by Avery Flynn
"Is that a challenge?" She glanced up at him and winked. "You know I just love those."
Marko glared down at her, but as usual his attempt to be all badass didn't impress her. Oh, he was badass all right. It was pretty fucking hard to be a six foot five inch tattooed wall of muscle who had been specially trained by the military to vanquish enemies in hand-to-hand combat or by blowing them sky high, who personified the strong but silent type, and not be a badass. The thing is, she saw through it. Growing up the only child of one of the world's most infamous con artists, reading people was her natural born talent. Marko could glower all he wanted, but he wanted her. Bad. Now, why, exactly, he failed to act on it—especially when she spent so much time teasing him to within an inch of his sanity—she hadn't worked out yet, but she would.
"Stop shooting me dirty looks and ignoring one of your best friends who just happens to be banging your sister."
The vein in his temple pulsed and his stare intensified.
Ohhhh, scary.
"Okay, who is in love with your sister." She rolled her eyes. "Let's go do a quick grab and dash."
The big black trunk on the tarmac was next to the skinny guy who looked like he should be asking her if she tried turning off her laptop, counting to ten, and then turning it back on again. Flynn was chatting with the guy looking every bit like he was about to jack the dude. It was so obvious Flynn was up to something that even the other guy had gotten twitchy.
Amateurs.
"Hi, I'm Mary Ann," she said, assessing at a glance the type of woman he'd respond best to. A Ginger guy he was not.
"Edwin Motz, keeper of the Cup."
They shook hands and some of the tension deflated out of the situation. She peppered him with questions about how much he traveled, (not much until it was Cup season), what some of the other players had done on their days (Finn Donnelly took it to a grave), and if any of the players got a little crazy (James "DC" Washington had threatened to sock Edwin).
"We'll take that and get it loaded on the truck," Flynn said as he hoisted up the trunk like it didn't weigh a ton and started walking toward his truck parked ten feet away.
Edwin moved too as if he had an invisible rope tying him to the Cup. "I'll have to ride with it."
"You never leave it alone?" Elisa asked with all the Mary Ann innocence she could muster up.
Edwin gave her a distracted half smile. "Not until it is safely back in the Hall of Fame."
"What if you have to go to the bathroom?" She added in a little nervous giggle for good measure.
Flynn dropped the trunk into his pickup bed with a thunk, making Edwin wince.
"Then it needs to be properly secured," Edwin said.
"How fascinating." Oh yeah. Talking bathroom habits with a stranger. That was way up there on her list of interesting things.
What did catch her attention though was the foursome in dark sunglasses and obvious shoulder holsters under their tight-fitting blazers heading straight toward them. A shot of adrenaline goosed her nerves. Oh yes. Now this looked like fun.
"Edwin," she said, giving him a solid shove toward the truck. "Take my advice and find a safe place to hunker down."
"What?" he asked, looking around totally clueless. "Why?"
"Marko," she hollered, but he was already watching the bad guys approach. "I'll take the one at ten o'clock."
After a nearly imperceptible nod, he turned his attention to one of the others. Flexing her fingers, Elisa balanced her weight and readied herself for battle. Taking down hired muscle with their own firepower wasn't one of her inborn talents, but she was a fast learner and with the entire B-Squad around to teach her, she'd picked up some very unique skills.
11
Flynn
One of the beautiful quirks of hockey was the on ice fights. Two players, dropping the gloves, and enforcing some good old fashioned vigilante justice for cheap shots and other bullshit. Goalies, however, rarely, if ever, got in fights. That didn't mean Flynn couldn't knock the shit out of someone. Really, it just meant he had a lot of pent up aggression and the perfect outlet was heading his way.
Not counting Edwin—because really, who was going to count him—it was four against three, which meant the first one done got to go for bad guy number two.
Elisa was the first one to get into ass kicking range. Watching her out of the corner of his eye, he saw her execute some kind of flying ninja move that ended with her legs around the guy's neck and her using her momentum to slam him to the ground. Now that was something Flynn had never seen in a hockey fight. Marko made contact next but Flynn didn't have time to watch the pounding, because his guy was within striking distance.
