Chapter 4
Wraith
“Are you seriously going dressed like that?” Colson asks, regarding me and his man with disdain. “You look exactly like what you are.”
“What do you mean, babe?” Specter asks, looking down at his ubiquitous black outfit.
“You’re going to a sporting event dressed like Mafia muscle.”
“What should we wear?”
Colson huffs, flipping his hair off his shoulder. “Do you have any civilian clothes?”
“These are civilian clothes,” Specter complains.
“Oh my god, boys. Come.”
We dutifully follow Colson upstairs to his and Specter’s shared bedroom. While I linger at the foot of the bed, Specter stands close to Colson by the dresser as he digs through it.
“Finally,” Colson says, producing a plain white t-shirt. He smiles as he finds a second one. “These will do. Do you have sneakers?”
Specter scoffs.
“Right,” Colson says. “This will help a little.”
I pull my black turtleneck sweater off and slide the t-shirt over my head. It’s a little tight and clearly hasn’t been worn in a while, but it’s fine. I wear the occasional t-shirt when I’m just hanging out at home. Specter, however, looks ready to crawl out of his skin.
Colson grins, smoothing his hands over the slightly wrinkled shirt. “You look adorable.”
He grunts. “The look I’m going for.”
“You just need to blend in a little more if you’re going to be hanging out there.”
“You have a point.” Specter’s still tugging on the shirt.
“Any coats beside the hit man special?” Colson asks and I chuckle at that.
“I have a bomber jacket,” I offer.
“Good. Get that. Specter?”
He sighs, throwing his head back slightly. “I think I have a leather jacket I haven’t worn in a while.”
Colson steps into the closet, flipping through hangers for a few seconds before making a sound of delight. When he reappears, he’s holding a denim jacket with fleece around the collar.
“You were holding out, babe.”
“I forgot I had that.”
I watch with complete amusement as Colson helps Specter into the jacket. He looks completely different all of a sudden. Younger. Still surly, but that’s just his vibe.
“There. Just two regular hockey fans watching the game,” Colson says, messing with Specter’s hair. “Have fun, boys.”
I dip from the room and head to mine to find my jacket, then at the last minute decide to switch my black jeans for regular blue ones. Colson does have a good point. If I want to stalk my target, I need to blend in a lot more.
When we head downstairs and pass through the rec room, we’re met with whistles from all the guys. Except Shadow. He’s probably holed up in his room still. He’s been pretty antisocial lately. Understandably.
“Looking good, boys,” Carnage says. “Like a couple of bros.”
“I wouldn’t go that far,” Whisper deadpans.
Before we can make our exit, we all fall silent as Shadow enters the room. His stance is unsure, which isn’t like him at all. There’s a deep crease in his brow, and my heart rate ticks up. Is it Bellamy?
“They’re releasing Stealth from the facility in three days,” Shadow says, so softly I almost don’t hear him.
“Seriously?” Specter asks. “Oh my god. That’s amazing. Right? That means he’s good?”
Shadow nods, but he still looks shell-shocked. “They’ll have a list of instructions for us, but yes, he’s good and healthy again.”
“And…?” Ghost asks, tentatively. “He’s sober?”
“That’s what I’m told,” Shadow says. “Can a couple of you make sure his room is good to go? I’ll have the cleaning crew come in tomorrow, but I want to make sure it feels like home for him.”
“It is home,” I say. “I’m happy to check his room.”
“Me too,” Ghost says.
“Thanks, guys.” Shadow relaxes slightly.
“Are you okay, boss?” Specter asks.
“Yes. I guess I didn’t think the day would actually come, but I’m told he’s been working very hard on his recovery.”
“This is fucking amazing.” Phantom smiles. “We’ve got him, boss.”
“I know.” Shadow’s gaze finally settles on me and Specter and confusion spreads across his features. “Why the hell are you dressed like that?”
Colson chuckles, holding on to Specter’s arm.
“I have to go to a hockey game,” I explain. “Colson helped us try to blend in more.”
“Ah. I thought it was fucking Halloween or something for a minute.”
I chuckle at that then look down at my watch. “We should head out, Spec.”
“Let’s roll.”
