So Over You (Chicago Rebels #2)(20)

The table’s temperature, which had previously been thawing, once more plunged toward the Arctic. That dig was meant for Vadim, but he would leave it for now. One day, Shay would be injured and would need the extra attention. Bog dal, bog vzyal. God gives, God takes away.

However, Shay, as well as being a nasty piece of work, was also one of those people who didn’t know to quit while he was ahead, as his next statement proved.

“If she can’t get in by fucking a trainer, I expect she’ll find a way with a player. Right, Petrov?”

Kelly had left the bar, and Isobel was now standing. Perhaps they had some arrangement to leave separately. Vadim didn’t think that was a good idea, not if everyone knew of her ambitions to become a Rebels’ coach. Not if everyone thought she would spread her legs to do it.

He would speak to her, but first, Vadim had to deal with this piece of garbage, Leon Shay. The moment ticked over, while out of the corner of his eye, Vadim watched Isobel heading toward the exit at the far end of the bar. She wore the same tight black pants of temptation as earlier—no wonder Kelly was all over her!

Satisfied she was out of earshot, he turned to Shay. “What did you say?”

He knew exactly what he’d said, or at minimum, what he had implied. He would give the man one chance to make amends.

Shay was enjoying himself, his eyes sparkling with malevolence, his mouth twitching with the bullshit on the tip of his tongue. “She’s got multiple plays here. But maybe her easiest option would be to bang it out with the new Russian star. Worked for her sister and DuPre.”

This was exactly the scenario Vadim had teased Isobel about during practice. His intention had been to see how far he could push her, to toughen her up, but damned if he’d sit still and listen to this asshole malign her motives.

“And why would you assume that would happen?”

Shay looked him right in the eye. “Because you fucked her years ago.”





FIVE




In the immediate wake of this revelation, a curious stillness descended over the table. Time stalled. Breath stopped. As if Vadim’s response was the only thing keeping the world itself from tipping over off its axis into outright hostilities. These men didn’t know him well, but even they must recognize that Shay was two seconds away from a skull-meets-beer-bottle situation.

“You know this because?”

“Straight from the horse’s mouth, Petrov.”

His stomach dropped to the planked floor. Isobel had shared this? That did not square with what he knew of her.

“You two are buddies now?” Ford asked incredulously.

Shay laughed, clearly pleased to have the table’s focus. He was a little man who needed attention and who would take it whatever way he could. Every fury-fueled cell in Vadim’s body was currently engaged in not ripping out Shay’s lungs.

“Nah, I was passing by her office and overheard her spilling the beans to Violet.” He leaned in, an ugly snarl on his lips. “You popped that cherry and left her hanging, man. Don’t they teach you how to satisfy ladies in Siberia? Or are they all too toasted on vodka to care?”

Vadim grabbed Shay’s shirt, a fistful that—judging by the man’s squeal—also included chest hair, and yanked him over the table. The shatter of glass provided a semisatisfying exclamation point, but true gratification would only come when Leon Shay was blinking at the last beats of his bloody heart as it lay on the floor outside his chest.

Unfortunately this pleasurable state of affairs would have to wait, as four hands restrained him to the point that he had to release his hold on Shay. A few seconds more, and Vadim was removed from Shay’s orbit and hauled toward the bar.

Cade held up a hand to the concerned bartender. “No trouble, we’ll pay for any damage.”

On Vadim’s other side, Erik let him go but ensured that his goaltender body mass kept Vadim close. He said, “We’re cool, yes?”

“No, we are not.”

“Think you might want to amend that statement,” Cade said.

“Why?”

“Because we like drinkin’ here, budski.”

They both stared at him, waiting for an answer.

He gave them the only one he could. “Shay and I need to talk.”

Cade grinned, all Texan ease. “Sure ya do. And we all need to avoid the tabloids and a night in lockup. Let’s think about how you might want to approach this, Vadster.”

Erik, as serious as Cade was lighthearted, nodded. “Think, Vadim.”

Vadim glanced over at the table, where a member of the bar staff was picking up the broken glass. Ford helped her, then raised an eyebrow in Vadim’s direction. Shay sat with arms folded over his chest, looking unfazed at the chaos he had created.

“I think I would like to beat him into an early grave.”

Cade winced. “Keep your passion for the game, Petrov, which you won’t be playin’ if you don’t cool your jets. So, let’s see where we’re at. Is it true?”

“Is what true?”

“You and Isobel?”

Vadim growled. “This is no one’s business.”

The stares of his teammates continued.

Chyort! “Once, eight years ago, when we were teens, she and I—”

“Hold off on the details there. Now I’m guessin’ you don’t want this information out there in the ether, and as for Isobel—”