The Pact (Chicago Nights Book 2)

by Natalie Wrye

  “Liar,” she scoffs softly, laughing. “You always were shit at lying, Saw.”

  “What?” I laugh back. “I’m not lying. Okay, okay, so I did miss last Christmas but that’s because I was wiped from the regular season and needed a break.”

  “Uh huh. A break that landed you with a few blondes and brunettes in St. Bart’s?” I can see her arched blonde brows lifting now. “I saw the pictures.”

  “Those were doctored, of course.”

  “Oh yeah?”

  “Yeah, I’d never bring a brunette to St. Bart’s. Blondes only.”

  “Ladies and gentlemen,” she announces loudly over the phone, “my big brother, Asshole of the Year.”

  “And I want my trophy.”

  She giggles, and we fall into that same sibling trap we always do. Poking and prodding at each other.

  I can’t lie: I miss Danica. A lot.

  But going back to Buffalo? Hanging back at our old haunts? Pretending like that place is a childhood paradise instead of the nightmare it always was?

  No fucking thank you. And I can’t say it enough.

  “Where are you? Sounds like a battle happening around you right now.”

  I slow to a walk, nearing the front gate. I inhale deeply. “In a strange sense, it kinda is. Cougars are playing the Fever, and I know it’s going to be a hell of a game.”

  “Hell of a… Wait, why aren’t you suiting up? Please tell me you didn’t moon one of the umps like you did sophomore year.”

  I smile. “Not this time. Though the thought has occurred to me more than once.”

  “Well? Want to tell me the reason you’re not playing with your team?”

  “Not after that Asshole of the Year dig, I don’t.”

  I finally reach the gate, blending in with a few stragglers still entering. I slip my wallet from my back pocket in preparation to pay, shifting the phone.

  “Classic avoider mode, I see,” Danica tsks. “I know this mode well.”

  I smile as I start to pay the woman at the ticket counter, trying to keep my voice from getting tight. People are already staring, and I’m not trying to give them a show. I keep my voice low. “It’s a long story, Dani. And I don’t need the psychoanalysis right now.”

  “Why not? I’d give you a session or two for free. Isn’t that what sports psychology degrees are for?”

  “I’m pretty sure when University of Buffalo gave you yours it wasn’t so you could torture your older brother.”

  “You don’t know my professors really well, then. But I see that I’ve tired you out already. It’s hard getting into that pigheaded brain of yours. God bless the woman who does one day.”

  The woman at the counter hands me my ticket, but not before casting me a curious look.

  There’s a couple of looky-loos to my left but no one says anything as I enter the stadium gates. The security swipes me down with metal detectors, not bothering to take my phone.

  I’m sure they recognize me. But no one dares utter a word.

  Not anyone but the tall wall of human who catches me heading to my seat. A menacing-looking fucker with more muscles than brains actually stops me.

  A couple of strands of my hair escape the haphazard bun they’ve been pulled into, and I swipe them back, meeting the hulk’s gaze head-on. I clutch my phone, gripping it closer as I grit out words, my jaw tight.

  “Danica, gotta call you back. There’s a human tank in front of me right now, and I have to remove it. Love you, Squirt.”

  “No mooning any umps, Saw. No getting into trouble. I swear…”

  But I’ve already hung up.

  I slide my phone back into my pocket, my stance stolid. The Incredible Idiot blocking my way glances down as I stow it, his green eyes heading back to mine in seconds.

  He hangs his hands on his hips. “Excuse me, but if I’m not mistaken, you’re Sawyer Kennedy?”

  “In the flesh. And let me guess: You’re the next Terminator in the series come to replace Arnold Schwarzenegger.” I blink. “An honor to meet you. I’m thrilled.”

  Arnold Number Two blinks back. And I take a step forward ready to “unblock” him from my way when I feel a touch on my arm. Or rather a “grab.”

  I turn. And wind up gazing into a set of hazel eyes I recognize.

  It’s Sevin’s girlfriend, Emily to my surprise. A lawyer—and a damned good one at that. A woman as ruthless as she is beautiful, as shrewd as she is gorgeous.