High on adrenaline and fury that Slater had the audacity to threaten Gillie, Flynn landed a punch to the thug's chin and snapped his head back. The guy hit back. Hard. Flynn was rocked back on his heels, but stayed upright. After that it was a flurry of punches, elbows and cheap shots to the kidneys until he and the other guy were both breathing hard and dripping blood on the tarmac. Reaching deep, he put everything he hand into a punch to the guy's jaw. He followed up with a shot to the throat and a hard knee to the guy's junk. Unfair? Too bad, life was fucking like that. The guy went down in a moaning crumble.
A glance to the left confirmed Elisa's guy was out for the count. A look to the right did the same for Marko's, now bleeding and unconscious on the ground. The fourth guy was nowhere to be found.
Edwin let out an ear-piercing yell. Flynn spun around. The fourth guy was at the truck yanking on one end of the trunk holding the Cup while Edwin was on the other, losing the tug of war. Flynn took off at a sprint.
"Yo, asshole," he yelled.
The guy turned. Flynn made eye contact. The guy dropped his end of the trunk and it and Edwin went flying back into the truck bed. Flynn was in mid-leap to tackle the guy when he saw the flash of silver and the guy reach inside his blazer. Time slowed to a crawl. Flynn couldn't stop his trajectory but if getting shot bought Marko and Elisa enough time to cross the tarmac and get to the guy before he could report to Slater, who'd take out his frustration on Gillie, then—whatever happened—it would be worth it. Mr. Vegas pulled out the gun and aimed. Flynn closed his eyes and pictured Gillie. Someone screamed a high-pitched yowl that was followed by the crack of a bone breaking. Flynn opened his eyes right in time to slam into the Vegas thug and knock him down to the tarmac where his head bounced once. After that he didn't move.
Looking over his shoulder, Flynn spotted Edwin, his face bright red with anger, standing in the truck bed gripping one of the ultra-dense composite hockey sticks Flynn always kept in the back of the truck. The fourth Vegas man was out cold but breathing, his left wrist was bent at an odd angle. The gun lay on the ground next to him.
Marko came to a stop beside Flynn and helped him up. Then, he kicked the gun away from the bad guy.
A roar of cheers went up from the crowd gathered outside the airfield's chain-link fence. This was just the kind of thing that would go down in Snow Bay legend, if not the entire U.P. lore.
Elisa caught up to them a second later. Marko talked the security guard into letting them get the hell out of there before the cops got here.
What the? Flynn couldn't wrap his head around that, but he wasn't about to question it while Gillie was still in danger. Thirty seconds later Flynn, Marko, Elisa, Edwin and the Cup were in his truck headed for the exit least likely to get blockaded by patrol cars before they cleared the airfield. "We need to narrow down possible locations," Marko said, taking out his cell phone and punching in some numbers.
"Easy." Flynn punched the Bluetooth button on his steering wheel. "Call Poppy's Taxi." Then, he shifted gears and took them out the airfield's back way as the call rang through. "Gillie left the keys to her rental in the motel room and there's only one taxi in Snow Bay."
For once, he was grateful he'd grown up in such a small town.
"Poppy here," a woman's voice came over his speakers.
"Hey, Popp
y, did you happen to pick up a woman this morning, dark hair with blue highlights?"
"You betcha. I'd just finished up my pannukakku with thimbleberry jam when she popped into The Brown Bear and asked Bear if he could give her a ride to the Old Smith Lodge. They've leased that out with that Airbnb, don't ya know. Of course, I told her I'd take her out there. Bear's only driving the snow plow year round now, ya know, and who wants to ride in that thing?"
The lodge was on the north side of town so he made a hard right out of the airfield and headed in that direction. No doubt Slater would be expecting to hear back from his goons. Since they were all either unconscious or under arrest, that wasn't going to happen anytime soon.
"Thanks, Poppy."
"No problem," the taxi driver said. "Looking forward to seeing you at Ten Pints tonight with the Cup."