Specter drives while I sit and go through my phone, looking at the target’s file again to refresh myself.
He’s an average looking guy; handsome but you can see that his life has been hard.
He has dark hair, dark eyes, and pale skin, but the tattoo on his neck is unique.
It looks like some kind of symbol in an intricate pattern.
No clue what it is and it doesn’t look gang related.
All the pictures of him are candid shots he clearly wasn’t aware were being taken, but a few of them are clear enough to pick him out of a crowd. Patrick Gemelli. He’s also got almost zero internet presence. That’s why I have to show up at a hockey game to find him. The dude is slippery.
“What did you say this was about again?” Specter asks. “Blackmail or something?”
“That’s what Shadow said, but he didn’t have a lot of details. Just said it’s escalating and it needs to be taken care of before it goes public.”
“Hopefully he shows up tonight. These hockey tickets aren’t cheap.”
“I’m more worried that I’m gonna have to start caring about it if I have to keep attending games.”
“Eh, there are worse jobs to have.”
“True.”
We make it to the arena about thirty minutes before the game starts. I figured that would be a good way to keep an eye on those seats and see if the target shows up. Specter finds our seats and we have a decent view of the ones I need to see.
“I’m gonna take a piss,” I announce.
“Get beer,” Specter replies.
I nod and head back to the concession area, but as I walk, I note the entrance to the players’ area. If my target is a relative of one of the players, there’s a chance he could be hanging around here, isn’t there?
It’s risky, but I can always act like I got lost. I’m sure I wouldn’t be the first “fan” to sneak in that way. I head that way, looking back and forth like I’m searching for something, but before I make it to the tunnel, I’m stopped by security.
“Staff only,” he barks.
I hold my hands up. “Sorry.” I’m about to turn away when a familiar voice reaches my ears, though this time it sounds lighter than it did before.
“Shut the fuck up, Hen.”
I look up just in time for him to make eye contact with me. He stops in his tracks, fully decked out in his uniform and skates, his helmet tucked under his arm. His smile falls away as his brows knit together.
“What are you doing here?” he demands as he closes in on me.
Fuck. Why is this aggression from him so fucking hot?
“Uh, just lost.”
His expression doesn’t soften at all. “Lost? Really?”
Another player, this one with lighter hair and pale skin, appears next to the guy I’m talking to, looking just as intimidating.
“What’s up, Bouche?” the other guy asks.
Bouche, I gather, raises an eyebrow in question as he pins me in place with his gaze.
“Look, man, I wasn’t stalking you. I was exploring the arena and ended up down here. Your security guy stopped me so everything is fine.”
He studies me for a second and nods. “Okay then.”
As our eyes meet, I see the reluctant heat brewing in his. I scared him, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t want me. Taking a wild chance, I step closer, noticing how he stays firmly planted where he’s at. With his skates on, he towers over me, which I gotta admit, is fucking hot.
I lean in close to his ear so his teammate can’t hear me. “If I close my eyes, I remember what your cock feels like in my hand.”
He shoves me away, but not before I hear the slight hitch of his breath. I back away, saluting him before finding my way back to the concession stands. I buy two beers and then head to my seat. When I settle next to Specter, he nods in the direction of the target’s seats. Still empty.
“Fuck,” I mumble before sipping my beer. “He better show.”
The announcer starts talking and I sit back, waiting to find out the full name of the mysterious man I definitely want more of.
“Paxon ‘The Bouche’ Bouchaaaaaard,” the announcer yells to the sound of deafening applause.
He skates out, all elegant but forceful, and my cock plumps slightly. Paxon Bouchard. Nice fucking name. Wonder if he can speak French.
I swipe my phone open and search his name on the internet, finding numerous articles about him.
He’s thirty-six and has been in the major leagues since he was in his early twenties.
He’s a popular player but known for being mouthy and quick to throw a punch.
This is the second team he’s been with and there’s speculation that he’s going to retire after this season.
“Retire,” I scoff.
“What?” Specter asks.
“This says he’s gonna retire, but he’s only thirty-six.”
“Who?”
“Bouchard.”
“No idea what you’re talking about, man.”
It’s on the tip of my tongue to explain my sudden interest in the hockey defenseman, but I promised him I wouldn’t tell anyone. Even though I know I can trust Specter with my life, a promise is a promise.
