Bad Boys
ARCHER
This shit is like being invaded by a foreign nation—the supe division of the local cops has flooded the arena, and ever since, a slow trickle of feds and Society fucks have followed. I don’t get why this is such an enormous deal, either.
Badger Brisco is volatile even on the best of days—he’d been sent to the lockers for a reason and probably stomped off to pout.
“Listen up, all of you!” Coach towers over us, a perk of Yeti shifter heritage, his expression serious as he stares at the entire team before him.
“I want cooperation with all the officials here—no exceptions. Brisco is a pain in the ass, and I know he’s got beef with some of you, but he’s Thunder, through and through.
That means until we prove otherwise, we assume he’s been taken against his will. ”
I have to cover my snort at that directive.
The guy was bleeding when he left the ice; I saw it.
He picked a fight with a third-stringer who accused him of fucking his wife—something it’s likely Badger did—and when he got sent packing; it dribbled all the way back to our room.
Notifying all these damn cops and shit was premature, if you ask me.
That shithead is probably hiding in a dive bar slamming back cognac as if it’s his last day on earth as we speak.
“But Coach—”
Oh, rookie mistake, Evans. Even when he’s incorrect, you don’t correct Hokesh.
“Did I ask for your opinion or concerns? No! We are not a sewing circle, nor a slumber party, gentlemen.” I wince, knowing Rogue would have my coach’s misogynistic balls in her back pocket within seconds. “I gave an order, and I expect it to be followed without question. Do you understand?”
“Yes, Coach!”
The resounding reply is familiar and easy to fall into, even when we disagree.
Hokesh is skilled and connected, but so old school that it’s painful to be in his presence sometimes.
Unfortunately, even supe sports leagues aren’t yet full of enlightened people, so you have to choose between success and preference sometimes.
Though if I’m totally honest, that choice doesn’t occur to a lot of the players or staff to start with, so I’m a bit of an oddball, anyway.
I push to my feet, heading over to my locker to strip off the gear so I can get in the ‘interview’ line for all the damned officers in this building.
They wanted to speak to each of us alone, but luckily, my prickly coach could get them to agree that we could change before meeting with them.
That seems dumb if they think any of us had shit to do with Brisco fucking off—like, wouldn’t there be evidence to look for?
However, I’m not a fool, so I didn’t say that thought; I wanted out of this sweaty shit as much as the others.
It’s not my job to help cops, especially not in Bay City, where they’re five to one bought and paid for.
“I don’t know why we’re bothering with this circus,” Alexandre grumbles from his spot next to me. “Everyone here knows Old Badger is off doing shots off a hooker by now. No one ‘kidnapped’ that asshole; we can’t even get rid of him when we want to.”
Snickering, I nod at the grizzly. “I know what you mean, man. I think this is a waste of time, too.”
One of the newer recruits leans over from the locker to my left. “I heard they did it because there were others.”
“Other what?” I retort as I clean myself up. “Other assholes who stomp off to pout? Not on this team.”
“No,” the guy says, and I arch a brow at him, waiting. “Other athletes who have disappeared or worse.”
Frowning as I tug on sweats, I look at Alex and some of my other teammates, who shrug. “Where did you hear that, rook?”
“On the news, duh. First, there was that big college player killed in the South. Then, there were a bunch of players in amateur leagues in the Northwest who got injured in that accident. And now there're missing players here.”
I press my lips together and then shake my head. “Look, dude. I think you’re connecting dots that don’t go together. It’s weird, but it’s not like… a conspiracy.”
The ginger-haired kangaroo shifter shrugs at me.
“We don’t have time for me to lay out a bulletin board with strings on it for you, Glaser.
But anyone with pattern recognition can see that there’s something fucking weird going on, and it’s definitely connected to sports, large supe enclaves, and a myriad of other shit. ”
“Okay, buddy. Just remember to take that tin foil hat off when you put on your helmet,” I reply before I wink at the other guys. “Otherwise, you’ll cook your noggin.”
“Meatheads,” he mutters in annoyance, as he finishes tying his shoes. “Keep your heads in the sand if you want, but I’m sure as hell lobbying for more security in this place.”
“Good luck with that,” Alex mutters. “We can’t even get catered lunches.”
Laughing as I finish putting on my clothes, I wait until the new kid leaves with his bag slung over his shoulder. “Man, he’s gonna be a trip if he lasts. We’ve never had a conspiracy theorist before.”
“It’ll be fun as hell to mess with him.”
I shoot a finger gun at Alex in agreement, then pick up my shit. “Alright, gents… I’m going out there to get this over with. I have much more important shit to do than to sit around waiting for Badger to pop his head up and laugh at us for being worried.”
Like finding my mates and my family, so they’re not freaking out about the ridiculous shit going on in the arena.
The tall, elegant-looking swan shifter looks at me with a doubtful expression. “And you claim you saw nothing after Mr. Brisco headed off of the ice?”
I roll my eyes, sighing in annoyance. “For the third fucking time, no. We lined up to run a play again, and since Badger isn’t exactly known for keeping his temper, I thought nothing of his grand exit.
