Chapter 18 #2
Jordan hesitated, fear blooming into his eyes as he furtively glanced over to where the armed man stood, expression impassive, arms crossed over his broad chest.
Normally, Nate wouldn’t worry about the three of them physically taking a few guys on.
They could all take a hit and dish it out right back.
Even Ramsey—once embarrassingly Nate had watched a YouTube compilation of his best hits.
He didn’t always attack physically on the ice, but when he did? He could handle himself.
But none of them were holding their own against a gun and a knife. Nevermind whatever weapons weren’t visible.
“No, really,” the asshole insisted. “Tell them.”
Jordan’s chin jutted out stubbornly. “Your best fucking customer was harassing one of the girls. She doesn’t deserve that.”
Something cold and horrified settled at the base of Nate’s stomach. He’d assumed that Jordan was here, locked up in this room, because he’d done something shitty.
But that wasn’t it at all.
“He paid for it.” There was a chilling note of acceptance in the asshole’s voice. Like that was all that was required to take advantage of anyone. For enough cash to cross the table.
Ramsey’s hand gripped his tighter. His knuckles were probably turning white, and the asshole would have noticed if he was paying attention. But he was toying with Jordan still. Having dismissed Ramsey as a too-pretty injured hockey player.
“Doesn’t matter,” Nate said, finding his voice. “Sounds like Jordan was doing the right thing. And you have no reason to hold him here. Come on, let’s go.”
But the asshole’s grip on Jordan’s shoulder tightened, his knuckles going white.
“Enough with the bullshit. What do you want?” Ramsey asked it bluntly.
Blunter than Nate would’ve.
But the asshole only shrugged. “He pissed off one of my best customers. Not sure he’ll be coming back. Not anytime soon.”
“Punched his teeth out,” Jordan muttered.
Nate glanced down and sure enough, there was crusted blood on one of Jordan’s hands, and he’d missed it from the way Jordan had been pressing his hand wound-first into his jeans. Like he hadn’t wanted Nate to know he’d gotten fucked up.
Nate was pissed. He was pissed that this had happened at all, and that was one hundred percent Jordan’s fault for coming here in the first place, but it sounded like he’d actually redeemed himself in the end.
Done the right thing, in the middle of a bunch of wrong ones.
“What do you want?” Ramsey repeated. “Clearly it’s not the cops and an assault charge.”
The asshole snorted.
“Exactly,” Ramsey continued evenly, completely in control.
“It’s not in anyone’s best interest to get the cops involved,” the asshole asserted.
Ramsey rolled his eyes. “No, but we will.”
Jordan made a distressed noise. Cops would mean official records, would mean sanctions by the team, maybe even sanctions by the NFL.
Nobody wanted that, obviously, but at the same time, Nate understood exactly why Ramsey was making it clear that wasn’t off the table.
If they didn’t want to concede all their negotiating power, they had to be willing to blow this up. Even if it meant injuring Jordan in the ensuing blast.
“Come on, you don’t want that,” the asshole insisted smarmily.
“Nobody wants that,” Ramsey agreed. “So tell me what you do want.”
The guy’s gaze flicked over to Nate’s wrist.
The watch was an antique, one he’d bought with his first NFL money. He knew some guys who had dozens, often encrusted with diamonds. Nate’s was the only one he owned, and while it was valuable, it held more sentimental than monetary value.
Nate would part with it in a second if it meant they could take Jordan out of here, all of them getting away safe and sound.
He’d give so much more, to ensure Ramsey was okay, even if he was intimately familiar with how capable Ramsey was of taking care of himself.
“The watch. Cash too. Whatever you got on you.” He paused. “And that diamond chain you wear.”
Not even a flutter of emotion crossed Ramsey’s face, even as Nate did his best to bury the fury that lanced through his middle, sour and bitter.
“Sure,” Ramsey said and let go of Nate’s hand, only so he could reach up to pull the chain out from underneath his sweater.
“Hockey fan?” he asked casually as he coiled it, diamonds winking, into his palm.
But he didn’t hand it over. Not yet. Not even when Nate pulled off the watch, Jordan looking distressed as he did it.
The asshole smirked at Ramsey’s question. “You’re sort of hard to miss.”
Ramsey shrugged, like he had nothing to do with that. And it suddenly occurred to Nate that he didn’t. That he’d had to learn to live with that face and that body and that brain. And he’d done it by shining himself up as bright and hard as the diamonds in his hand.
No question, Nate had loved him before that, but he loved him even more after the thought crossed his mind. Ramsey had never shrunk from any of it or from the pressure. He’d let everything make him even more beautiful, inside and out.
