Puck Money: A Hockey Love Story

by Miller, Raine

  Something feels not right. I know she left ahead of me and she should be here by now.

  Boris: Hey, are you hiding? I’m at the restaurant but I don’t see you.

  I wait. And wait.

  Boris: Hey, everything okay?

  And then the three dots appear. It’s a long minute before the reply comes through.

  Talia: We have her. Cancel your contract and leave your money with us or she dies – after we’ve enjoyed her thoroughly.

  Talia: Such a pretty girl.

  My blood runs cold. I put a hand over my mouth to keep from roaring in anger.

  I haven’t seen red like this since I was a teenager, dyslexic and frustrated and without an outlet. Since before I started playing hockey. Whoever is on the end of the line sends a picture of Talia, bound and gagged, her shirt ripped with a breast exposed. The image makes me think of nothing else other than murder. I will kill these people. Or make them wish they were dead.

  With shaking hands, I hit the talk-to-text button and send my reply.

  Boris: What do you want? I’ll come. I will give you what you want.

  Talia: Scorpio Street. Look for a rusted metal door. Come alone or she dies.

  I run all the way back to the apartment building, first checking Talia’s place, which is locked up tight. I head up to my apartment after that, dialing Vlad’s number. Go alone? I don’t think so. I’m not fucking going alone and I’m sure as hell not letting those guys hurt Talia.

  As soon as Vlad answers, I launch into a tirade.

  "I asked you to find a way to get me out of this contract. Now they have Talia. You said you’d help me fix this."

  "I said these things are always more complicated than we want them to be," Vlad answers. "Good game tonight."

  "Good game? I just told you they have Talia and you’re telling me good game? Fuck the game and fuck you too!"

  "Whoa! I’ve never heard such language out of you, Boris," Vlad says. "What is this little girl to you anyway? They hit a nerve taking her?"

  "Vlad, I swear to God I will ruin you for your business in hockey," I snarl. "They have threatened to kill her. If she is harmed there will be hell to pay so you better send me the best guys you have on the ground in Vegas and send them right fucking now."

  "Fine, fine," Vlad says. He chuckles and I swear I would punch him if he were in front of me now. "Hope you marry this one for all the trouble she’s causing."

  "She is just doing her job, you debil. They ordered me to come alone so I need your guys to meet me here at my place first. Now, Vlad. Tell them to come now."

  I hang up and head to my closet, pulling a lockbox from the back of the top shelf. In it, a .45 sits, untouched since before I moved to Vegas. I was never into guns much but bought one in Austin so I could learn to shoot. I learned at a range, but it’s been a while since I’ve pulled a trigger.

  I load it and put it in my jacket and then wait, pacing for the long minutes until a sharp knock sounds at my door. I swing it open wide, finding three barrel-chested men in dark suits there, each one more menacing than the next. One of them is positively gigantic. He says his name is Huell and that Heisenberg.

  Fucking perfect.

  I tell them where we’re going, and that I’m supposed to go alone.

  Huell tells me he knows the place. "There's a way to get in unnoticed. I'll lead my men in from there while you go in the rusty door as expected."

  Plan set, we head out on foot. Vlad’s men split off two blocks away from the building, disappearing into the shadows as I make myself obvious, staying in the light. I get to the rusted metal door and it swings open, two big men waiting for me. They saw me coming.

  I’m patted down, my gun taken away the minute I get in the doorway. I’m led down a dark hallway, through a corridor filled with what I suppose used to be individual offices. Each of the men has a grip on my elbows. They control my movements, our pace. My heart is beating wildly…and the need to see Talia is visceral.

  When I do, it takes everything I have to stay neutral and calm.

  She’s gagged, her arms and legs tied tightly to the chair she sits on. Her shirt is torn, her breast still exposed to all who want to look. She’s got a bruise blooming on her right cheek and blood trickles from her bottom lip.

  "You're as good as dead," I say under my breath. "I will rip your limbs off."

