Balls: The Complete Players Collection (Sports Romance Box Set)

by Teagan Kade

  I want to run, to take my chances, but I’m being held back.

  Chance takes out of knife. He’s coiled up, ready to strike.

  I watch as Chance scans the darkness for a way out.

  We both notice it at the same time. A door maybe six feet away. It has to lead out to the main thoroughfare running around the stadium.

  Chance turns and whispers. “Wait here. I’m going to check the door.”

  “No,” I whisper back, but he squeezes my hand.

  “I’ll be fine.”

  He stands and slowly pads to the door. I watch as he turns the knob, the door starting to open. All the while he keeps his eyes on the kitchen.

  Please, please, God, let him be okay.

  He opens the door a little wider and waves me over.

  I’m halfway to him when one of the men calls out. “Here!”

  I make it through the door under Chance’s arm. He swings in behind me, closing the door and locking it. “Run!” he yells.

  I start running down the main walkway inside the stadium. It’s wide and open.

  I look back and see Chance right on my tail.

  I almost trip at the sound of gunfire, the door we just came from kicked wide and the two men bursting through into the open. But we’ve got distance on them now.

  “Left!” calls Chance.

  I swing down a series of steps into the lower walkway, my legs burning, begging to give in, but not now. I can’t.

  Pounding footsteps above us, echoes and sounds all around.

  Oh no.

  I come to a dead end, a solid wall, and start to turn around. The entrance onto the field is only twenty or so feet back, but the men are too close.

  Chance points to a small alcove to the right of the wall. “Get down!”

  I tuck into the alcove, Chance crushing me against the wall, knife by his side and his head poking around the corner. He pulls in.

  I don’t need to see out to know what’s going on.

  They’re here.

  We’re screwed.

  “What now?” I whisper, hoping he has a plan. “The entry to the field. We just ran past it.”

  He nods and reaches down to the floor, picking up a half-full Coke bottle. He takes it in his hand. “This is going to have to be the best god-damn throw of my life. When I say ‘go’, you run for that entry. Don’t stop for anything. Got it?”

  I nod, but truthfully I don’t know if I’ll be able to move.

  Without warning, he steps out into the open and brings his arm back, heaving the Coke bottle down the hallway. “Now,” he whispers.

  I run out into the open and see the two hitmen with their backs turned looking for the source of the sound; they don’t know it was only a bottle. He must have thrown it over their heads, made them look away for a distraction.

  It’s terrifying running straight towards them, but I make it and dive into a tunnel leading out onto the field. It’s not until I hit the turf I look back for Chance.

  Come on. Come on.

  He finally appears, running for me.

  “Go!” he yells.

  I run, but this is the field. You can’t get any more in the open than this.

  I don’t know what to do, so I run for the middle, stopping when I reach the halfway line, looking to the moon above, the heat and stress and fear and everything bearing down on me.

  Chance runs up and presses me behind him once again as the hitmen emerge from the end of the tunnel. Once they see us, they stop running.

  We’re done.

  “I’m sorry,” says Chance.

  He holds the knife high, standing in front of me and shouting, “Come on, motherfuckers!”

  I press against Chance’s back trembling.

  This is it. This is finally it.

  The men are close enough now to make them out in full. The tall one wears a dark, shiny suit, his hair greying and cropped close to his head. The other is short with a prizefighter’s build, a similar buzzcut and eyes so dark they’re black even out here under a full moon. In his track-pants and T-shirt, he looks ready for a marathon, not about to kill someone in cold blood.

  The tall one speaks with measured syllables. “Put the knife down, kid. You’re only going to hurt yourself.” He keeps the gun trained on Chance’s chest.

  “You’ll have to kill me to get to her.”

  The sporty one laughs. “That’s precisely what we’re going to do if you don’t stop being a little cunt. Now move aside and let us do our job.”

  Chance drops the knife. It spears into the turf, the handle wagging back and forth. “Okay, tough guy,” he says, addressing the sporty one. “You’re an Ali fan, are you?”