  And she’s looking right at me, those hazel-like eyes fixed. She tugs on my bicep.

  “Can I speak to you a minute?” She glances over at the Hulk. “The both of you? Somewhere private? Like, now?”

  It’s a command more than a question, and I know it.

  Emily lets me go, and I follow hesitantly still staring at the Hulk. The man is my height, and I’m no shrimp. But as athletic as I am, this guy is like another me…except on several steroids.

  His thin sweater strains from the force of his muscles, nearly bursting at the seams. His tousled dark hair doesn’t deter from the angles of his stoic face.

  He looks at me again before falling in step.

  Several minutes later, in a Cougars side office, we stand awkwardly in a triangle. Me. Mr. Bruce Banner. And our wrangler, Emily, who’s scarier than us both.

  She takes a deep breath before beginning.

  “So, I see you two have met?”

  I pull in a deep breath, expelling it, my patience just as short as my sigh. I keep my eyes on the Hulk. “We were about to, until you showed up.” I finally look over. “How’d you know I was here?”

  “Because in addition to being the beauty and brains of Chicago,” Emily tilts her head playfully, “I also happen to be the eyes and the ears.”

  “Well, isn’t that swell? We’ve got the Terminator here and the all-knowing SkyNet all together in one room. Why is it so important that the two of us meet?”

  “Because you’re colleagues, Sawyer.” Emily’s gold-ish eyes arch up at me. “Or at least you will be, since your suspension. Stephan here’s a big fan.”

  I chuckle. “Could have fooled me.”

  The man’s face is a mask of indifference, a stone-cold slate. But if you look closer, there’s a hint of humor in his forest-hued eyes. He gives what, in his world, probably passes as a smile, and he reaches over, extending one colossal hand, a glint of appreciation in his gaze.

  I take the hand, shaking it, grateful that I never got to the point of blocking the man from my path. I grin right back.

  “Stephan Knight.” He introduces himself. “CEO of The Firm Crisis and Emergency Management. Great to meet you.”

  “Nice to meet you, Stephan Knight. I’m the man who used to be Sawyer Kennedy. Former second baseman. Current persona non-grata.”

  “The ‘non-grata’ part is what I wanted to talk to you about, Sawyer,” Emily interrupts our little love-fest. “I’ve got a bead on a way for us to help you. But if we’re going to talk, we’ve gotta move fast. You’re not even supposed to be here—at this game. Luckily, for you,” she clucks, “I know a place whose doors are always open. Give me twenty minutes and a drink, and I’ll let you in on what I’m talking about. That is, if you can behave long enough.”

  I lift my chin, meeting Stephan’s eye. “Is this the part where you guys stage an intervention? Is that what this is?”

  “I wouldn’t quite call what’s happening here an ‘intervention,’ Mr. Kennedy.”

  “Oh yeah? Then what would you call it? Because it sure as hell smells like one.”

  “What we’re dealing with, Mr. Kennedy, is much less of an intervention than it is what we in the business call a ’scandal,’” he asserts, his broad shoulders straightening beneath an expansive button-down. “And that’s exactly what I handle. I think you might need our help.”

  “The only thing I needed tonight was a fifth of vodka. But now that’s shot to shit. As for ‘situations,’ I think I’m perfectly capable of dealing with my own. But thanks for the off
er.”

  “Why bother? When my team can handle it for you?”

  “You mean you’d handle me. I’m suspended. Not dumb…and fully capable of reading between the lines.”

  “Well, that all depends, Mr. Kennedy.” His glare is pointed. “Do you think you need handling? We think you might…after ‘handling’ Cougar’s owner Derrick Johnson’s wife, Annabelle.”

  My stare is pointed, attention peaked as my gaze goes to Emily. I take a step backward. “You know about me and Annabelle?”

  He doesn’t blink. “Yeah, we do. And since you’ve been suspended for Sexual Misconduct, we’d like to make sure others do not.”

  I gaze over at Emily, a knot winding into my throat. I swallow over it. “Just twenty minutes and a drink?”

  “A really good drink. I know a place.”

