribe suddenly short.
Chelsea tried to breathe past the lump in her throat and the pain in her chest.
“Yeah?” She clutched her afghan, thumbs winding through the purple-and-blue yarn. Not even the feel of her favorite things—the sight of her spotlessly clean little apartment—could ease the ache in her chest.
“I thought you’d cut me off or yell at me.” Misty sounded thoughtful. “Are you, like, genuinely furious?”
“No.” Her VCR was paused on the image of her and Vinny. The guy whose number was the first one she’d ever tattooed on her body. “I broke things off between me and Vinny, and I’m such an idiot.”
“You are not an idiot.” Misty took on her battle-general voice and it made Chelsea smile that she could envision her friend’s pursed lips and drawn-in cheeks perfectly. They’d lifted each other up through a lot of hard times.
But she couldn’t imagine feeling uplifted now, when she’d run scared from the best—the nicest—thing to ever happen to her.
“He wanted to introduce me to his parents.” She trembled inside just thinking about it. And she knew it was stupid that she was smart enough to survive homelessness and tough enough to outfox a coked-up teenager intent on raping her, yet the thought of meeting a couple of nice, ordinary Midwesterners frightened her to death.
But there it was.
“Well, of course you’re scared.” Misty said it as if it was the most reasonable thing in the world.
She loved Misty. Loved. Her.
“Really?”
“Perfectly normal girls who are brought up in brownstones and go to private schools are scared to meet their boyfriends’ parents.”
“He’s not exactly my boyfriend.” Her gaze went to the Phantoms poster on the wall above the TV, her eyes easily finding Vinny’s face amid all his teammates.
“He wants to be,” Misty told her. The sounds of the city emanated in the background. Horns honking. Brakes squealing. “He just put the cart ahead of the horse because he’s excited to finally spend time with you. You’re so great that of course he wants his parents to meet you and see how awesome you are.”
“Right.” Chelsea wrapped the afghan around herself and shuffled into the kitchen so she could forage in the cabinets for something to eat. “I can hear it now, ‘Mom, Dad, me
et Chelsea, professional groupie and former resident of the streets.’ I’m sure his parents will be impressed.”
“I won’t dignify that with a response. You know I’m right. And didn’t we agree that when we are running our own shelter there will be positive affirmations? Opportunities for people with battered self-esteem to grow?” Misty rattled off phrases that Chelsea herself had used more than once when talking about the kind of shelter she wanted to run one day.
“This is different.” Her hand went to the place on her chest where Vinny’s number rested. Her heart ached right there.
“It’s not different. Be the change you want to see in the world, right? We’ve got to forge the path to normal so that other women can see it’s possible. You need to believe in yourself, Chelsea.” Misty’s subtle croon had talked hundreds of rich women into buying expensive makeup packages back in those days of her first job at a cosmetics counter. She could be very persuasive. “How can we spout our ideals to others unless we’ve taken the risks to back them up ourselves?”
Chelsea turned back toward the living room, her VCR still paused on the image of her and Vinny. His warm hazel eyes and easy smile called to her. She could imagine his voice tinged with good humor as he told her about rounding up the stray cow the night before a big game. Most of all, she remembered his indignant anger at the night she’d been so scared in that pool house all alone.
He was a great guy. Maybe he deserved better.
But if he really wanted her… She was going to gather her courage and ask him for another chance.
* * *
IT DIDN’T MATTER WHERE Axel drove. He knew his past would find him. And on cue, five miles outside of Philly’s Chestnut Hill neighborhood, the sound of Harley engines rumbled in his ears.
He wasn’t surprised when the distinctive single headlights filled his rearview, a swarm of Hogs bearing down on him. Someone must have followed him more discreetly out of Kyle’s neighborhood, then alerted the rest to fall in line.
Axel told himself it was a good thing he’d parted ways with Jennifer. He didn’t want her mixed up in this and he wouldn’t let her be targeted because of him. He liked the idea of her safe at Kyle’s house for the night, even if she was angry.
Hurt.
Pulling the Escalade off the road, Axel felt the answering twinge in his chest far more than he felt any kind of fear for himself tonight. If anything, he was spoiling for a fight since threats from these bastards had cost him Jennifer.
He pushed the button to roll down his power window, knowing there would be a representative goon out there. Axel understood the job of the enforcer all too well. It was a role he’d taken on with every team he’d ever played for. The rough-looking dude with a beard down to his chest and wraparound shades over his eyes—How the hell could he see anything in the dark?—wasn’t all that different from him.
“Follow us,” the big guy grunted, leather vest creaking as he straightened. “And don’t even think about trying to ditch us or we’ll go back for the redhead.”
“I want to meet with the brains behind this dumb-ass operation, you prick,” Axel shouted out the window at the guy’s retreating back. “If you threaten her again, things are going to turn ugly in a hurry.”
Not because he could really back up that statement. More because he’d likely pull a berserker and take out as many of the motorcycle dudes as possible before someone popped him.
Thankfully, the beast in leather kept walking to his bike while the rest of the crew—maybe ten of them—kept vigil from the comfort of their Harleys. No one said anything, apparently unimpressed with Ax’s threat.
Fifteen minutes later, down back roads and through some run-down suburbs, the motorcycle brigade led him to a dark warehouse with boards on the windows. Wide overhead bays were built high on one wall, probably designed for loading tractor trailers. As they approached, a normal-size door opened on the side of the low cement building, light spilling out into the surrounding woods.
