Chapter 18
Sloane
Chicago Times: Is Beck ‘the Devil’ Kendrick’s Career on the Ropes?
New York Dispatch: Beck ‘the Devil’ Kendrick, a Lesson in Animal Magnetism
New York. Full of assholes. The picture was complete with the two of us in what appeared to be a very compromising position. Some fan or paparazzi had made serious bucks in selling off the various pictures I’d seen fly over the internet.
Most doctored to the hilt.
Did people not know AI could be detected? Especially when using a background from five years before? Didn’t people check for accuracy before they posted slanderous bullshit?
Technology made things much easier, convenience a delicious tool when attempting to destroy a person’s career. But only when placed in the hands of those intelligent enough to know how to handle the power. Spending ten minutes on Canva would have prevented real garbage from hitting the internet.
Sadly, as with all ravenous dogs, the feeding frenzy on bloody meat had rivaled anything a single shifter had been accused of doing in their primal states of being.
Then there were the headlines about the last Hellions’ game. I’d yet to be able to stomach watching any replays.
The loss had nearly destroyed me.
I should say both losses.
The game itself, while still close, had highlighted the damage done from the horrible interview that had suddenly aired on every network, the podcast going viral.
Within hours, pictures of an incident from three years before had surfaced.
I’d researched Beck and his brother Ford and hadn’t found them.
Even after spending more time on the search, I’d found limited information.
Yes, a few watchdog groups had used the incident that had occurred very much like the one from a couple of nights before to argue that shifters were dangerous, but nothing had come of it.
And why?
Because hockey by nature could be a violent sport. Especially when there were behind the scenes games going on.
That was exactly what had occurred. Now it was my job to figure out why and by whom.
Although I already had a pretty good guess of the whom, especially since being on the Sports Today show had been tossed around like a hunk of meat on a spit hanging over a hyena.
I’d gone straight home as soon as the plane had landed, ignoring phone calls, including from other reporters acting as if I’d just opened the largest can of worms in the world. In the dead of night, I’d disguised myself and had headed to a hotel to get a good night’s sleep.
As if the pesky reporters hadn’t found me when trying to get coffee while wearing my ugliest sweatpants the next morning.
I hadn’t been going for beauty, instead full anonymity. That hadn’t worked, my face plastered all over the internet along with Beck’s.
That had been four days ago.
After the team had lost the last semifinal game and their bid for a Stanley Cup.
After I’d run out of red wine to drown my sorrows in.
After my local convenience mart had experienced a broken freezer, which had meant a sticky mess made on their tile floor from my favorite rocky road ice cream.
And after I’d been labeled a femme fatale by half a dozen newspapers across the country.
Gee. It would appear I was coming up in the world.
I’d finally made it to the office for one purpose.
Having a long and painful—on his side—chat with Matt. He’d set me up and I wanted to know exactly who he’d sold his soul to.
Wouldn’t you know it. The chicken shit had decided not to come into work.
I’d finally had enough, my patience drained. The other reporters in the press room had all but ignored me, half leaving early. Now I was all alone on the floor, swallowed up by sadness and anger.
I pulled my phone into my hand, checking it for the hundredth time.
Nothing had changed.
Me: Beck. We need to talk. We were both railroaded.
The text had been delivered, even read.
But not answered.
The pain was agonizing.
Since sending it, I’d tried to convince myself not to send another. What would be the point? Hopefully, he just needed time to cool off. I had to believe he’d headed back to Portland or maybe Seattle.
Maybe time was what we both needed.
After tossing my phone, I shifted my gaze toward Matt’s closed door. Time. I had time on my hands, which could be used as a weapon. What I needed was information, proof that I’d been used as a pawn.
If I found what I needed, the bitch mode would be on full display.
A part of me said I should just go home and continue drowning my sorrows in lots of wine.
But I couldn’t do it.
Nope. Grabbing my purse, I dug through the contents until I found what I was looking for. My Swiss Army knife. I’d carried it with me for years. A girl shouldn’t walk a big city street alone without protection.
Only this time, the small knife would come in handy for an entirely different reason.
As I headed to Matt’s office, I glanced around the expansive room. They’d all left for their fabulous lives. Well, I’d made a solid attempt at forming one of my own. Only the bastard who normally took up space in this office didn’t deem that life worthy of my potential.
