He deserved it.
He’ll always deserve it.
To be ridiculed. And punched. And fucking raked over the coals. It might make me a bad person for enjoying the show, but I’m too busy soaking it all in to care.
The really crazy part, though? After Colt and Theo are escorted from the game, their replacements are sent to the penalty box to pay for Colt’s and Theo’s punishment, but as soon as their skates hit the ice again, they’re charging. Cross-checking. Clipping. Slashing. Beating the shit out of Shorty until he looks ready to piss himself anytime someone skates close to him. Halfway through the second period, the Tumblers’ coach pulls Shorty from the game and sends him back to the locker room with a pack of ice pressed against his bloodied face and likely broken nose. The crowd boos as another Lions player is hauled to the penalty box, but me? I’m feeling lighter than ever.
Fuck you, Shorty.
I look up at the box seats, finding Henry on his throne. He’s overlooking the game and Shorty’s abuse with a blank expression. Cold. Detached. Lethal. And downright sexy as hell.
This is why he didn’t want me here.
Because he had retribution plans and was nervous the violence would scare me. In a way, it probably should. But Henry wouldn’t hurt me. No, he’s protecting me. He’s making a statement. Making it clear I belong to him.
And dammit, I do.
He owns me. Body. Heart. Soul. Everything.
I really want to kiss him for it. Well, that and screw his brains out.
Now they know. My stalkers. Shorty. They’ll never be able to touch me again without reaping the consequences. Consequences like tonight. Like this. I’m not alone. Not anymore. And if he messes with me? If any of them mess with me? Well, I think they now understand the full picture.
And man, does it feel good.
56
HENRY
I love doing business with a willing partner.
I spoke with Chris Tormund before we left Ohio. He owns the Tumblers and is as averse to bad publicity as I am. When I told him what’s been going on with one of his players, he was more than happy for us to come to an agreement.
After another short phone call with Tormand, he assured me Coach Navarre was waiting with Shorty in the guest coach’s locker room, so I hung up and headed there.
The hinges are as smooth as butter when I open the door to the spare office, reveling in the moment and how long I’ve been waiting to do this.
Shorty’s back is to me. He doesn’t know I’m here. I shouldn’t find it amusing, but I do. The asshole has no idea who he’s dealing with.
An ice pack is pressed to Shorty’s cheek as he rests his elbow on the arm of a metal chair across from an indifferent Coach Navarre, who looks bored and tired.
“You gonna tell me why I’m here?” Shorty finally asks his coach, slouching further into his seat.
“If you’ll excuse me,” Coach Navarre stands and nods at me as he slips out of the office.
Confused, Shorty turns around, his attention catching on me for the first time.
“What are you doing here?” He tries to stand, but I squeeze his trapezius muscles with my hand and shove his ass back into the chair.
“Sit down,” I order.
He relaxes into his seat but doesn’t stop glaring at me.
Good.
Give me your anger, Shorty. It won’t protect you.
Rounding the edge of the desk, I sit in Coach Navarre’s recently-vacated chair. Shorty is still in his jersey. The collar looks stretched, and it’s stained with his blood. His hair is damp with sweat, sticking up in every direction. There’s a split in his lip and another above his brow.
He looks like a fucking train wreck, and I bask in it.
“You gonna tell me why I’m here?” Shorty seethes. His impatience is getting the best of him.
He’s even weaker than I thought.
“You made a mistake when we were in Ohio,” I tell him.
He scoffs, and I raise my finger, warning him to stay quiet. Rage sparks in his eyes, but he presses his split lips together and waits.
“Actually, you’ve made a lot of mistakes,” I continue. “And most of them were before our trip to Ohio, so I think we should start there. Tell me, Shorty. How many times have you hit her?”
Another scoff escapes him, and he kicks his feet out. “Can’t believe she bitched to you about our history.”
My eye twitches, and I stand again, rounding the edge of the desk. My rage blurs my vision, but the need to throttle the asshole in front of me spurs me on, clearing my head.
“That’s it?” I question. “You’re not even going to try to defend yourself? To defend your career?”
His eyes narrow to slits, and his spine straightens in his chair. He drops the ice pack to his lap, giving me a front-row seat to the damage Colt and Theo caused during the game. The sight makes me want to wire them another fifty grand.
“Fuck. You,” Shorty barks. He reminds me of a disgruntled Chihuahua.
“I gotta be honest with you. You were good. Hiding what you did to Mia while you were dating her at LAU. I saw a few red flags, but not enough to make me feel the need to intervene.” I rest my ass against the edge of the desk and grip it until my knuckles are white. “Unfortunately for you, that wasn’t the case when we were in Ohio, was it?” Letting the desk go, I rub my hands together. Slowly. Memorizing the worry in his eyes. The tension in his shoulders. “You touched my woman. Probably more times than I can count. Now, you’ll be lucky if I let you touch anything ever again.”
His attention flicks from my hands to my eyes. “Are you threatening me?”
“I’m ensuring you understand we aren’t playing by your rules any longer. You may have been one of the big boys at LAU. You might have even shown promise here on the Tumblers. But guess what?” I smile ruthlessly. “You mean nothing. You hold zero power in this industry. Tormund doesn’t want an abuser on his roster, and I don’t blame him. So, to save any potential hockey career you’re clinging to, you will take a leave of absence for the rest of the season.”
Blood rushes to his face. “Bullshit!”
I lift my hand to silence him. “And you will announce your decision at the press conference today.”
“You think you can make me play by your rules, Buchanan?” he challenges.
“I do,” I reply as blandly as before. “Because if you don’t play by my rules, not only will your career in the NHL, AHL, and CHL be over for the season, it will be over indefinitely.”
His eyes bulge with fury. “I’m not gonna let that happen!”
“You have no idea who you’re dealing with, Shorty. Fucking with any girl is a mistake, but fucking with mine?” A smirk tugs at me. “It’s suicidal. You will take the rest of the season to enroll in anger management courses. You will also see a therapist for whatever mommy issues you have bottled up inside of you. If you fulfill your commitment, there’s a team in Manitoba willing to give you a spot on their roster next season. If you don’t?” I shrug. “Well, I don’t give a shit.” I push myself away from the edge of the desk.
The metal chair Shorty had been sitting in clatters onto its side as he stands, his expression twisting with fury. “You’re banishing me?” His tired body shakes from adrenaline and rage like he might snap at any second.