Ax stepped out of the Escalade before they could come for him, ready to get this over with. His nerves twitched now as his biker escorts surrounded him, ensuring he didn’t run. As if he would. With Jen at risk, he was very ready to negotiate with these guys.
Nearing the entrance, he heard the guitar riffs from an old Southern rock song and laughter from inside the building. The abandoned facility must be a flophouse for the gang rather than a place designated for violence. Good news, that.
“Welcome back, Akseli.” The Finnish words floated on the spring breeze, the language so fluid and natural to his ear that it took him a minute to recall how out of place it was.
A familiar figure stood in the shadowy archway, shocking the hell out of him. Tall and bow-legged, a cigarette perched on a fat lower lip. A generous gut spilled over his belt, his leather vest too small to ever button again. Jaako Latt, the boss of the gang back in Helsinki, waited for him.
“Didn’t trust the locals to do your dirty work, Jaako?” Axel steeled himself the same way he did before a fight on the ice. He tightened his abs. Kept his shoulders low. His fists ready to fly at the slightest provocation.
He didn’t realize he’d stopped short until one of the bikers nudged his shoulder, prodding him forward.
“No,” Jaako said in Finnish. Then swapping to English, he barked at the horde of Destroyers accompanying Axel. The guy was probably only in his late fifties, but he’d aged well beyond his years. Scars riddled his face and his voice was rough from a two-pack-per-day habit. “No. We don’t need to push one of our own. Come in, Akseli. I’ve traveled a long way to collect on your debt.”
“Ever heard of email?” Axel stepped into the clubhouse decked out like a crappy tavern with no health code to worry about.
A bar made of an old countertop stood against one wall with cases of liquor stacked nearby. Dusty plastic cups and a dorm-size fridge rounded out the self-serve operation. A few sawhorse tables were filled with bottles of beer and cards, as if they’d walked in on a game of poker. Ax didn’t see any weapons, but he’d bet money most of the guys—even a couple of women—packed heat.
“The internet is not secure for our business, I do not think,” the old-timer said, his gait stiff on one side as he shuffled toward the bar. Bullet wound, Axel guessed. “I am retiring and have come to collect. You are my retirement, you see. I let you go. Now, you finance my way out. Though, of course, I leave with honor. Unlike you.”
“You want money?” Axel spoke in English.
Jaako stuck to Finnish when he replied. “You will pay to keep the crimes of your past a secret from your American fans and the woman you kiss on television. This way, you protect your endorsement deals, yes?” Jaako took a long drag on the butt in his mouth before tossing it on the dusty cement floor. “One time payment. Cash. Say, three million?”
The Southern rock music kept on playing, the volume cranked even though Axel guessed half the guys in the room kept careful tabs on the conversation.
Shit. Jaako had a point about protecting his image since endorsement deals didn’t go to players with skeletons in their closets. But protecting Jen was a whole hell of a lot more important than preserving an image. He was furious over having to hurt Jennifer because of his past.
He opened his mouth. Fully prepared to tell them to go to hell and see what happened.
“I don’t think so, dirtbag,” a familiar female voice shouted.
Axel’s stomach dropped. Blood froze. Fear crawled up his spine.
Every head in the room swiveled to see the source of that declaration. Jennifer stood in the doorway, her slender arm squeezed in the rough hold of a half-wit teenage biker who gripped her in one hand and a video camera in the other.
“Quiet,” snarled the gangster who held her. “I found her in a tree, holding the camera up to that window,” the kid told Jaako, pointing to the boarded-up glass in question.
She must have found a crack in the boards to film through.
“Let her go.” Axel moved
toward her, but five guys rose out of their chairs to stop him. Ten hands had to hold him back.
“Break the camera,” Jaako told the kid in his thickly accented English. “You have done well. She is good persuasion for our hockey star.”
“I’m only persuaded if you let her go right this second.” Axel never took his eyes off the kid with a death wish who still gripped Jennifer’s arm so hard there were going to be bruises.
At a nod from Jaako, the teenage gangster-in-training released her. Ax’s relief was short-lived since she didn’t fade quietly into the background while he talked them out of here.
She stepped closer to the Finnish boss.
“Break the camera all you want,” she taunted him. “The feed goes directly to a URL that records all the footage.” Her green eyes flashed with the kind of daring most men wouldn’t have facing down this crowd.
But then, not many people were born with a fire inside. And as much as he admired that about her, he really needed her to quit egging on the man who could wreak vengeance with a nod to his underlings.
“Don’t you get it?” she pressed, her yellow skirt with the mangoes and limes absurdly out of place among the leather- and denim-clad bikers. With guns.
“Get what, Red?” Jaako barked at her. “You are a foolish woman who wanders where you do not belong.”
“I have evidence of blackmail. You’ll go to jail for that. At the very least, you’re getting booted out of the U.S. and you won’t ever be allowed back in.”
Jaako cackled, a new cigarette nearly falling out of his mouth. “As if we were strangers to criminal charges. Even if I cared about your blackmail claim, I know you won’t use the film to free Akseli of his obligation to me because he does not want his fans to discover his criminal past. Your threat is useless.”
* * *
JENNIFER FELT HERSELF DEFLATE.
She hadn’t thought about that. Axel would be implicated if she exposed his blackmailing former gang for the scumbags they were. She’d followed Axel out here, leaving two seconds behind him to avoid detection by Kyle Murphy.
