Pucking Obsessed (Bay Rebels #4)

Chapter 3

CHAPTER THREE

Rebel Arena, Freedom

R obyn

D’Angelo stalks down the Rebel Arena corridor, which is painted white with low, blue lighting. His back is tight with tension.

Shay and I exchange a glance, following him.

Fear and anticipation thrums through me.

This is going to be bad.

I’m dressed in an ivory suit with a silk blouse that’s so creased, I wish that Eden had ironed it. It was the first thing, however, that I snatched out of my suitcase to drag on.

I slip my hand into my pocket just for a moment to stroke over the angel wing shell that Eden gave me.

It’s my lucky charm.

Then my stomach rumbles. I clutch my middle with a grimace.

We missed lunch, packing up and rushing back to Captain’s Hall in order to attend this emergency meeting.

We’re about to go into this thing blind. From a PR (and any other perspective), that’s dangerous.

Is this an ambush?

What the hell is going on?

I hate feeling like I’m marching to my own trial and I can’t build my own defense because I don’t know what I’ve been accused of.

Dad used to pull off this trick, when Cody and I were kids.

One winter, Dad summoned us mysteriously to line up like we were in an army drill in the middle of the lounge, before bed.

He demanded that we confess .

I still don’t know what for.

We stood there for three hours, until my younger brother collapsed. I immediately confessed just to have Cody sent safely to bed.

Dad harrumphed and told me that he knew I was covering for my bad little brother .

By the next morning, it was like Dad had forgotten the whole thing.

D’Angelo fusses with his scarf, muttering to himself. “One weekend, one fucking weekend away from hockey in six years. Is that too much to ask for? Yes, yes, clearly it is.”

I leave him to it.

Sometimes, we all need a good mutter rant.

Shay glances around the corridor to check that we’re alone and then grasps my hand, stroking over the back of my knuckles. “It’s going to be okay, love. We’ve got each other’s backs.”

He’s quivering with nervous energy.

Dad is going to be pissed because instead of wearing a suit, Shay is dressed in one of my favorite outfits because it reminds me of the night that I first met him in Merchant’s Inn: a motorcycle jacket over a punky red shirt and black jeans.

He doesn’t look like a hockey player. I love that he has the courage to be himself.

He’s battled in the same way that Eden has to express who he truly is and he knows how precious it is to be able to wear metallic nail varnish, a leather jacket, and ripped jeans.

Eden inks and pierces his skin to claim his ownership back over himself.

This is Shay’s method.

His courage makes me feel braver.

“We’ll be fine together.” I squeeze Shay’s hand, before letting go.

He smiles; it’s beautiful.

Then he pushes his hand with a nervous energy through his hair. “Eden’s probably pacing like a caged lion around Captain’s Hall. It’s shit that he’s not here. He should have been allowed to attend as Jude’s PA.”

“I tried that card,” D’Angelo says icily without looking around. “But apparently the asshole who owns the club has a specific list of people who he will and won’t allow to be in his god-like presence.”

Is that a sneer? It’s a definite sneer.

I flinch.

So, the owner of the club himself set up this meeting.

It’s never good when the top boss knows your name and has it on a list.

We’re screwed.

“Who is this posh bastard?” Shay glances between D’Angelo and me.

Finally, D’Angelo stops, turning to face Shay and me with an impressive swirl of his coat. “Charles Heine. A tech billionaire in his thirties, who works under his daddy still. He lives the life of a playboy, doing things like buying hockey clubs because a yacht is just too common a toy when all the other rich boys own one. Also, he enjoys having control over actual dolls.”

Shay grins. “Sounds like you two would get on.”

D’Angelo glares at him. “Clearly, you don’t want to come any time soon, cucciolo.”

“I rest my case.”

“He’s nothing like me.” D’Angelo clenches his hands. “He’s a manipulative, narcissistic, sociopath.”

So, your typical billionaire.

I study D’Angelo.

Something’s wrong.

He’s ashen. He’s breathing too fast like he’s spiraling.

I rush to catch up with him, snatching him by his scarf.

I lay my hand on his arm. “Hey, what’s going on? Do you know this Heine? I heard that he’s not been involved in the running of the club. He hasn’t watched any of the games at the rink so far.”

Perhaps, these wealthy young playboys throng together at cocktail bars like On the Rocks or in nightclubs in Monaco?

What’s a group of playboys called? A dick of playboys?