Or perhaps the man was just jealous I’d lost interest in him.
That’s what happened when a man sold his soul.
Little did Matt know I had several hidden talents, one of which was forcing doors to unlock. Stories must be told after all.
The blade fit perfectly and with a little twist of my hand, the lock slipped. Once inside, I kept the door open so I could detect any movement and headed to his desk.
I flicked on his cozy desk lamp and went to work searching his drawers. The only thing he kept locked was the door and that was likely because he kept his prized golf clubs behind it.
Never tear a man away from his ability to play his game of golf.
A snicker developed as I continued searching. There was nothing of value in his desk.
Other than two condoms and an invitation to a kink club.
Ugh. There were certain things I didn’t need to know about the man.
I hit the spacebar on his computer. Of course the screen popped up for a password.
Huh.
What were the chances he’d used the same one from all those years ago. It had been the last four digits of his phone number, something his mother had drilled into him. I’d teased him relentlessly about changing his passwords every so often for security.
He hadn’t taken my advice, which meant a couple of years ago I’d found out more information about his extracurricular activities than any on again, off again girlfriend should.
Including that he’d been cheating on me.
I typed in the numbers and voilà, his lesson hadn’t been learned.
After a few keystrokes and finding nothing, including very little work done over the last few months, I switched to his email and the archives.
Matt also wasn’t very good at cleaning out his trash.
When would he learn?
Right there in black and white.
Walter Braddock, part owner of the Las Vegas Cruisers, which just happened to be the team the Hellions had been playing right before my world and Beck’s had been turned upside down.
The email was brief, a follow-up on an obvious previous conversation, but enough meat I could tell Matt’s soul had returned to the auction block.
We need to end the shifters’ reign. Either you can be a part of their downfall, thereby ensuring your success, or not. It’s entirely up to you. If you do your job, you’ll be rewarded.
Motherfucking asshole.
I didn’t need to read anything else lest I take a baseball bat to everything in Matt’s office for an appetizer, then dig his eyes out with a dull spoon for kicks before the main course arrived.
At least the man had been true to form, allowing his love of convenience to work to my benefit. With expediency came the understanding that everything could be easily traced, hacked, or altered.
That was something I would keep in the back of my mind, but which Matt had yet to embrace.
Poor fool.
That made the pain of betrayal easier to stomach. Sadly, what I’d discovered wouldn’t be enough to buy two minutes of Beck’s time. He’d never forgive me. Never.
I hit print and started searching for any corroborating information. Finding none, I was disappointed as hell and uncertain what I’d do with what I’d found. With no real smoking gun, well, it would be my word against Matt’s.
But what I’d found was a start.
Time to get the hell out of the office.
I’d need to play the situation carefully, refusing to act on my natural serial killer instincts. Which was what had been floating through my mind. I could easily cross the line, jumping into highly morally gray territory. What would a little bloodshed be among friends, colleagues, and lovers?
A snort was the answer.
I’d find a way. I was sly and cunning first and foremost.
I put everything back exactly the way it was, locking the door and making it to my desk before I heard a sound. Expecting to see the janitor, I grabbed my bag, shoving my laptop inside.
My skin began to crawl, which was the only way I knew the person roaming the shadowed office wasn’t interested in cleaning up after themselves. Cleanliness had never been Matt’s strong suit.
“Why look, the office gopher is still here.” I’d need to watch my mouth if I wanted to stay employed, but I also needed to maintain my bitchy side. Anything less and he’d suspect I was onto him.
Wow. Listen to Nancy Drew in action. Maybe I’d need to go back and re-read my favorite detective stories from when I was seven or eight.
He was suddenly hovering like the vulture he’d grown into, his massive form highlighted by the window near my desk. If he wanted to remain where he was, playing Lurch, then so be it.
“I’m very sorry about what happened. I was hoping to be here when you got back.”
“Of course. I’m certain you needed to go drink cognac with your buddies, gloating over destroying a career.”
“I didn’t destroy anyone’s career, Sloane. Beck did that to himself.”
I tossed in the last of my things, spinning around to face him. “Let me ask you a question. Did you have any idea Jesse and Kyle, the great pretenders, were going to use me to lure Beck in?”
