Page 103 of Callous Shot

@linkb_flames:

i know you have 6 every game day. there’s enough in there to cover the rest of the season plus playoffs

I sniffed, biting down on my lip as warmth spread through my body.

@danhfirestarter:

it must’ve taken a long time to sort all the red ones out

@linkb_flames:

i got tilly to help me although she spent more time eating than helping. she did tell me to ask you if you appreciated her help

@danhfirestarter:

recruiting your little cousin to your cause? playing dirty bellingham

@linkb_flames:

i need all the help i can get. i miss you

Three words. Three words that lit me up inside.

@linkb_flames:

i’m sorry. i shouldn’t have said that

good luck today

@danhfirestarter:

you too and i miss you too you bastard

“Fuck him,” I muttered to myself, still grinning. Next to me, Ryker sighed heavily.

“I hope you know what you’re doing.”

“Nope. Not a clue.”

The doors to the rink opened, and I was immediately hit by a wall of noise. Goosebumps popped all over my skin, and the hairs on the back of my neck stood on end. It wasn’t only the electric atmosphere, the fact that this was the Cranham Kings versus the Whelford Flames, and this time, we were the home team. It was also the fact that the stands were packed, not only with fans, but with a large percentage of the local underworld.

Honestly, though? All that paled in comparison to the fact that I was about to come face-to-face with Lincoln for the first time since our showdown.

We spilled onto the ice, and my gaze swept the stands, avoiding the other end of the rink, where the Flames were warming up. Jay’s girlfriend, Nova, was seated right behind the player benches, next to Liana and their other bestie, Vesper, and I lifted my hand in a wave.

Above them, in what we called the VIP seating—although it wasn’t officially designated that way—was a who’s who of crime lords. Graham Thorpe and his wife, Elizabeth. The Volkovs. Neil, my mum, and my cousin, Stephen. Jay’s parents and sister.

Sid was back at the house, keeping an eye on things, the Thorpes had left their right-hand man in charge, and the Volkovs had ironclad security at their compound. The Operation Foxglove three-counties raid was happening tonight, after months of investigation, and this was a public display, a show that, as far as we were concerned, we had nothing to hide.

“My parents never come to my games,” Ryker muttered, skating up alongside me. “This is fucking weird.”

Jay appeared on my other side. “Yeah, no pressure. We’re just being watched by all the local crime organisations.”

“There is no more pressure than usual.” Anton Volkov clapped Jay’s shoulders. “We will beat the Whelford Flames. I will stop them from scoring. And you will concentrate on getting the puck into the net. Like we practised, Attwood.”

“Shutout, baby!” I held my fist out, and Anton bumped it.

“Okay. Come on. Warm up,” Ryker instructed.