“He’s not interested in the club.” D’Angelo stares intently at the wall. “And just like the other billionaires on the board, including Bronwyn, I wish that I didn’t know him. If Charles is suddenly taking an interest in the running of the Bay Rebels, however, then we have a serious problem.”

I stroke down D’Angelo’s scarf, soothing both him and myself. “Strategy?”

“I know this one. I’ve learned from the best.” Shay excitedly reaches into his pocket and pulls out his phone.

He switches it on, before tapping on something.

“No comment,” parrots from the phone in an automated voice, followed by the same phrase in every language that Shay has been able to program on repeat.

“My best student.” I smile, proudly.

Shay winks, before switching off his phone.

“As powerful as the no commen t rule is,” D’Angelo, my student who has never once been able to keep to that rule shakes his head, “this time it’s not going to work.”

I frown. “Why?”

“Because apart from Heine, coach, and the board, do you know who else has been called into this meeting?”

“The rest of the staff?” I venture. “Atlas? Grayson, Lucas, and other players on the team?”

To my surprise, D’Angelo shakes his head. “Heine only wrote our names on the list. No other players and barely a handful of staff.”

For the first time, cold dread slithers up my spine. My mouth becomes dry.

It’s never a good thing to have your name on any list.

Well, unless it’s Top Ten Asses of the Year, and D’Angelo has been on that one three times.

“This is serious, isn’t it?” I whisper.

D’Angelo’s piercing gaze meets mine. “It is, principessa. For the last few hours, I’ve been in an online group chat with the rest of the team. Atlas has been feeding me information about what’s been going on here. Apparently, Heine has been circling the arena like a shark all day, pretending to ask casual questions.”

“Then how about we don’t meekly swim into the shark tank?”

“Little fish, we have no choice. But you’re forgetting that I’m an orca.” D’Angelo flashes his sharp teeth. “I eat sharks.”

Shay scrunches up his nose. “Hot, darlin’. But also, don’t let Dee hear you talking like that. He’s a defender of any animal, even billionaire ones who are trying to take a bite out of our arses.”

“No one bites your ass but me.” D’Angelo’s lips pinch. “Whatever happens, I will be in that meeting protecting you both.”

“Do you think that they found out about us?” Terror constricts my heart at the thought.

I lock my legs to not show how shaky I am.

Our relationship is the best thing in our lives but could also destroy us.

I want to be able to be open about our love. I’ve told my family.

Shay hasn’t talked to his family yet, however, and he deserves to control that moment for himself.

I won’t let him be outed.

But how can I shield him?

Eden and I have been fighting to shield the two players for weeks from increasing intrusion and scrutiny.

A small group of the superfans have crossed the line from fan into someone who thinks that they have a one-sided, unhealthy parasocial relationship with them.

Like they own them.

It’s out of control.

How can anyone be expected to live under this pressure and not crack?

We also deserve to have private lives.

Why do people think that they’re entitled to pressure people to reveal their sexuality, gender identity, or whether they’re submissive or dominant just because they’re in the public eye?

I’m a realist. I know that not everybody will accept how we live our lives.

They don’t need to because it’s none of their fucking business.

Except, are Heine and the board about to make it their business in the most devastating way?

Shay moves closer, until we’re standing in a close circle. His hand brushes against mine.

The touch is electric.

This close to the meeting room, however, I don’t dare do more than curl my fingers against his for a moment.

I wish that I could.

“This is for a lifetime, remember?” Shay murmurs, glancing between us both.

I wish that he believed that.

“And not a single day less,” D’Angelo replies, low and possessive.

“Even the sucky ones.” I push as close to the two men as I dare, relishing how much taller they are and the way that I can shelter in their shadows.

When the meeting room bangs open, however, and someone strolls out, we instantly break apart.

My pulse speeds up.

I smooth down my creased blouse, anxiously.

Heine saunters toward us like he should be on a yacht sipping a cocktail with a bright umbrella in it.

I’d recognize him from the number of times that he’s appeared looking powerful and gorgeous on the Time cover alone.

He’s unfairly handsome with cornflower blue eyes and wavy honey blond hair.

Yet those eyes look as dead as a shark’s.

D’Angelo was right.

Heine is dressed like performative art: black skinny jeans, a designer long sleeved t-shirt that matches his eyes, and a bulky jacket, which is embroidered with Gothic skulls.

He demanded that everybody else wore a suit but he deliberately dressed in his signature style.

Billionaires make a point of showing that they’re above society’s rules.

Asshole.