  I’m shoved to the ground, a knee in my back. One of them grabs me by the hair and kicks me in the stomach, enough to take the wind out of me. The other steps away, pulling his cock out. He shakes it at Talia, taunting her, telling her how much she’ll like having it up her ass. She winces and closes her eyes as I try to stand. Suddenly, there is a third man in the room, and two of them are holding me back as the guy with his cock out strokes himself, pushing his limp prick toward Talia’s mouth. She’s gagged, so there isn’t much he’d be able to do anyway, but the kidnappers all laugh. They say, in Russian, for him to spread her apart and take her. To teach me a lesson.

  They don't know it yet, but they just signed their death warrants.

  At the end of this night, the world will be less a few of its degenerate scum, because these motherfuckers are going to die.

  Talia

  Seeing Boris rage against his captors is absolutely terrifying, and yet he fills me with hope. He came for me. I shouldn't be surprised because he has always shown his protective side, but watching him transform into an enraged Incredible Hulk on a mission for justice is something altogether spellbinding to witness.

  As soon as the one guy who whipped out his cock and started waving it in my face, Boris became supercharged. Their exchange in Russian, I didn't understand of course, but whatever they said wound Boris up to the point he managed to break free, throwing punches left and right, as well as taking some in return. He's not a fighter, but he is a hockey player so he's not unskilled in defending himself. He body-checks one guy into the cement wall, smashing his head hard enough to make him wobbly. That guy falls to the floor as a second one swings at Boris, hitting him in the side of the head. Boris appears stunned for a moment but manages to stay on his feet.

  Bang! Bang!

  Gunshots ring out as two of our captors fall from direct shots to the head, blood pooling around them on the floor. There's no way they can still be alive. I'm in shock at what I'm seeing—a gun battle right in front of me—and hearing, as people shout and scream and bleed out. Boris rushes me as the men continue to take shots at each other, taking me to the ground with him while untying the ropes binding me to the chair.

  He works quickly, telling me he's going to get me out, shielding me from a position on the floor where we are more protected. The second I'm free from the ropes, he drags me up and out into the hallway, pocketing a lone gun left on the side counter along the way. I can't resist kicking the guy who swung his dick at me, as hard as I can in the nuts, when we pass by him crying on the floor like a baby.

  A huge black man speaks to Boris. "Leave it to us. We’ll make sure the message is clearly relayed."

  We don’t need to be told twice. Boris covers me with his jacket and rushes us out of the room, back through the maze of offices, and out into the warm Las Vegas night.

  We’re two blocks away when we hear the screaming of police sirens.

  Twenty-Six

  Talia

  KRASOTKA

  It hurts to open my eyes. I think I may just lie here with my eyes closed for the rest of my life.

  Everything hurts, feels swollen, or aches. Swallowing is effort. I force my eyes to open, but one doesn't want to open all the way. My right eye. An area above my right cheekbone stings with tenderness.

  It takes a great effort to sit up, and to look around, and then to realize I'm in Boris's bed at his apartment. I don't even remember coming here. The last thing I can remember about last night is fleeing from the nightmare of the evil dudes who kidnapped me, being taken out by some possibly less-evil dudes in a shootout, and then running down a dark street hand in h
and with Boris to the sounds of screaming police sirens. I must have passed out somewhere along the way.

  My hand shifts into a warm body and I stiffen. Turning my head ever so slowly, I see Boris lying next to me, on top of the covers, shirtless, his hair askew on the pillow, his mouth parted slightly.

  I try to reach out to touch him, but it hurts. It hurts so much. When I moan involuntarily his eyes snap open immediately.

  "You okay?" he asks quietly.

  "Just hurts," I manage, sounding very garbled.

  "Oh, krasotka." He orders me to drink some water and then forces two huge tablets of extra-strength Ibuprofen down me that have to be swallowed one at a time. When that's done, he helps me to lie back down into his soft bed once more. When I fall asleep a second time, it's to him massaging my scalp and trailing his fingers through my hair, soothing me with soft touches and comforting me with sweet words.

  Whispering to me in Russian.

  I don't know what the words mean, only how they make me feel.

  Cherished and safe and precious.

