They finally reached an unmarked door, and he knocked twice, and it opened a crack and then opened wider after whoever was behind it recognized one or more of them.
“Here,” the bouncer said, and gestured them inside.
It was a small room, cramped with the three guys already inside.
Jordan was in the center, sitting on the single chair, and he was pale under the dangling fluorescent light.
One of the men was dressed like the bouncer, in all black, but he had a utility belt on, webbed and official looking, and there was not just a gun on it, but at least one knife, if not two. From the flat expression on his face and the dead-eyed stare he swung their direction, Nate would bet he knew how to use both of them.
He’d been worried about the bouncer, but this guy was a whole other problem.
The second guy was dressed flashier. Still all in black, but in a suit, with a shiny, oil slick black vest under his jacket, his black shirt open at the collar, and the gold chain he wore at his throat was twisted and thick.
Glinting with diamonds the same way Ramsey’s chain did. But he wasn’t hiding it like Nate knew Ramsey was hiding his.
There was a pea-sized green stone on his pinky too, and the guy wore not just gold and diamonds and emeralds but power like a cloak over his shoulders.
“Wow, look who’s gracing my establishment,” the guy in charge said. “Not just another football player, but Nate Bishop, in the flesh. And not just football players, but a hockey player too.” He paused, an ugly kind of amusement glittering in his dark eyes, “’Course not sure if you can call yourself a hockey player if you’re not really playing.”
Nate felt his temper flare, but Ramsey squeezed once, hard.Don’t react,he said without opening his mouth.
“You’ve got us at a disadvantage,” Ramsey said. If Nate hadn’t learned the little tiny tics that always gave Ramsey’s true feelings away, he would’ve guessed that he wasn’t upset at all.
But in actuality, Nate knew just how deeply pissed off that comment had made him.
“We’re not what’s important,” the guy said arrogantly.
“You’re right.” Ramsey’s concession was smooth and easy. “You want to tell us why we’re here? What happened with Jordan?”
Nate watched as Jordan opened his mouth like he was going to say something and then he snapped it shut again when the man’s hand landed heavily on Jordan’s shoulder.
What an absolute dick. If it wouldn’t get them into even more trouble, Nate wouldn’t have hesitated before rearranging the guy’s conceited, self-important face.
“No, by all means, tell them how you were harassing some of my best patrons,” the asshole said.
Jordan hesitated, fear blooming into his eyes as he furtively glanced over to where the armed man stood, expression impassive, arms crossed over his broad chest.
Normally, Nate wouldn’t worry about the three of them physically taking a few guys on. They could all take a hit and dish it out right back. Even Ramsey—once embarrassingly Nate had watched a YouTube compilation of his best hits. He didn’t always attack physically on the ice, but when he did? He could handle himself.
But none of them were holding their own against a gun and a knife. Nevermind whatever weapons weren’t visible.
“No, really,” the asshole insisted. “Tell them.”
Jordan’s chin jutted out stubbornly. “Your best fucking customer was harassing one of the girls. She doesn’t deserve that.”
Something cold and horrified settled at the base of Nate’s stomach. He’d assumed that Jordan was here, locked up in this room, because he’d done something shitty.
But that wasn’t it at all.
“He paid for it.” There was a chilling note of acceptance in the asshole’s voice. Like that was all that was required to take advantage of anyone. For enough cash to cross the table.
Ramsey’s hand gripped his tighter. His knuckles were probably turning white, and the asshole would have noticed ifhe was paying attention. But he was toying with Jordan still. Having dismissed Ramsey as a too-pretty injured hockey player.
“Doesn’t matter,” Nate said, finding his voice. “Sounds like Jordan was doing the right thing. And you have no reason to hold him here. Come on, let’s go.”
But the asshole’s grip on Jordan’s shoulder tightened,hisknuckles going white.
“Enough with the bullshit. What do you want?” Ramsey asked it bluntly.