I don’t think you’re going to find anyone who was surprised that he left to sulk when Coach sent him packing. ”
Her partner is some kind of cat shifter, but I think he might be a hybrid.
He keeps looking at me as if he’s trying to dig through my brain, but that will not work.
Reb has made sure all of us know how to block those mindfuckers out, and the second I clocked his gaze, I set my shields before I even sat down.
“You’re awfully calm about this,” the feline detective says. “Aren’t you worried about your teammate? Others are.”
Snorting, I shake my head. “No. As I said, Badger is known for his fits of pique. If people are worried, it’s because they don’t know him and haven’t been on the team long enough to witness his random binges when he gets spanked.”
Detective Birdwoman—or whatever her name is—writes something on her notepad, making sure I see her keeping it from my view.
I guess that’s supposed to intimidate me, but she must not have researched who I am.
This is not the first time I’ve been interviewed by law enforcement at various levels, and it won’t be the last. Hanging around Rebel with his street racing and growing up with the guys, I gave my mother lots of gray hair getting hauled in but never charged with anything.
My dads basically started rochambeau’ing for the punishment of coming to get me when I was in middle school.
“Fine. You think he’s gone off to lick his wounds. I hear you.” Detective Cat Guy leans back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest. “Why was there a blood trail, then?”
“Because he and Smitty got in a rumble over Badger fucking his wife. Again, that’s nothing new and leads to problems all the time. Coach should axe him, but he’s too damn good, and his contract is ridiculous. Allegedly.”
They look at one another, then at the window to the office like it’s two-way.
It’s not just that the blinds are drawn, but I suppose they have some friends from other agencies listening in from the outside.
There’s a knock on the glass, and I roll my eyes up to the ceiling in supplication.
I’ve watched enough TV and movies that I’m sure it means that they’re tagging in another motherfucker who will ask me the same shit in a different order.
The door opens, and an austere-looking guy with a jokey-looking dude comes in, nodding at the detectives. They pull chairs up to the table, the less serious-looking one sitting on his backwards as he leans on the top of it.
Oh, good… they’re trying ‘good cop’, ‘bad cop’ with me.
“I’m Agent Raskin, and this is my partner, Agent Barcec. We’re from—”
“You’re Sibbies. It’s pretty obvious.” I blow out a breath and stare at them before pointing to serious guy first, then his partner. “Minotaur. Griffin. Got it.”
They look surprised, but Raskin nods. “You’re correct. I don’t meet many supes who can identify mythicals so easily.”
“Dude, you guys suck at interview prep. My mom and dads are big in the Shifter Council here. I’ve grown up meeting damn near every kind of shifter possible, plus my best friends are—”
That’s when the door bangs open, breaking the frame as it slams against the wall.
Standing in the wreckage is Rogue, her eyes full of fury and outrage.
Rebel and the others are behind her; I can smell them.
My face splits into a huge grin as I relax in my chair while the asshole cops and feds scowl.
“Has he been offered his Council rep?” Rebel’s expression is just as angry as my girl’s, and I have to swallow a chuckle.
“This is just an interview… He doesn’t need one.” Swan Cop looks annoyed as she tilts her head. “Who are you?”
“I am Rogue Kelly and this is my partner, Rebel. We’re Guardians and friends of Archer Glaser.
” I can almost see the anger emanating from her as she steps into the room like an warrior.
“He is no longer answering questions, and if you’re going to charge him, do it now.
Once I report your negligence to the Society and the Chief, your asses are toast.”
“I don’t think so, pretty lady,” the griffin drawls as he winks. “We’re Sibbies; we don’t play by local rules.”
“You play by the Council and the Society’s rules or you’re out of a job,” Damon says as he makes his way around Reb. “As an heir to the demon rep in the city, I’m well-versed in the protocols, even at your level.”
The Sibbies look at one another as Angelo joins his twin, and Javier follows. Their gazes cut to the local yokel detectives, then the Minotaur says, “We were told this was cleared with everyone. A famous player is missing, and—”
“Someone important always throws up a flag, right?” Rogue scoffs as she rolls her eyes. “Well, I don’t know this player, but I know Archie. He’s one of the most honest shifters in the damn city, and if he told you shit before we got here, he’s not lying. Why are you ganging up on him?”
“We don’t have to share evidence—”
Rebel holds up his hands, magic glowing on his fingertips as he makes a soft ‘shh’ sound.
“Stop talking. You’re only making this worse.
Rogue and I have been trained for longer than you’ve been busting bad guys.
We had to learn every procedure and every permutation of laws in this city, state, and country for our jobs.
You can absolutely tell us why you’ve tag-teamed our friend. ”
The griffin sighs, then shrugs at his partner before turning back to us. “Because there were physical evidence markers that dispute the ‘walked off on his own theory’, including fur, fibers, and other indicators that Brisco was snatched.”
I tilt my head as I realize. “And you think it ties to all the other shit going on around the country; that’s why you’re here.”
“How do you know about that?” Raskin barks angrily.
Now I’ve stepped in it, and I bet that snarky little shit is nowhere to be found when I relay what he said in the locker room—just fucking great.