  I take a second to ponder that. Tonight’s gone so far off the rails that trying to right it might be pointless. I guess checking in on the game can wait. I rub my jaw. “Why do I get the feeling this might be a trap?”

  She holds her hands up. “No trap. I promise. Just might be better to have this conversation somewhere where powerful eyeballs aren’t everywhere, if you know what I mean…”

  I hesitate, one fist tightening at my side. I release it, sighing. “Alright, if you say so. Looks like I’ve got the ride since I’ve got a car already here. But you’re buying. Stephan?” I direct at the overbearing CEO.

  “Yeah?”

  “If I’m having a drink and talking with you guys, you’re coming with.” I turn towards the door, treading fast. “The last time I had a chat with Emily, I landed in a goddamned heap of trouble. I might need the backup in case I land in a whole other heap of it tonight.”

  Chapter 6

  NAOMI

  Wednesday night

  I’m in so much trouble it’s practically pouring out of my eyeballs.

  My eyes are blurry, sleep-heavy as I open the door to the Alchemist.

  Needing a glass of wine more than life, I head inside.

  The A/C feels great on my skin, cooling the heat that’s been there for the past two days since I’ve seen Sawyer, and in the aftermath of the Cougars win tonight against the Fever, the crowd jamming themselves into the Alchemist is practically buzzing, excitement still bubbling in the air, thick enough to taste.

  And I normally would be somewhere in the back—watching.

  But not tonight. Or any other night for that matter.

  If I keep trying to avoid Sawyer…an impossibility at this point.

  Whatever confidence I’d managed in that bathroom is long gone two days nights later. I’ve masturbated in the past forty-eight hours more than I have in my whole life, and still I can’t push the memories of me and Sawyer out of my head, no matter what I do.

  Smoothing the strands of my dark brown bob, I head towards the bar, waving at Chris, my favorite bartender, who looks like he’s drowning in people.

  He smiles—helpless, and I retreat to the far corner, making my way behind the bar to help, eager to do anything that will ease the filthy thoughts filtering through my head at all hours of the day.

  Filthy thoughts I definitely can’t have.

  “Good fucking grief,” Chris comments, interrupting another of my particularly dirty ones. “Must have been a hell of a game.”

  “The Cougars game?” Of course. “I don’t know.” I shrug, taking out shot glasses as customers scream above our heads. “I didn’t go.”

  “You?” His eyes widen. “You never miss a game?”

  I shrug. But he’s right.

  I don’t make a habit of missing Sevin’s games. Not just because I really like my boss. But because I’ve grown to love baseball as much as any Cougar fan in here tonight.

  But knowing that Sawyer might be there, somewhere, was more than I could bear.

  Every time I closed my eyes, I could feel his lips between my thighs. Every time I sat in silence, I remembered the sounds of his heavy breaths, his relentless pants, rumbling low sounds that made my skin quiver, shaking from his scorching touch.

  It’s the first time in my life I’m actually craving the memory loss-inducing allure of dark liquor, and I smile, feigning niceties to another customer, even as another curl of lust pulses between my legs.

  Another leering patron motions over to me, offering to buy me a drink, but I decline.

  Blond brows twisted, Chris’s blue eyes bounce between me and the customer until the confusion finally fades from his face. He smirks.

  “You bartending with me tonight?”

  I grin. “I don’t think what I would do beside you would classify as ‘bartending.’ But I can serve a good beer.”

  “Sounds good enough.” He shakes his head, handing a cider over to a customer. “I’ll take all the help I can get. Even bad help.” He winks, calling out over the rumbling of voices and laughter.

  “I don’t do anything for free, though. I hope you know that. Consider my horrible help a bribe.”

  “For what?”

  “For showing me how to drink some hard liquor tonight.”

  Chris raises a brow. “You finally giving into the temptation, huh?”

  I laugh, but the sound is empty.

  Because that’s exactly what I’m trying not to do…

  Give into temptation. Like the heathen I’ve suddenly become.

  All day long, I’d considered what the hell I was going to do about Sawyer. How was I was going to approach him. If I was going to approach him.

  If I could actually build up the balls to have Sawyer Kennedy teach me how to lose my virginity. Lord knows I need a lesson.

