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“Fucking coward,” Logan snarls. “Assaulting a woman. Hiding behind a mask.”
I force myself to move, pick up the phone, and talk into it as clearly as possible. My words come quickly, describing what I saw. “I know I sound crazy, but I saw it. Several men were wearing rabbit masks, and some girls were passed out. They drugged my friend.”
When Logan hears this last line, he pulls his head back, headbutts the man, then drops him on the ground. “Get out of here, Emma,” he growls, picking up the mask. Before he puts it on, he leans over and kisses me, just once, on the forehead. He lets it linger as if he’s savoring it. It’s the most romantic thing I’ve ever experienced. “Get your friend somewhere safe. Now.”
“Ma’am? Ma’am?” the911operator is saying down the phone. “Are you there? The music is making it difficult to hear.”
“Yes, I… I’m waiting for the cops. What should I do?”
They order me to get away from the property, so I bundle Chrissy into the car, ensure she’s comfortable, and then get into the driver’s seat. Driving away is so difficult, knowing Logan’s in there with all that fury bubbling out of him, all that fire. What if he gets hurt? Some of those freaks might have weapons.
“I’m sorry,” Chrissy moans from the back seat. “I’ve got a boyfriend.”
“It’s okay, hon,” I say, backing the car up. “Everything’s going to be okay.”
I hope.
CHAPTERTWELVE
Logan
Music pumps through the walls as I walk in and out of the rooms. I shove people aside, but nobody starts any trouble. Maybe it’s the fact every vein in my arms is throbbing. Perhaps it’s the fact I could’ve killed that fucker out there for daring to touch my woman.
I heard what Emma said on the phone to the cops—Emma, whose skin, fear, and sweat I can still taste on my lips. I listened to what she saw, what these bastards did. Suddenly, this is bigger than me, Emma, hockey, and my baby. Not in the long term. Not forever, but right now, goddamn.Thesewere babies, too, once. These people deserve protection. Is this how fatherhood changes a person?
I climb up the stairs, then spot a door at the end of the corridor. Two beefy bastards wearing rabbit masks stand in front of it, their arms crossed over their middle. I’m a hockey player, not a fighter. I don’t know what sort of training these men have. I have to be smart and think. I’m sober. They’re probably not. They’re not expecting a fight, but I am.
“Did you get the bitch?” the rabbit on the right asks, almost as tall as me, wearing a gray T-shirt drenched in sweat. “We kept guard like you asked.”
“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 calledsitting.
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 IknowEmma 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. Leanintothe 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.
