19. Sam
19
SAM
Sam
I pull up to Kim's apartment complex, my knuckles white on the steering wheel. The run-down building looms before me, a stark contrast to my usual surroundings. As I approach her unit, the thump of bass reverberates through the hallway. Fucking hell.
The door's wide open, and the stench of weed and cheap booze assaults my senses. I step inside, my jaw clenching at the sight before me.
The once-tidy apartment is a disaster zone. Bodies sprawl across every surface, some passed out, others in various states of inebriation. In the center of it all stands Nathan, Kim's piece of shit brother, holding court like some two-bit drug lord.
My fists clench at my sides. This fucker's using my little dancer's place as his personal crack den. My blood boils, and I have to resist the urge to start throwing punches.
"Hey!" I bark, my voice cutting through the cacophony. "What the fuck is going on here?"
Nathan turns, his glazed eyes widening as he recognizes me. "Well, well. If it ain't the big shot hockey player. What brings you to our humble abode?"
I stride forward, shoving aside a couple of strung-out junkies. "This isn't your place, you piece of shit. It's Kim's."
He laughs, a hollow sound that grates on my nerves. "Kim ain't here, man. Figured I'd put the space to good use."
My vision goes red. Before I know it, I've got Nathan by the collar, slamming him against the wall. The music cuts out abruptly, and suddenly all eyes are on us.
"Listen up, you lowlife scum," I growl, my face inches from his. "You've got five minutes to clear out of here. Anyone still here after that... well, let's just say you won't like what happens next."
Nathan tries to look tough, but I can see the fear in his eyes. "You can't tell me what to do, man. This is family business."
I tighten my grip, feeling a sick satisfaction as he squirms. "Your sister's under my protection now. That makes this my business."
He fights against me. "The fuck do you mean Kim's with you?" He narrows his eyes. "She run to you, trying to spin some bullshit? Don't let her lie to you. She's in this, too."
The acrid stench of his breath mingles with the sour odor of stale beer and sweat. My voice drops to a low, menacing growl.
"Listen up, you little shit. This isn't a game anymore. You're playing with fire, and I'm about to become your worst fucking nightmare."
Nathan's eyes dart around, searching for an escape. I slam him against the wall again, relishing the dull thud of his skull connecting with the plaster.
"Eyes on me, asshole. I want you to understand exactly what's gonna happen if you don't get your act together."
I lean in close, my lips nearly touching his ear. "I've got more money than you can even imagine. One word from me, and you'll disappear. No one will even notice you're gone. Your precious 'empire'? It'll crumble faster than you can say 'plea bargain'."
Nathan's Adam's apple bobs as he swallows hard. "You can't-"
"I can, and I will," I cut him off. "But here's the thing. I'm giving you one chance. One. Get the fuck out of Kim's place, and stay the fuck away from her. Or I'll make sure you spend the rest of your miserable life in a cell so small you'll forget what it's like to stand up straight."
I release him with a shove, watching as he stumbles and nearly falls. The room is dead silent, all eyes on us.
"Five minutes," I remind him, my voice ice-cold. "Clock's ticking."
I turn on my heel, the crowd parting before me like the Red Sea. As I reach the door, I pause, glancing back over my shoulder. Nathan's still frozen in place, his face a mask of fear and anger.
"Oh, and Nathan? If I ever catch you using Kim's name to peddle your shit again, what I do to you will make prison look like a fucking day spa."
With that, I stride out of the apartment, the door slamming behind me with a satisfying bang. The hallway feels cooler, cleaner, and I take a deep breath, trying to calm the rage still coursing through my veins.
I make my way out of the building, my blood still boiling from the confrontation with Nathan. The cool air hits my face, a welcome respite from the stifling atmosphere inside. But as I reach the sidewalk, a familiar click-click-click stops me dead in my tracks.
"Fuck," I mutter under my breath.
They're everywhere. Like vultures circling a carcass, paparazzi swarm around me, their cameras flashing incessantly. The rapid-fire shutters sound like machine gun fire in the quiet street.
"Sam! Sam Warwick!" A particularly bold photographer shoves his lens in my face. "What were you doing in that building? Is this where you get your steroids?"
I clench my fists, resisting the urge to smash his camera. "No comment," I growl, pushing past him.
But they're relentless, crowding me from all sides. Their questions blend into a cacophony of accusations and innuendo.
"Is it true you're being investigated for drug use?"
"Are you here to threaten your dealer?"
"What about the rumors that an ice girl on your team is helping push drugs? Are you involved with her?"
That last one makes me pause for a split second. Shit. Nathan's bullshit has made the lies about Kim spread faster than I expected.
I quicken my pace, shouldering my way through the throng. My car's just a few yards away, but it feels like miles. The flashes are blinding now, each one searing into my retinas like a supernova.
Finally, I reach my vehicle. I yank the door open and throw myself inside, slamming it shut behind me. The sudden silence is deafening.
I peel away from the curb, leaving the paparazzi in my rearview mirror. But as I navigate the familiar streets towards home, my phone erupts into a frenzy of vibrations and rings.
By the time I pull into my driveway, it's like I've got a live grenade in my pocket. I fish out the device, grimacing at the screen. It's lit up like a Christmas tree, notifications popping up faster than I can process them.
Joe's name flashes repeatedly, interspersed with my lawyer and a slew of unknown numbers. Christ, it's like the whole world's trying to reach me at once.
I ignore them all, tossing the phone onto the passenger seat. Whatever shitstorm's brewing, it can wait until I've had a drink and a moment to think.
As I step out of the car, the phone starts up again, its insistent buzzing a harbinger of the chaos to come. Knowing I can't ignore this, I fish the damn thing out.
I groan, swiping open my phone and tapping on Joe's messages. A link stares back at me, taunting. Fuck it. I click.
The headline hits me like a sucker punch: NHL Star Sam Warwick Caught Leaving Known Drug Den Amid Steroid Use Rumors.
"Son of a bitch!" I roar.
My blood boils as I storm into my house, fists clenching and unclenching. Those vultures twisted everything. One visit to Kim's place, and suddenly I'm a junkie? Fuck that noise.
My phone rings again, piercing through my rage. I snatch it up, ready to unleash hell.
"What?" I snarl.
"Sam." It's Joe, which is probably not the right person for me to talk to right now. "Tell me you've seen the article."
I laugh, bitter and harsh. "Oh, I've seen it alright. What the fuck, Joe? How'd this shit get out so fast?"
Joe sighs, static crackling through the line. "It's bad, Sam. Really bad. We need to get ahead of this before-"
"Before what?" I cut him off. "Before they crucify me in the court of public opinion? Too fucking late for that."
"Listen," Joe's voice drops low, urgent. "We need to meet. Now. Your place or mine?"
I run a hand through my hair, tugging at the roots. "Mine. Bring the PR team. And Joe? Tell 'em to bring their A-game. We're going to war."
The line goes dead, and I toss the phone aside. I debate if I have time to head down to the gym, needing to work out all the anger pounding through me.
My mind races, replaying the scene at Kim's apartment. Nathan's smug face, the junkies scattered around like human garbage. And now, thanks to those bloodsucking paparazzi, it's all tied to me.
The doorbell chimes, jolting me from my thoughts. I stride to the door, yanking it open to find Joe and a small army of suits behind him.
"Let's get this shitshow on the road," I growl, stepping aside to let them in.
As they file past, setting up laptops and pulling out phones, I can't help but think of Kim. My little dancer, caught up in this mess because of her scumbag brother. I'll fix this. For both of us.
I slam the door shut, turning to face the room full of people who are about to try and save my ass. Game on.