Page 22 of Pucking Them
Silas laughs, and that’s answer enough.
Fuck him again.
I knew that I was being screwed on my negotiations. I never questioned them before.
I have been too loyal to the Bay Rebels — brainwashed.
“Here’s the deal,” I grit out. “If you give upyoursalary, then I will give up mine. But my guess is that will make no difference at all to the club’s difficulties. Or am I wrong? You’ve fucked up somehow or have been embezzling funds for years. You’re hiding behind these other reasons. Then you’re scrambling for me to cover it up with the extra income that’ll come in, if my players and I pull off the impossible and reach the Stanley Cup Final. Is it incompetence or fraud that’s screwed the Bay Rebels?”
Silas pales, startled. “I’m not… I haven’t…” He coughs, shuffling the phones in front of him. “You leading your team to victory is what will make the difference. It will rescue the team. My secrets are my fucking own.”
I clench my jaw. “Keep your secrets. My only concern is the survival of this team. If making the finals is what will do that, then I’ll battle for it.”
Silas’ shoulders slump with relief. “That’s the type of determination that I like to hear. The new AC isn’t tough on you. I liked the old one; he knew how to push players. Luckily, I have my own way to motivate you.”
He takes a key out of his pocket, unlocking the bottom drawer of his desk.
My stomach sinks.
What is he doing?
Silas’ expression has become predatory and knowing in a way that makes my chest tight.
What the hell does he have in that drawer?
I clench the material of my trousers, wrinkling it.
Silas withdraws a printout of an article about me from the Peninsular News.
It was published months ago by a bullying journalist, Melanie, who was sleeping with Wilder.
The photograph is of me at a fetish event. I am dressed in a ringmaster outfit, complete with top hat and whip.
A young man knees obediently in front of me in nothing but glittery yellow shorts. He is wearing a golden lion’s mask and has a shock of golden curls. A kitten tattoo with rope binding it winds around his upper arm.
The other man’s identity is hidden…but it’s Noah.
My heart jumps. I struggle to keep my breathing steady.
I’ve known that this photograph was circulating for months.
Yet I didn’t know that Silas had hold of it.
Please, don’t let him realize that it’s Noah.
With difficulty, I shutter my expression. “If you’re trying to blackmail me with this, then you’re too late. The public have already seen me in all my glory, including dancing naked in nothing but stilettos, being spit roasted over a piano, and pole dancing in bunny ears.”
Silas scrunches his nose in disgust, before slamming his hand over the lion in the photograph. “Did you think that I wouldn’t recognize who this is?”
My heart stops. My blood chills.
“I’m not telling you their name.” Slowly, I stand. I lean over the table. Silas must read something in my eye that wasn’t there before because he cringes back in his chair. He’s not so brave anymore. “And I will protect their identity, privacy, and right to be whoever the fuck they want to be. Leave them alone, or you’re not going to enjoy the outcome.”
“You really do like to pretend that you can protect everyone, don’t you?” Silas gives a nasty laugh, shaking his head. “Does it make you feel better to pretend that the team, this fake family of freaks that you’ve created, and these deviants you play the whiteknight for, areyours? What is missing in you that you need this, D’Angelo? It’s sad.”
I become ashen, flinching like he’s struck me.
Silas presses his advantage, pinning the photograph of the lion down like he’s trapping Noah himself. “We both know who this is, and we also know that his dad willkill him, if I show him this. Unless you’d enjoy witnessing that… because since you’re holding this whip, it seems that a sadist like you enjoys hurting people. Abusers like you would enjoy Noah’s humiliation, hmm?”