  The sporty one looks down at the T-shirt he’s wearing, some kind of Muhammad Ali anniversary text and picture on it, the greatest boxer of all time with his gloves raised. “What’s it to you, sunshine?”

  “If you’re such a boxing fan, such a big, bad boxer boy, why don’t we handle this like men?”

  The sporty one looks to his friend. “You hear that shit, Mikey?”

  It doesn’t look like they’re trying to conceal their identities. That’s how confident they are. Still, I’m surprised they haven’t started shooting already. There’s something about the tall one, the way he’s watching us. Maybe he’s having doubts, second thoughts?

  “Bare-knuckle. You and me,” Chance continues. “You win, she’s all yours. I win and you hear her out.”

  The sporty one lowers his gun and takes a step forward. “You think you can take me?”

  Chance nods in the affirmative. “I’ve taken guys down twice your size. You know, men… not boys.”

  The sporty one laughs. “You fucking little punk. You getting this, Mikey?”

  “Eizo…” cautions the tall one, but boxer boy is sold.

  “Okay, you want your little punch-on?” he tosses his gun to the tall one, who takes it shaking his head and slips it down the back of his trousers. “You got it”.

  He steps back and raises his fists, jumping from foot to foot. I don’t know much about boxing, but this guy looks dangerous. This is something he’s done before, something he’s good at.

  It’s at this moment I see a guard over by the far tunnel. He’s keeping to the shadows. I can see the glow of a cell phone raised to his ear. He’s calling for help.

  It starts to click into place. Chance has seen him too. He’s buying us time.

  Chance steps away from me and raises his fists, tilting his head from side to side, limbering up for the fight.

  I hope to hell he knows what he’s doing.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  CHANCE

  I’ve dealt with guys like this before. You’ve got to attack their ego, make them an offer they can’t refuse, a way to beat their chest and prove they’re the alpha male. Tall Guy, Mikey? He wouldn’t have a bit of it. No, he’s a stone-cold killer, a thinker, but his brother here, I’m guessing? He’s not the sharpest tool in the shed. He’s all muscle and no brains, all show. He can dance, but I’m betting he doesn’t have the hitting power to back it up.

  Normally, I’d go in hard from the outset, but I don’t want to pummel this guy too soon. I want to drag this out as long as possible, give the guard I’ve spotted time to get the call out.

  Eizo eggs me on, waving me in with his fingers. “Come on, superstar. Show me what you got.”

  I feint forward and he dodges right, an easy tell. What mini Ali here doesn’t know is that we boxed every day in the Corps. I was squad-fucking-champion. I may not be Muhammad, even Sugar Ray, but I can sure swing with a street punk like this.

  I get close enough for him to jab me in the side of the face. It barely registers, but I make a show of it, reeling back and bringing my hand to my cheek.

  He laughs, looking to his brother. “How’s that, pretty boy? How about I break that pretty nose, too?”

  He jabs forward again, weak, but a broken nose I do not need. I dodge right, slow, and pull back, dancing aroun
d in a wide circle to keep us moving, always in front of Sam so the tall brother doesn’t get any ideas and decide to shoot her prematurely. He’s still got his gun up, after all.

  “What are you waiting for? Come get some.”

  Almost without thinking I rush forward and deliver a series of sharp blows to Eizo’s ribs.

  It’s clearly unexpected by the look of shock on his face when I pull back. He winces but brings his fists up again, continuing to float and dance. “Okay. Okay. So maybe you do have a little razzle-dazzle, but do you have this?” He jumps forwards and swings with a heavy right.

  I skip back and it brushes past my chest. The muscle memory kicks in automatically, my own right following and collecting his jaw with enough force to separate it from his face.

  He goes down on the turf hard.

  Fuck. I’ve knocked him out.

  Shit. Shit. Shit.

  “Get up,” I call, and thank fuck he does, slowly climbing back to his feet. His expression has changed now. There’s no more playing around. He’s in it for the kill now.