  * * *

  The second time I awaken, I feel so much better it's downright miraculous.

  Boris is still by my side in the bed, looking as anxious and intense as before though.

  "You're awake, krasotka. How are you?" He presses a kiss to my forehead.

  "I feel a million times better than before," I assure him.

  "Did they…hurt—"

  "No. Just smacked me around a little. Nothing major."

  He lets out a laugh but it’s bitter, angry, and slightly terrifying.

  "They’re either dead or in police custody by now…and I’m here safe with you."

  "Thank God," he says before pressing another kiss to my head, against my hair this time.

  "No, thank you, Boris." I cough, but then I groan because the coughing makes it hurt more.

  "Get some more rest, krasotka. No need to rush anything right now."

  "Need to pee," I say.

  "Okay," he says, rolling away, his feet hitting the floor. He helps me to my feet, then walks me to the bathroom. I stare at him until he gets the message that I can do this small thing by myself. But instead of closing the door, he just turns his back. I don’t know if he thinks bad guys are going to crawl out of the toilet to get me or what, but he’s clearly not letting me too far out of his sight for the moment.

  His phone rings, shrill and hurting my head. He answers in Russian, speaks in Russian. When he hangs up, he says, "All accounts have been transferred. They will not be bothering us again."

  I finish up and wash my hands, then splash some water on my face and try not to look at my reflection in the mirror. It's not pretty sight but the cool water feels refreshing and cleansing after my ordeal.

  Boris leads me back to bed.

  "Thank you." My voice sounds scratchy. "For coming for me."

  "Why would you thank me? I got you into this mess."

  "You got me out of it. You came for me."

  "But I would have gone to the ends of the earth to get you," he whispers, his chocolatey eyes boring into me. "I’m so sorry, krasotka. So, so sorry."

  "I had this whole big speech planned." I swallow and wince. "But right now—"

  "Save it," he interrupts. "There will be another time. Another day. Just rest now, krasotka."

  Another day, indeed.

  As I start to drift away with Boris warm and protective at my side, I'm really curious to know the translation for krasotka. "What does it mean?" I ask sleepily.

  "Gorgeous beauty."

  I'm pretty sure I'm smiling as I fall asleep.

  * * *

  The next time I wake, I’m still sore, but more aware of my surroundings. I drag on my glasses from the side table and peer at my phone. While I’ve certainly lost track of time, but I think I’ve been sleeping for like two whole days.

  My mouth feels as dry as a cotton ball and I have crazy bad breath. Boris is not in the bed to micromanage me, so I get up and shuffle to the bathroom, turning on the shower as I brush my teeth using my index finger and some of Boris’s toothpaste. There’s an ugly bruise on my cheek, my lip is slightly puffy, and my hands are pretty scratched up. All in all, it could be worse. Way worse.

  I pull off the T-shirt Boris must have put me into—an extra-large Austin Comets tee—and then shimmy out of my panties. When I step under the hot water, it stings at my bruises and scratches but its more comfort and relief than anything.

  I take my time, closing my eyes as I tilt my head back to wet my hair. It feels exquisite to get clean and wash away the filth of that night. I wasn’t sure when or how I’d wash away the fear and terror of the night…

  When I open my eyes, Boris is at the door to the bathroom. The shower glass is clear, and he can see all of me. I stand, hands at my sides, making no effort whatsoever to cover myself.

  Boris steps forward, pulling his white T-shirt over his head before exposing powerful thighs and a fully aroused, very beautiful penis when he drops his shorts. He hesitates at the threshold of the shower, waiting for permission. I nod, and he steps under the steamy spray with me. It’s a snug fit for two people, especially when one is as big as he is. He’s close and his closeness makes me forget my aches and pains. All I feel is desire.

  He reaches out and strokes the bruise on my cheek just ever so lightly.

  "It will fade." I remind him that he was hurt too when I kiss the ugly bruises on his ribs and on his side.

  Boris nods and swallows back whatever he thought to say. His thumb moves to rub against my swollen bottom lip before he leans in, kissing me, a feather soft thing that does nothing to tame the heat pooling between my legs.