“Anything else?” Ramsey asked, eyebrow rising.
Nate never wanted to let him go. All he could hope was that Ramsey would be interested in having the most devoted knight, tucked away in his pocket. Half a step behind him, palm nestled in the small of his back.
“Cash,” the asshole said succinctly.
They both pulled out their wallets. Thirty seconds later, there were a few thousand dollars in rolled bills in Ramsey’s hand, next to his diamonds and Nate’s watch.
But Ramsey still didn’t hand it over.
Like he was waiting for the other shoe to drop still.
It wasn’t like Nate had forgotten about the gun and the knife and the man wielding them, but they’d been less pressing, until suddenly the asshole made a gesture.
Then Nate’s heart was in his throat as the bodyguard strode over to Jordan, gun coming out.
A flicker of distress rippled over Ramsey’s face.
Nate had a feeling he knew how deep it went, for Ramsey to show it at all, for it to make it past his mask of calm indifference.
The gun was leveled at Jordan’s head, pressed into the spot right above his ear, and Nate wondered how fast he could move. If he could move fast enough, push his muscles quick enough and far enough, to reach Jordan and knock the gun away.
The asshole prowled closer to Jordan. Leaned in, met his terrified eyes. Nate felt the same terror echoed in his own organs. Felt them liquifying with it.
“You fucked with my business tonight.”
Jordan swallowed hard. Nodded, the barest movement.
“People don’t do that and get away with it,” he continued.
Sterling had put Nate in charge of watching out for him, and he’d selfishly let Jordan do whatever tonight.
He hadn’t watched out for him at all, and something horrifying could happen as a result.
“You’re not gonna get away with it,” the asshole said, putting his hand over the bodyguard’s, digging the metal ring of the barrel harder into Jordan’s scalp.
Ramsey laughed.
The asshole straightened.
Met his eyes.
Nate had been afraid before, but it was nothing like the fear cascading through him now as Ramsey faced the guy with a gun fearlessly. Laughing.
“You’re not going to kill an NFL player, with an NHL and another NFL player watching. You’re just trying to fucking scare him. And guess what? He’s shitting himself in his pants, so congratulations, you succeeded.”
The asshole smirked. “Yeah?”
“Yeah,” Ramsey said. “So take our shit and just let us go, man. He’s terrified. He’s going to have nightmares about this for the rest of his fucking life.”
Jordan nodded fervently.
He probably would, but if they got him out of this, intact, Nate had a feeling that he’d take the trade-off. At the very least he wouldn’t ever be this stupid again.
The asshole paused for one more moment. A moment that felt like it dragged out forever, but probably actually lasted only a second.
Then he gave a nod.
The bodyguard dropped the gun and strode over to the door, opened it. Ramsey dropped everything into the asshole’s palms, Nate grabbed Jordan’s arm, yanking him up and they were out of there.
Jordan seemed out of it as they dragged him through the club and into the cab. He was mumbling under his breath.
Nate couldn’t quite make it out until they were all piled into the back seat of the car. He was half-expecting Ramsey to take the front seat, but he only slid in the other side.
“Where to?” the driver asked, eyes wide.
Nate wondered if Ramsey was going to demand he sign an NDA for this whole evening, but then he hadn’t been in that small, closed-off room with them. He was only witnessing the aftermath.
“I want to go home.” Jordan surprised him by speaking up. His voice didn’t sound exactly steady, but it was steady enough. He slumped back against the seat, fingers drumming on his knee.
Nate rattled off the address, then turned to him.
But before he could ask what the fuck he’d been thinking, Jordan just crumpled like a piece of paper. “Shit.” He exhaled hard. “I shouldn’t—we shouldn’t—”
Nate decided the lecture could wait for another day. Maybe Jordan wouldn’t even need it. He was hoping that this whole shitshow was the wake-up call Jordan needed to get his life together.
“You did good,” he only said, patting Jordan on the leg.
Jordan looked shocked. “What?”
“Don’t get me wrong, you shouldn’t have been in a place that fucking sketchy, but it seems like you actually did something good while you were there.”
“He was roughing her up a bit,” Jordan mumbled. “I stopped him. When he wouldn’t listen, yeah, I fucking punched him.”
“Good,” Ramsey said approvingly from Jordan’s other side. Around the man between them, Nate met Ramsey’s eyes.
God, they’d made it out of there. Not without a cost, but the cost wasn’t nearly as high as he’d been afraid he’d be paying.
“What else?” Ramsey asked.
“Gave her some money. Told her to get out. I think . . .I think she did. And then they grabbed me. I only had a second to send you that text.” Jordan sighed. “I know I’m a fuck-up—”