He didn't have the heart to tell her that probably wasn't going to happen judging by the fact that Edwin was huddled in the back seat of Flynn's extended cab with his eyes squeezed shut. "See you then."
He hung up and hit the gas. They had to get to the lodge before Slater got suspicious about what happened to the Vegas crew and took it out on Gillie.
Gillie
Outside the pantry the whole world had gone nuts. Shouts. Loud thuds against walls. The unmistakable sound of glass breaking. Whatever was out there, she sure as shit hoped it was the cavalry but just in case it wasn't, Gillie started looking for an out.
The pantry was twelve steps long by nine steps wide. Built-in shelves started at the ground and went up to the ceiling. Just her luck, unless that bad guys had a nut allergy there was nothing deadly on the shelves. The best weapons she'd found since they'd tossed her in her food-stocked prison were an oversized can of cream of mushroom soup.
That wasn't going to do shit against the insanity going on outside the locked pantry door.
Something crashed against the door with enough force to shake the stack of cans on the shelves followed by an "oomph”. The door rattled. She grabbed a can of cream of mushroom in each hand and took three steps back from the door. Heart hammering against her ribs, she readied herself. Whoever was on the other side of the door could be carrying a bullet meant for her.
The knob turned.
She pulled back her arm, ready to launch her makeshift missile at the first opportunity.
The door started to open.
Blood rushing in her ears, her lungs tight, her eyes squinting to almost closed, she threw the can with all her might.
"Ow!"
She knew that voice.
"Damn, Sparkles, you almost took my head off."
Flynn stood on the other side of the door, his lip bloody and swollen, a cut below his right eye and his shirt torn. He was the best thing she'd ever laid eyes on. The second can dropped from her grasp as she ran toward him and leapt into his arms.
Her mouth was on his before she'd even had a chance to think about it first. Kissing Flynn was pretty much the only thing in the world she wanted to do. Now. Tomorrow. When she was one hundred and two and had no teeth. Damn she loved this man. And she'd hit him with a can of cream of mushroom. Untwisting her tongue from his, she took a second to catch her breath and better inspect his wounds—one of which definitely had the look of a can-sized bruise.
"I'm sorry." She kissed the spot on his cheek bone that was starting to swell. "I thought you were one of Slater's goons."
He jerked his chin toward the front of the kitchen. "You mean one of those guys?"
Peeking over his shoulder, she spotted Slater out cold on the ceramic tile floor along with Steroids in a suit and another big, bulky guy. Beyond them stood Marko—glaring, of course—and Elisa. Gillie slid down Flynn's body until her feet finally touched the floor, not sure exactly what to say next.
Elisa wiggled her fingers and sighed happily. "Thanks for the invite to the party, Gillie girl."
Marko crossed the kitchen in three long strides and gathered her up in a big brother bear hug. He was pissed. There was no doubt about it. There would be shouting and threats to tell Mom later, but for right now none of that mattered.
"You okay?" Marko asked.
She squeezed him tight. "I am now."
Police sirens wailed in the distance, growing closer fast.
"I called the locals once we had your coordinates. They're gonna want to talk to you," Marko said as he released her from the hug. "Can you go let them in while we secure these bozos?"
She knew he was talking about Slater and his goons, but there was no missing that Marko was staring directly at Flynn when he said bozos. Oh yeah. That conversation was going to be so much fun. But it would have to wait.
"You two play nice." She looked between Flynn and Marko who were both resembling pissed off roosters. "I'll go let the cops in."
She gave Flynn a quick kiss on the cheek for good luck and hurried toward the front door and the officers who'd be there at any second.
Flynn
Flynn kept his eye on Marko as Gillie left the kitchen and adjusted his stance to even out his balance. He didn't think Marko was going to take a swing, but being prepped was the best course of action.
Marko waited a whole three seconds after Gillie left before turning on him with pure fury in his eyes. "You're the guy from a few years ago."
Of all the things his best friend could have gone with, that wasn't the one Flynn was expecting. "What do you mean?"
Marko pressed his palm to Flynn's chest and shoved hard. "You're the one who broke her heart."