  "You said you had a big speech for the restaurant," he says, taking the soap and washing my shoulders and arms.

  "I did," I answer, smiling up at him. "Basically, I was going to tell you that I care for you a whole lot and I think we should be together. I mean, I was going to be way more romantic about it, but in light of everything that’s happened…"

  He grins. "Do you feel that way still?"

  "Definitely."

  "Good." He smiles. "So, tell me."

  "Tell you?" Big strong hands lather the soap gently over my breasts as I close my eyes, sighing with simple pleasure.

  "Tell me what you were going to say. I don’t think it is too late."

  His hands roam, fingertips playing at my pebbled nipples, trailing down my slick and soapy stomach. I can hardly think about anything else, let alone all the things I had planned to say the other night.

  "I was…" I moan as he fits two fingers inside of me. "I was going to say that I really like you. That I….ahhhh…"

  His fingers pump in and out of me, deliciously unhurried. It feels sinfully good, and makes me forget that my face is bruised and my lip is swollen. "Is this okay?" he asks, as if my moans of pleasure aren’t enough evidence of consent.

  "Yes," I whisper. "Yes, it’s wonderful. And I think you’re amazing. Honestly? You're the best man I’ve ever met. And I’m done pretending I don’t want you, or that I can live without you, because neither of those things are true."

  Boris’s free hand rubs along the length of my spine, down to my rear, cupping one ass cheek, pulling me closer. His erection pushes against my stomach. "I’m glad to hear all of those things."

  "Yeah?" I ask, my lips skimming his chest.

  "Oh yeah. Because I feel the same. When I found out you’d been taken—Talia, I am not a violent man, but I was ready to kill anyone standing in my way to protect you."

  I don’t know what to say, so I just reach around, splaying my hands against his broad, strong back. My fingertips dig into the hard planes of muscle as I press fully against him, skin to skin. His fingers leave my body but he brings me in even tighter into him, our bodies aligned as we embrace under the steaming water.

  "I think I’m in love with you," he says in my ear.

  It’s much too soon, right? Too soon for him to say things lik
e that to me. But my heart is thundering in my ears as I look up, meeting his intense gaze, and I can see that he means it. I can see the emotion in his eyes. And when he kisses me, it’s soft and careful, passionate and protective.

  "I feel deeply connected to you…I have for a while now. I tried to keep it professional, but I think this might be the real deal between us. I want to try to make something of it."

  "So do I, krasotka."

  Gorgeous beauty. That Boris thinks of me as a gorgeous beauty is probably my biggest surprise of all, but I'll never complain about it.

  He turns off the shower and wraps me in a big, fluffy towel before taking one for himself. After I'm dry, he leads me to the bed, pressing me back onto fresh sheets and peeling away my towel.

  Baring my body so I'm naked, there's nothing but hot fevered skin between the two of us aching for the other's touch.

  I sink back onto soft pillows and wait for him to join me.

  He asks if I want him to wear a condom, saying he will go out and get some if I need him to.

  I shake my head no and tell him there's no need because I get a birth control shot every three months, and that I trust him.

  Also that I will die if he leaves me hanging right now to go condom shopping.

  He laughs darkly and drops the towel.

  * * *

  Boris spends a long time kissing every inch of my body. He rubs and massages my aching muscles as he goes, sending me into some blissful place between relaxation and combustion. He kisses and licks at my breasts, telling me how beautiful I am, how amazing my body is. He teases me as his lips and tongue move against the inside of my thighs, his shoulders forcing me to open my legs wide and bare myself to him.

  It’s only minutes before I’m coming, his tongue sinister and talented against my clit. His grin is pure bad boy when he emerges victorious, moving up to kiss along my neck and jaw, careful of my injuries. I want him in me so badly that I'm desperately impatient, so when he turns onto his back, I climb on top, straddling his hips and aligning his cock to my entrance. He watches his cock disappear inside me as I sink down onto his whole hard length, both of us moaning in pure pleasure. Our bodies fit perfectly together…and nothing has ever felt so right.