“I already told you they thought the fit would allow Beck to feel more comfortable.”
“Comfortable? Are you kidding me? He was blindsided. So was I. Those bastards were paid to break him down, tossing out accusations that are ridiculous.”
“Weren’t those your questions?”
Was he kidding me? I was rarely speechless and maybe for Matt’s continued safety, it was a good thing I was flustered. “You son of a bitch. You helped set both Beck and me up.”
At least he had the good sense to allow his eyes to bulge out of his head, but I knew the little attribute. He’d pulled that a half dozen times around me when he’d been lying. “What are you insinuating? You had the questions in front of you.”
“That’s right. They cut the part where Jesse slid the questions in front of me. I bet everyone is laughing at my stupidity. A rookie move on my part.”
“I think you’re forgetting that you discovered the truth. Someone did pay off the Cincinnati officials so Beck could continue playing.”
“Who? I checked into the story and it was a non-story, so who told you that, Matt?” I got in his face, thankful I’d worn heels. I only did so when I was really pissed off. And my blood had boiled all day long. “You refused to allow me to clear up what happened at the game. Why?”
“Because I was and still am trying to protect you.”
“Protect me? Right. The crap being said about Beck being violent and unable to be controlled is wrong. I need to write that article.”
“Not for this newspaper you won’t.”
My God, the man had drawn a line in the sand.
What I wanted to do was to quit, but it wasn’t the right time.
Not until I had a chance to talk to Beck and find out what in the hell was going on.
I’d kept my ear to the ground, hearing rumors about Matt and his connection with Walter Braddock.
But rumors could mean libel if I wasn’t careful.
“Fine. Have it your way.” I continued glaring at him.
“You obviously have lost your touch, Sloane. Maybe you need to take some time off. You got too close to that…”
“To that animal? Is that what you were going to say? I don’t need to take time off. I need to ensure those bastards don’t do that to anyone else.” I moved around him, fighting my serial killer urges. I’d start with him, head to wherever Jesse and Kyle were holed up and keep going from there.
He appeared hurt. Again. Another farce. Again. I was growing weary of the game we’d played since accusing him of sleeping with a girl half his age, which had meant she’d been close to jailbait. Not his finest hour. Meanwhile I’d laughed all the way to a bar.
“I don’t why you insist on thinking the worst of me,” he finally said.
I stopped long enough to turn around and honestly answer that question. “Because you bring it on yourself. I don’t know what your intentions are, but what you did was horrible.”
“You’re too close to Beck Kendrick.”
“So what if I am? Or was thanks to you and your bigoted buddies.”
“Oh, for God’s sake. I’m not bigoted. You know that. We wrote articles together on the discrimination in sports. As well as in politics.”
“That was eons ago. All you care about is money.”
“Beck Kendrick is a violent man. Whether it’s because he’s a shifter or not, that’s the truth. If you think about it, I potentially saved you from…”
There it was again, only he was trying to goad me this time to see how tight with Beck I’d become. It was time to fight fire with fire. “You know what? Maybe you’re right and I’m too close to this.”
He was surprised but nodded. I allowed him to walk closer without finding the closest stapler so I could affix his hand to a desk.
“I’m tired and I don’t like the way Jesse and Kyle handled the situation. At all.”
“I can understand. Incidentally, I did stop them from filing charges against you. The assault was brutal.”
I wondered if he’d try to hold that over my head. “My hero.”
At least I’d used my saccharin voice, which he’d always liked.
“I hope to always be that.”
“If you don’t mind, I will take a few days off.”
“Absolutely. You’ve earned it. Besides, it appears the Wild Dogs won’t be snatching another Stanley Cup this year.”
If the man wanted to continue testing me, he’d learn what a vise felt like on his genitals. “Let me guess. The Las Vegas Cruisers are winning the odds pools. Right?”
“Yes, they are.”
I took a deep breath, twisting my hand around the leather strap of my laptop case, and offered a bigger, honey-dipped smile this time. “Well, I’m going to go book a flight to Jamaica. I hear the men there are fuckable. Even better. I don’t need to hear them lie.”
A few days off.
I’d use them wisely.