Flynn recovered his balance, but his mind was reeling. She'd said he'd broken her into a million pieces but he'd thought it had been an exaggeration. He'd been so fucked up at the time by her revelation that she was actually a thief who'd been using him for access to some likely marks that he'd been too blind by his own pain to realize she was hurting just as bad.
Marko took the opportunity to jab Flynn in the chest with his pointer finger. "Give me one good reason why I shouldn't pound you into oblivion right now."
What could he say to that besides the truth. "Because I love her."
"Don't feed me that shit, Kazakov," Marko said, putting plenty of menace in his voice. "I know you. I know the trail of chicks you leave in your wake."
He couldn't deny it. Before and after Gillie it had been puck bunny after puck bunny. No attachments. No feelings. No second nights in his bed. Forming attachments wasn't his thing—he'd learned that the hard way after how his dad had treated him growing up. The only exception to that rule being Gillie. From that first barbecue, he'd broken every rule he had for himself because no matter how many games he won or how many times his name went on the Cup, the only time he truly felt like a winner was when he was with Gillie.
But how could he explain that to Marko when he could barely even understand it himself?
"I know I'm not the ideal guy for Gillie," he started out, hoping his brain would catch up to his mouth any minute now. "I know we shouldn't work. I know the odds are against it. She's a former thief who almost ruined my career and I am—"
"The hockey stud who just saved the Cup," Gillie said, her voice wobbly and hard at the same time.
Flynn's attention snapped from Marko to Gillie. She stood in the open archway between the dining room and the kitchen, red splotches of emotion high on her cheeks. Shit. He didn't mean to put it that way. He'd fucked this all up.
"Sparkles." He took a step toward her.
She raised her hand, stopping him in his tracks. "Gillie will do."
Seeing that defeated look in her eye tore his heart out of his chest, but seeing the acceptance in there as well was like holding on to a live wire juiced up with fear and panic. "Gillie, just let me explain."
She shook her head. "It's okay, I understand. We shouldn't work so let's just let it end here with this." She gave him a bittersweet smile. "It's a much better ending than we had before, don't you think? I get a check in my win column and you have the Cup. That's probably more than we should hope for. Any
way, we'll always have Snow Bay."
That's when the cops came pouring into the room, filling the space between them and blocking him from her. That couldn't happen. Not like this. Not now. Flynn pushed his way closer to her.
"Ma'am," one of the officers said to Gillie. "I'm going to need to take your statement."
"Can I have just a minute with her first?" Flynn asked.
"No, that's okay, Officer," she said. "Let's take care of this now."
Unable to do anything to stop her, he stood in the kitchen and watched her walk away feeling like he'd been run over by a Zamboni.
It was close to two hours later before the police were done with him and he hurried out to the lodge's front porch in search of Gillie. She wasn't in the house. She wasn't on the front porch either. But Marko and Elisa were sitting on the stone steps looking out at the water in the bay.
"She left, didn't she?" he asked, knowing the answer but needing to hear the words out loud anyway.
Elisa nodded. "Yep."
He sank down on the steps beside her, feeling that kind of numb he got when he'd been clocked hard enough to know it was going to hurt like hell it just hadn't started to throb yet. "I fucked this up."
"Royally," Elisa agreed.
This is exactly what he'd wanted when he'd looked up and first spotted Gillie in Ten Pints looking like the personification of every bad idea he'd ever had. He wanted the Cup secured. His career safe. Her gone. He finally had all three and it meant fucking nothing without her.
"So what do I do now?" he muttered to himself.
He didn't expect an answer. Not from Elisa and Marko—especially not Marko, but the big guy surprised him.
"Do you love her?" Marko asked.
Flynn didn't even need to think about it. "Yeah. I do."
"Then I know what you need to do next." Marko pivoted on the steps and looked Flynn dead in the eye, nothing but the promise of retribution lurking in them if Flynn failed to take the advice he was about to impart. "Find a way to show her you love her and then spend the rest of your life making sure she never doubts it so I don't have to kick your ass."