Next to me, D’Angelo stiffens. His expression becomes glacial.

Instantly, the temperature in the corridor drops, and the tension rises even further.

I can hardly breathe.

Shay fixes on a bright smile, however, and walks forward. “Hey, Mr. Heine. It’s brilliant to meet you. I appreciate the incredible opportunity that your club has offered to me. I swear that I’ll give hundred percent dedication and loyalty…”

Heine rolls his eyes, brushing past Shay like he’s no more important than an irritating, buzzing fly.

Shay’s enthusiasm dims like his smile.

I hate to see that.

I bristle. “Good afternoon, Mr. Heine. You summoned us. May I have a copy of the agenda, so that I can look it over and be prepared, before the—”

“No need.” Heine’s voice is light and lazy. He swims with an intent focus toward D’Angelo, however, who tenses. He reaches out his hand, as if tempted to stroke down D’Angelo’s chest. “You’re wearing one of your favorite shirts. Thoughtful.”

Shay’s gaze darkens.

“I’m not wearing it for you, Charlie ,” D’Angelo grits out.

The Charlie is a clear power move.

I smirk.

Heine may be our boss and a billionaire.

As D’Angelo towers over Heine, however, it’s clear that he is the orca in this corridor.

How do they know each other? Simply through the Bay Rebels?

Heine’s cheek twitches. “ Mr. D’Angelo, I didn’t say that you were.”

D’Angelo narrows his eyes. “What’s with the dramatics? Why have I been kept in the dark as the captain?”

Heine tosses his hair. “I own your little club and if I want to play with it, then I can.”

“That’s not what we agreed,” D’Angelo growls.

When Heine’s eyes flash with rage, I take a protective step toward D’Angelo at the same time as Shay does. “You don’t get to control my business dealings or finances.”

Surprisingly, this cools D’Angelo.

He gives a curt nod. “You’re right. I’m sorry, Charles. But when you purchased this club — against my express request — you swore that you’d be hands off. So, what is this?”

Heine crosses his arms. “I got bored.” Then his expression gentles. “You look good.”

I clamp my hand around Shay’s arm to stop him yanking Heine away from D’Angelo by his hair.

Then I mouth no comment at him.

Shay bites his lip like he’s fighting hard to lock his words behind his teeth. He rocks backwards and forwards on his heels.

“You don’t,” D’Angelo replies, frostily. “No amount of thousand dollar concealer can hide the shadows under your eyes. Still not sleeping? What is keeping you up at night? A guilty conscience?”

Heine sharply turns to Shay. “At least I don’t look like I’ve been brawling in bars. But then, our newest player is dressed the part of biker trash.”

He laughs, high and nasty.

Shay’s shoulders hunch.

No. Fucking. Way.

“Unlike your signature Goth nerd becomes Bond villain look…?” I tilt up my chin.

Shay chuckles. “What happened to the no comment rule?”

“I decided that it could go fuck itself.” I stare hard at the owner.

I hope he knows exactly who I want to go fuck himself.

Heine is trying to touch and hit on D’Angelo. He’s degrading Shay. And he’s treating the Bay Rebels like his personal toy.

I tried to be professional, but this jerk thinks that he’s above things like processes, rules, and regulations.

So, why do I have to play by them either?

D’Angelo hisses out a sharp breath.

Heine turns and studies me for a long moment.

Then he cocks his brow. “You’re interesting. I like you. But you…” He points at Shay. “Maybe you have a black eye because you were a bad boy for your captain.”

Shay and D’Angelo both pale.

Without thinking Shay raises his hand to his bruised eye.

Heine looks triumphant like he’s worked out how the team truly works now and doesn’t care either way; he’s only been toying with both men as a cat does with a cornered mouse. “You should have tried using your thousand dollar concealer to cover the bruise.”

“I’d never…” D’Angelo looks caught between rage and shock. “Charles, you know me well enough to know that.”

“Do I?” Heine strolls back to the meeting room door, pushing it open.

“I hurt myself surfing,” Shay insists, helplessly.

“Sure.” Heine gives a fake smile that doesn’t meet his eyes, which says as clearly as if he’d screamed it that he doesn’t believe Shay. Then he gestures inside the room. “Everybody’s waiting for you. Mr. D’Angelo, I’ll be honest. I’m here because all I’ve heard from the board for weeks is bad news. They want to sacrifice you. This is your trial. I’ll be even more honest. I’m back because it’ll be fun to watch you struggle to escape the public burning. Your trial starts now.”