  He comes at me full steam. That’s the problem. An amateur boxer seeing red? That’s unpredictable and a fuck-load more dangerous than someone who knows what they’re doing.

  A knee drives up into my chest, but I manage to deflect and bounce left.

  “Fucker!” he screams. “I’ll have your fucking balls!”

  “Eizo,” cautions his brother again, but he’s no longer listening.

  He swings with a heavy left. It connects, but it’s pathetic. I brush it off and continue to dodge, but I’m running out of room. Keep moving, I tell myself. Keep moving.

  He jumps at me again and by instinct I smack him hard in the nose. He bounces back, blood pouring from his face.

  I look down at my fists. It’s been a while since I’ve fought bare-knuckle like this. My skin’s broken, the top of my knuckles smeared red, with whose blood I can’t tell.

  I see Sam with her hands over her mouth watching on. The second brother, Michael, keeps his gun trained on her, but he’s watching us, watching his brother get the shit beat out of him.

  The Ali pretender kneels down next to the spot where I dropped the knife in the ground and picks it up, tossing it from hand to hand, but his grip’s wrong, flimsy.

  I point to the knife. “Hope you know what you’re doing with that thing.”

  He spits out a wad of blood, the red stream from his nose drying into a crusty river. “Boy, I was slitting throats before you were even a speck in your daddy’s balls. I’m going to enjoy this.”

  I shake my head and change my stance, bracing for the attack. “If you say so.”

  He might not know what he’s doing, but you can’t fuck around when a blade’s involved. So, when he comes at me, I immediately put him down. He thrusts forward for my chest and I glance to the side, taking his arm and snapping his wrist. His hand releases and the knife falls to the ground.

  I go to work, pummeling his ribs, driving him to the ground in a frenzy of calculated blows.

  His hands try to swat me away at first, but they soon grow limp as defeat settles in and he becomes nothing more than a punching bag.

  I straddle him and raise my fist. Lights out, motherfucker.

  “Enough,” says the other brother. “You’ve proved your point. I’m a fair man. I’ll hear what the girl has to say.”

  I let go of Eizo and he slumps into the turf moaning, his face a bloody mess. I can’t believe I just did this. The horrors of war come streaming back, the kids torn apart, the women, the surprise attacks… I push it away. It’s not the time.

  I quietly pick up the knife and slip it back down my pants again. This guy might look a little more reasonable, but I don’t trust him for one fucking second to keep his word.

  He looks down at his brother. “You still alive, brother?”

  A groan suggests he is.

  The brother tilts his gun at Sam. “Better start talking, sweetheart.”

  Sam’s shaking her head. “I—ah. I—”

  I take her by the shoulders. “Slow down. Tell him what happened.”

  She looks to the guy in the suit. “It wasn’t me. I didn’t call the cops.”

  He doesn’t seem convinced. “No?”

  “My customer, my first customer… He wanted me to…” she trails off.

  “Keep going,” I whisper. We need as much time as we can get.

  I can still see the security guard in the distance. The phone’s gone, but he’s watching carefully, hand on his revolver. Still, he’d have to be Superman to make a shot from there.

  “I refused,” continues Sam. “He got angry. I had no idea it was that kind of massage parlor.”

  The hitman looks to the moon above and shakes his head. “The place has ‘open nine ’til late’ on a billboard outside with a picture of a woman with her tits out. What did you think this guy was coming in for? Shiatzu?”

  Sam shakes her head at the ground. “I was naïve, stupid, I know, but I was desperate for the money.”

  The hitman chews it over. “Okay. So your customer was pissed off. You think he went to the cops?”

  “I do.”

  “How do I know? Where’s the proof?”

  “Where’s the proof she did?” I interject.

  The gun turns to my direction. “You shut the fuck up. Fun as it was to watch, I should blow your brains out for what you did to my baby brother.”

  I put my hands up.

  “So,” he says, “where’s your proof?”

  Sam speaks. “I left, simple as that, and I shut up. I never wanted to think about that place again. I never talked to the cops. The client? He said he was going to call the police, make the place pay.”

