Total pages in book: 58
Estimated words: 55599 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 278(@200wpm)___ 222(@250wpm)___ 185(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 55599 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 278(@200wpm)___ 222(@250wpm)___ 185(@300wpm)
“Wait a sec…” Rabbit number two leans forward. “Bro, that ain’t Johnny!”
I dart my hands out and grab them by their shirts. Then I drive them into the wall like I’m trying to smash them through it. They grunt and hit me. One catches me in the chin, but I still hold their shirts. I’ve taken too many pucks to the jaw for that to make me let go.
Another hit, but then I spin and throw them into the corridor. Turning, I kick the door down. The muscles around my thigh, hips, and glutes clench like I’m striding on my skates. The power bursts the door open, and I rush inside.
Damn, this is fucked. How many rabbits? Three of the bastards in here, the two outside, and the one in the street if he’s woken up by now. There are four women, two on the bed and two sitting on the couch if that half-awake lean they’re sunken into can be called sitting.
When the door bursts open, they all turn. Too slowly. This is a game now. My senses are focused on this. Get these girls out of here. These girls were babies once, like the child growing in my Emma’s belly—my woman’s belly. They were babies, and now I know Emma is pregnant. I felt it when I kissed her on the forehead. I don’t care how nuts that may sound.
Holy shit. I’ve blacked out. The rage, goddamn.
When I “wake up,” I’m on top of one of the rabbits, raining fists down on him. Another has his arm wrapped around my neck, but I keep hitting anyway. Finally, I roar and flip him over, sending him into a display unit. It collapses and falls on him. Girls are screaming. I hit the rabbit again, caving in his mask, then roar when something cold and metal catches me over the head.
I turn to find the final masked man holding a golf club. There are sirens in the air now. He swings again. I dart my hand out. Don’t think. I’ve got a trick I do sometimes for the media. Catching a puck. I think of it like that. Close my hand around the cold metal. Lean into the pain. It’s a cheap piece of shit. It starts to bend as I pull on it, and he tries to fight me. He’s strong.
Then I pull the club from his hands and smack him across the face with it. The two conscious women are clutching onto each other, screaming. I look down at the men, all battered and busted up. This is California. What are the laws here? I don’t know. I don’t know if they could charge me with going too far. That’s the last thing I need, with a baby coming. It’s the last thing my team needs.
Moving across the room, I gently put both women into the recovery position, then pull a blanket over them. The sirens are getting louder now. The two other masked men in the hallway have woken up and fled, but not the three in the room.
“Fuck… man…” one groans as I drag him toward the closet.
“Shut up,” I growl. “You don’t say a goddamn word.”
I throw him inside, then grab the second one. The third wakes up as I drag him over, and he throws fists at me. I think of my daughter, our child. I imagine her here instead—the drugs in her system. I feel sick at the thought. I hit him, then hit him again. I cave in his nose.
When he falls unconscious, I toss him into the closet. Grabbing the twisting golf club, I jam it through the door handle. Then I run down the stairs, pushing people aside. The music has stopped. At the front of the house, I hear, “Police! Police!”
But they’re not shouting at me. They’re trying to get through the crowd.
I slip out the back, pull off the mask, jog through the backyards, and keep running. I’ll have to come back for the car later. I jog at the side of the road away from the streetlamps when a car pulls up.
Dammit. Okay. I’ll have to call the team lawyer. Running doesn’t look good, does it? I’m not used to this stuff. I just know I have to be free to protect my baby. I can hear Coach Tremblay saying, Why did you run, Logan? Why did you do that?
I turn to find Emma sitting behind the wheel of a small family vehicle. There’s a small dent in the side, and then I remember. It’s the car I shoved the man against.
Emma rolls down the window. “Get in.”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Emma
I sit in the backseat with my hands wrapped around Chrissy’s. She has her cheek resting on my shoulder, moaning in her sleep, the words difficult to make out. I’m not even sure I could call this sleep. It’s more of a moaning nightmare.