The Penalty Box (Vancouver Wolves Hockey #3)(10)

He did the creepy eye fuck thing where his eyes lingered on my chest before he nodded and disappeared into the crowd. I swallowed hard. Usually, the guy who came to pick up the money was a short bald dude who was discreet, if not professional. This guy scared me.

I glanced back at Mica, who was still watching me.

Yep, we all have troubles, buddy.

I grabbed the money from my locker before walking through the kitchen and out into the cool September air.

The guy was leaning against the wall, smoking a joint. “Yazimoto never told me you were hot.”

I ignored him and shoved the envelope at him. “It’s all there. You can count it.”

He looked at me while suggestively licking his thumb before he slowly began to count the hundred-dollar bills. “What else are you promised for?”

“Excuse me?”

“Picking up money from a hot bitch like you should come with some perks.”

“Not an option.” I turned to go back inside.

He grabbed my arm and swung me around, pinning me against the wall. “I think tonight, it’s gonna be an option.”

Fear clouded my vision as his stinky breath blew in my face. This was not happening to me. My mind raced as I tried to think my way out of this situation. If I screamed, no one would hear me over the music in the bar. I could make a break for it, but I doubted I could outrun this animal. I needed to talk my way out of this situation.

“I have an STD.”

“Which one?”

I wracked my brain, trying to think of the worst one. “Gonorrhea?”

He smiled. “Funny, me too.”

Oh gross. Plan B. If he touched me, I would fight him to the death. So it baffled me that when he drew his nicotine-stained fingers down the side of my cheek, I could only stand there, focused on bringing air in and out of my lungs.

I whimpered when his fingers grabbed my crotch through my jeans. Pure adrenaline made me push against him, but he shoved me back against the wall with strength.

“Get off me.” My fight-or-flight kicked in and my arms flailed. My fist connected with his jaw. I froze. I’d never hit anyone before.

He cracked his neck. “You’re going to pay for that, bitch.”

I heard the back door slam open. Without looking away from my face, the creep said in a menacing tone, “We’re busy here.”

A familiar Russian voice spoke, sounding bored. “Let her go.”

I felt so much relief when my gaze landed on Mica. His face, all harsh angles in the dim light, looked menacing. Why had he come out here? Had he followed me out here?

My captor stepped back from me, a sick smile on his face. “Oh look. Your pretty boyfriend is coming to the rescue. If you like his face, tell him to go back inside.”

Visions of Mica being stabbed or shot clouded my brain. My heart raced with fear on his behalf. I couldn’t willingly let Mica get hurt or killed. “He’s right. Please do what he says.”

Mica ignored me and stepped closer to Yazimoto’s thug, towering over him by inches. “I want to hit something but I’m a reasonable guy. Walk away.”

The guy laughed. “I told you to fuck off.”

Mica swung, connecting with the dude’s face, and then, in slow motion, just like in the movies, the bad guy crumpled to the ground.

I hyperventilated while leaning against the wall. Mostly because my trembling legs were doing a shit job holding me up. “Is he dead?”

“Nah.”

I couldn’t believe this was happening. “You shouldn’t have done that. This guy is dangerous. If Yazimoto finds out who you are…” Thoughts of Yazimoto targeting Mica made me break into a cold sweat.

Mica crouched beside the guy and started to pat him down. “The question is, why are you involved with this guy?”

“What are you doing?”

He pulled out my envelope and looked at the money. “This yours?”

I begged, “Put that back. You can’t get involved with this. Trust me, please. You need to leave.”

He gave me a hard look but to my relief, put the money back. Then he pulled out a huge, terrifying-looking knife out of the guy’s boot. He turned and threw it hard. I watched it sail over the fence and disappear into the darkness. I tried again. “Please, Mica.”

He leaned over the guy and slapped his face repeatedly. The guy groaned and opened his eyes. Mica hauled him up by his vest onto his feet. “Morning, sunshine.”

The guy’s eyes widened in fear. “Who the fuck are you?”

“I’m the guy who likes to hit.”

Tough tattoo guy sounded pathetic. “Please don’t hit me again.”

“Why is Charlie giving you money?”

The guy’s eyes met mine. “None of your business.”

Mica swung the guy around, pinned his arms behind his back and then twisted him, so they both faced me. Mica bent down and spoke in the guy’s ear. “Who are you?”

The guy’s face crumpled in pain. “You’re hurting me, dude. You’re going to break my arm!”

Mica did something that I couldn’t see, but it made the guy cry out in pain. “Okay! I’m just filling in for the guy that normally picks up the money. It was his kid’s birthday. This isn’t even my regular route.”

I stood frozen, both fascinated and horrified at the change that had come over Mica. He radiated danger and power like some dark, Russian angel. Tattoo guy whimpered again and went up on his tippy-toes.