  “He did, did he?”

  The boxer brother sits up and slowly gets to his feet, wiping blood from his face. He spits again to the ground, asking for his gun. His brother tosses it to him. “Easy now, Eizo. I’ve got this.”

  The gun lifts towards Sam. “Do you, Mikey? Because it looks to me like you’re losing your nerve. Why the fuck are you even listening to this shit? The Don wants her dead. When have we ever asked questions?”

  “Now’s not the time, brother.”

  They’re arguing. This is good. What’s not good is the way boxer boy is feathering that trigger.

  “Now is the time. You’re getting soft, Mikey. Old.”

  “I’m not the one who just got beat into a pulp by a kid.”

  Eizo holds his jaw. “The kid didn’t tell me he was Evander-fucking-Holyfield, so I ask again, why shouldn’t we cap these two right now and go have a beer?”

  Michael is getting frustrated. “I want to hear what the girl has to say. I told you before. It doesn’t add up.”

  Eizo won’t have it. “For ten Gs it doesn’t fucking have to! Come on.” He squeezes the trigger a little more and I start to move in front of Sam.

  “Easy now.”

  “Shut the fuck up, cocksucker!”

  “Eizo!” shouts Michael.

  But I see the look in his eye, the malice. I’ve dented his pride. I’ve left him with no choice.

  “Say goodbye to your girlfriend, superstar.”

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  SAM

  “Eizo!” shouts the one called Michael, but I can see Eizo’s mind is made. His bonds to duty and his pride, overriding his sense of logic.

  Eizo aims his pistol right at me. I don’t see my life flash before my eyes. I don’t see a light-filled tunnel waiting nor feel a sudden rush of euphoria. No, there’s only fear and incredible sadness at what I’m about to leave behind.

  I want one more night with Chance before I go, one last chance to feel him against me, inside me, but now that will be lost. Everything I am will be gone in an instant. I hope it’s quick.

  I close my eyes, but the shot doesn’t come.

  I open them and find something standing in front of me, shielding me.

  Chance.

  He has his hands out wide, hi
s chest open for the bullet. “Like I said, if you want to kill her, you’ll have to go through me to do it.”

  “Eizo!” shouts Michael again, going to take his gun but his brother shoving him to the ground.

  “So be it,” grins Eizo,

  No, but as he goes to squeeze the trigger there’s a volley of shouting from the left, the right, men in dark uniforms and helmets running to us stopped low with rifles raised. “Down! Down!” they’re shouting. “FBI. Put the gun down!”

  I see it on Michael’s face. He knows they’re done, that shooting me now would achieve nothing. At least one of them has enough sense to realize that. He’s already dropped his gun, getting to his knees, hands behind his head, but Eizo is still watching Chance with pistol raised.

  He’s going to do it, I think, but even he realizes the stakes are too high.

  “Another time.” He slowly lowers the gun before a torrent of officers take both brothers down.

  Chance turns and holds me, crushes me against him.

  “That was close,” I whimper.

  “Way too close,” he replies.

  The brothers are silent as they’re led away. I wonder what will become of them, if the corrupt hand of the Mob extends to the FBI. I doubt it. They’re done and they know it.

  I break away from Chance to see Agent Roderick approaching.

  “Everyone okay?” he queries.

  “Took your time,” remarks Chance.

  But did they? They arrived awfully fast following the guard’s call. It’s almost as if they were…

  A thought occurs to me. I don’t want to believe it at first, but the more I think about it, the more it makes sense. Maybe they decided to leave you out in the open instead of putting you into protective custody for a reason. They used you as bait. They’ve been watching this whole time.

  The thought must dawn on Chance too, because he steps away up to Roderick. “Come to think of it, how did you know we were here, and how the fuck did you get here so fast?”

  The agent remains steely. “We did what we had to do to keep you and Miss Carter safe, Mr. Adams.”

  Chance isn’t impressed. “You could have taken these guys the moment they stepped onto stadium grounds. Why the fuck did you wait until the last second?”