“I was just looking up team members to see if there’s any mention of relatives that might help me.”
“Smart.”
And not untrue. I finish reading about Bouchard, learning he’s pretty much a lone wolf.
His mother died a few years ago and there’s no mention of other family.
No partners. In fact, he’s commonly listed as one of hockey’s hot bachelors.
Hmm. He must be closeted. Either that or he’s not the relationship type.
What I’m mostly interested in is whether he’s the hooking up again type, because he’s fucking gorgeous.
Even when he’s pissed off, he’s something else.
I click through the other players on the team, learning that the man who was with Bouchard tonight is Jimmy Hensen, but he’s called Hen by the fans. He has three sisters and his father is a former college-level hockey coach. It’s probably not him.
I read through the roster, tuning out the sounds of the game around me since I’m not that interested. I glance up a few times, checking the still-empty seats and trying to scan the crowd in case the target switched spots, but I don’t see anyone who matches the photos. At least not close by.
I stop on an article about a player named Fersburg.
He comes from a large family and has four brothers and two sisters.
He also has a few articles about the black sheep in his family, his uncle, Jan Fersburg, who’s had some rumored interactions with organized crime.
Fersburg himself looks like a preppy, clean-cut poster child, but maybe his family members cause a little trouble.
Maybe blackmail trouble. I’ll have to see if I can learn more about Fersburg.
I startle as the arena erupts with cheers and loud music blasts over the speakers. My attention shifts back to the rink, where the Magnets players are celebrating something.
“What happened?” I ask Specter.
“A goal.” He claps slowly. “It’s pretty exciting if you pay attention.”
“I’m actually working, dickhead.” I show him my phone screen. “Researching the players.”
“Just saying.”
I put my phone down and try to focus on the players, but my eyes gravitate to Bouchard on the ice. He looks huge with all the padding on, which is a nice contrast from the fancy suit he was wearing when I met him.
Paxon Bouchard. His name plays on repeat in my head. Damn, I must be horny to be thinking about a one-time hookup in a parking lot this much. I need to get back to finding some regular fuck buddies.
A horn blares and then a bunch of guys from both teams skate together. I find Bouchard in the midst of it just as he drops his gloves to the ice and takes a swing at a player on the other team. Then it’s just a swarm of jerseys tussling together, gloves and helmets flying. Even the goalies join in.
Specter chuckles. “This is awesome.”
“I agree.”
By the time the refs break up the fighting, several players have been shoved to the sides.
Bouchard has blood on his chin, and from here it looks like he might have a busted lip, but it’s hard to tell.
He’s still yelling at the other player while his teammates hold him back and skate him backward to their side.
He has a lot of fire in him, that guy. I’m not used to a man who can give as much as he gets, but I gotta admit my curiosity is piqued. What would it feel like if he took his anger out on me? Fuck, I’d like to find out.
Specter nudges my arm, up-nodding towards the seats. A guy vaguely matching the target’s description stands up and hurries off, but he’s wearing a hoodie and a baseball cap, so it’s hard to tell if that’s the guy.
“Should we follow?”
“Let’s go.”
We’re on our feet seconds later, pushing through the excited crowd as the Magnets take the lead with a second goal. I spot the guy in a Magnets hoodie, but he’s way ahead of us. We hurry to catch up, but by the time we get to the end of the walkway, we’ve lost him in the sea of people.
“Fuck,” I mutter.
“He knows,” Specter says. “He knows he was being followed. No one walks like that otherwise.”
“How could he know? He’s never seen me, we’ve never interacted. I don’t even know where the fucker lives.”
“Maybe he’s paranoid. Or he knows whoever he’s trying to blackmail isn’t playing.”
“That’s a good point, bror.” I blow out a breath, dragging a hand through my hair before twisting it off my neck. “Might as well finish the game, I guess.”
Specter raises an eyebrow as his lips twitch in a grin. “Starting to like hockey, then?”
“Shut up.” I roll my eyes, but I’m grinning too as we walk back to our seats.
Do I like hockey or am I just hoping for another interaction with a grumpy defenseman? Pretty sure I know the answer to that question.