  Because as much as I liked Rosalyn’s idea of finding a “teacher” to impart some new tricks, Sawyer Kennedy was still a problematic one—a dangerous one.

  He was a man who worked with my boss. Played alongside him. Gone to college with him.

  I know I should be more careful around him. But if anyone was going to show me the way around a bedroom, it was him.

  I smile to myself, feeling better. Managing to forget my “hopeless virgin” status for the first time all night, I’m actually looking forward to that first taste of tequila, when a new patron sidles up behind me, deep voice requesting a beer.

  I pour it out, watching the amber lager foam perfectly before handing it over to an open hand.

  I almost drop the glass completely when I see who the hand belongs to.

  He holds up the beer I just poured him, blue eyes questioning, and I stare blankly in his direction, all those feelings of forgetfulness flying out the window at the sexiest man to ever be on his knees.

  Sawyer Kennedy.

  The man I’ve been attempting not to think about. Looking sinfully good.

  He smiles. “Working the late shift? My, my, my, Miss Silva, I didn’t know you had it in you.”

  “There’s a lot you don’t know about me, Mr. Kennedy.”

  “Clearly,” he says, sporting a full-on smirk. “You definitely are a woman of many talents. At least that’s what I’m starting to learn…” He glances around as if someone might be watching us speak. “So, what’s going on? You owe a debt or something? You didn’t come to the game.”

  He noticed? I try not to let that little tidbit throw me, fixing a nearby brunette a drink, Sawyer’s eyes on me the entire time.

  I chew my tongue. “Wasn’t in the rah-rah mood tonight. But there’s always something or other that needs extra hands here at the bar. Figured Sevin or someone might need help. Turns out I was right. Bartenders were overwhelmed, so I’m lending a hand.”

  “Naomi Silva. Patron saint of putting up with other people’s bullshit.”

  I can’t help but look up. And grin. “Present company included.”

  He’s different tonight—Sawyer. Not the broody one from the party, the pep somehow almost back in his step.

  He looks the same. Great, I’ll give him that.

  But there is a hint of sadness in his eyes that wasn’t there before. A s
hifting darkness.

  To a passing outsider, nothing might sound out of the ordinary. But to me, a person who’s been around to the baseball’s biggest dick-swinger for these past two years, I can hear the bits of emotion in his bass-filled voice.

  I hadn’t planned on bringing it up, but the news of his suspension is so widespread that I’d seem crazy not to broach it. I cock a brow. “I, uh, heard about what’s happening with you and the team.”

  He grunts. “Yeah, you and the rest of the world. It’s not a big deal.”

  “And yet, at the party, you looked about as happy as a man with itching powder in his jockstrap.”

  “I hadn’t noticed you noticed.”

  “I notice lots of things, Sawyer.” I shake up another drink, surprising myself with how much I keep talking. “Are you so surprised?”

  “That you noticed something? About me?” He shifts on his stool, smiling. “Hell yeah. I didn’t think you noticed anything about me, besides the fact that I have the mating rituals of a chimpanzee. Your words, of course.”

  I keep serving. “I don’t ever remember comparing you to a chimpanzee, Sawyer.”

  “You don’t?”

  “I believe I compared to your behavior to the Eastern Lowland gorilla tripe.”

  He smiles. “Well, as long as you got that straight.”

  I resist the urge to smile back, hands working fast as I pour more drinks for customers, liking this conversation too much. I swiftly shift gears. “Anything else I can help you with, Sawyer? I mean, I do have other customers. Maybe you can scoot down, make some room…”

  “No,” he answers after a long second. “It seems like you might be tired of my company. I’ll leave you and the…uh, rest of the gorilla troop to it.” He stands straighter, lifting his drink. “Unless you want me to stay.”

  I don’t stop serving, keeping myself busy so he doesn’t see the conflicted feelings on my face. I pour someone a shot. “You must enjoy disappointment, don’t you, Mr. Kennedy? Because I’m sure you already know the answer to that question.”

  “What?” He laughs. “Are you seriously saying you don’t enjoy my company?”