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ChapterOne
“He’s a liability this team doesn’t need, Jacob,” Uncle Lou yells at my father, hitting the large oval conference table with his fist. My uncle’s face is red, the little vein in his forehead pulsing rapidly.
I look to my father, who’s the complete opposite. Calm, relaxed, and leaning back in his chair like he doesn’t have a care in the world. If I could give anyone a piece of advice, it would be to never play poker with my dad. His face is unmovable in any situation. I honestly can’t remember the last time I’ve seen him smileorlaugh. Probably when my mother was still here. Fifteen years ago. That’s a long time to go without smiling.
If it were anyone else yelling at Dad, and not his own brother, I’d be looking to make a hasty escape from this room. Alexander McQueen dresses and blood splatters don’t tend to mix too well. And I’m fond of this outfit.
“Last I checked, this was my team, Lou,” Dad retorts with a single raised brow.
“Pops, Uncle Lou might be right. King is a lawsuit waiting to happen. The man brings bad press and everything else you don’t want in a league looking to score the Cup this year.” This comes from my older brother, Grayson, AKA the Vancouver Knights’ enforcer.
“He’s the best sniper the league has seen since Hull, except this kid has a better slapshot. I want 'em. We’re signing 'em,” Dad says with a finality that means no one is going to argue with him.
“What about that?” Uncle Lou points to the tv screen mounted on the wall at the end of the conference room.
Liam King’s smirking, cocky-ass face is front and center. He’s sprawled out on a black leather sofa with three half-naked puck bunnies climbing all over him. But it’s not his questionable choice in bedmates that’s set the media into a frenzy this time. No, it’s the white powder and rolled-up hundred-dollar bill sitting on the table in front of him that’s caused quite the stir.
I’ve spent years wondering what went on behind the closed doors of this conference room. To say I’m disappointed by how mundane and boring this meeting has been would be an understatement. I don’t know what I was expecting, but when my father called and told me I was needed, I jumped at the chance to be part of theteam.As the only girl in the family, it was never my place to be one of the boys. I wasn’t supposed to know the inner workings of my father’s businesses. Not that it takes a genius to figure out just how my family’s amassed its wealth.
We don’t choose the families we’re born into. We just have to learn to live with them, right? Do I agree with everything my father and brothers do? No, but they’re the only family I have and I love them regardless of the blood that may stain their hands. Unlike my mother, my father stuck around. He’d never leave me alone or feed me to the wolves.
“That’s what we have Aliyah for. She’s going to babysit King and make sure he doesn’t gain any negative attention from the press,” Dad says.
“Wait… what?” I ask. I take it back. It seems my father would feed me to the wolves—these bastards just happened to be disguised as a bunch of brutish hockey players.
“Absolutely not. Are we not looking at the same fucking pictures, Dad? That asshole is not going within an inch of my sister. He’s a womanizer, who’s seen more bunny ass than Bugs Bunny himself.” Gray pushes to his feet, his chair falling backwards in the process.
“Sit your ass down.” Dad’s voice rises. One thing about Jacob Monroe? The man does not tolerate temper tantrums. From anyone. Especially my brothers. My moods and outbursts, he’s way more lenient on. But theirs? Not so much.
My lips tip up at the sides. It’s a sibling thing. Also, I’m glad someone finally told Gray to shut up when it comes to the whole overbearing big brother act.
“Do you really think I’d put my daughter at risk, Grayson? You’re going to be on the ice with King. You’re his teammate and I trust that you’ll put the fear of the devil in him—let the bastard know exactly what will happen if he so much as thinks about touching your sister,” Dad says.
Guess that wholesticking it to Graything didn’t last long. I should have known it was too good to be true.
“You know I’m right here,” I say.
“Your point?” Dad asks.
“I have a mind and will of my own. Last I checked, we live in the twenty-first century. If I want to give the whole damn team free rein of my body, I can and I will,” I tell him.
My dad blinks. Twice. His knuckles turn white around the pen he’s holding. I’m surprised it hasn’t snapped under the pressure yet. Throwing the pen onto the table, he stands and walks over to the large floor-to-ceiling window behind his desk.
“Come here, Aliyah,” he says, staring out the glass.
I push to my feet and straighten my shoulders. I’m not backing down. These men need to learn that I’m not a little girl anymore. I’m twenty-four years old. I should be able to make my own decisions. I approach my father, as his gaze focuses on the rink below.
“You see that ice out there?” he asks.
“Yes,” I answer.
“What color is it?” He doesn’t look at me. His eyes are glued to the rink.
“White,” I tell him.
“White,” he repeats. “If you let any of my players touch you, that ice will be painted red with their blood, and it’ll be your job to come up with a creative way to explain how a whole team of NHL players went missing,” he says before turning his icy glare on me.
I swallow. It’s not the first time my father has threatened to kill any guy I’ve ever shown an interest in. I’ve gotten really good at hiding the fact that I date. I figure it’s not worth the headache until I’m sure the guy is worth going toe-to-toe with my family over.
