Balls: The Complete Players Collection (Sports Romance Box Set)

by Teagan Kade

  Michael nods to himself, but I can tell he isn’t convinced.

  His cell buzzes. He takes it out and scrolls through the message. His eyes become keener, his posture straightening.

  “Good news?”

  He smiles. “It’s Bobby’s friend from back home, the one who works for that AC company here. It seems he might have a little lead on where our friend is hiding.”

  I can’t help but smile back. “A-fucking-men.”

  SAM

  “Temperatures are expected to soar again today as the third week of this record-breaking heatwave continues to grip the city. Blackouts continue to spread, from Santa Monica to—”

  Chance reaches over and takes the remote, switching off the TV. “Tell us something we don’t know.”

  We’ve got three fans in the trailer now given the lack of air conditioning. Morgan’s had three techs come to look at it so far this week. I can’t say I appreciated having strangers hanging around the trailer, but then again, another week of this and it’ll be the heat that kills me.

  I’m almost disappointed Chance has woken up so early. I love watching him sleep, the tempest calmed, the child caught within that slight smile he always has when he’s dreaming. He said my name last night, softly whispering “Sam” as he slept.

  “You’ve got training in an hour,” I remind him.

  He rolls over and pulls one of my legs over him, his cock hard and ready. “An hour, you say?”

  For a moment we do nothing but watch each other. I study the jade cosmos in his eyes, the light stubble around his chin.

  “You still having trouble sleeping?” he asks.

  I nod. I barely sleep these days. I can’t stop the stream of thoughts cluttering up the highway of my head. Every time I close my eyes I picture those two men following us, the gun, a bullet cutting through me, through Chance.

  He leans in and I’m absolutely powerless. “I can help, you know.”

  “By sexing me senseless?”

  “If you like.”

  Why not? It helps me forget, being with him, helps me to step outside of myself if only for a moment.

  We kiss. It starts slowly, like two lovers coming together for the first time, before giving in to our passion.

  His lips fall upon my own. They meld together, his hand moving to my leg.

  I lean into the kiss, wanting to consume him, to take everything in.

  I hold his neck, pulling him deeper into the kiss.

  My breathing increases and I’m suddenly, hotly aware of my heart beating, my pulse rising swiftly.

  I run my fingers up the back of his head, slowly raking them through his hair as our tongues meet and roll between us. They tumble and move together in the heated ocean of our mouths. All the while his hand continues to climb up my thigh, moving into the hot darkness beyond.

  My legs part under the blanket. There’s a distinct pull of excitement at my core, gathering and building. I’m wet as his fingers fall into the crevice of my sex and seek my center. The kiss remains unbroken, but quiet, above, each of us trying to keep noise to a minimum even against the constant hum of the fans.

  I’m burning up. It’s suffocating in here, my body building up a steady sweat under the sheets, my arousal rising between us in a tsunami. I want him so badly it hurts, an actual aching.

  My pussy pulses, beating in time with my temples.

  I pull away just enough to catch my breath. My lips are on fire, my mouth suddenly dry.

  My hand runs over his hard abdominals heading south fast.

  His lips move up the side of my neck, leaving a moist trail cooling as the tip of his tongue finds the seashell of my ear.

  “You’re so fucking wet,” he whispers, breath hot on my ear, his finger probing into my pussy. It slips in to the second knuckle. I give a small gasp.

  A second and third finger follow, folding together and stretching me out, rolling and twisting in the slickened sauna my slit has become.

  He whispers into my ear while he fucks me with his fingers. He tells me every microscopic detail of his touch. I follow the clip of the syllables, head lolling against the pillow.

  I spread my legs wider as his joined fingers continue to slide in and out of my body. He curls them inside me, adding the pad of his thumb to my clit and moving it in soft circles until I can barely keep my ass on the seat I’m wriggling so much.

  A thrum builds inside me, my hand caught against his chest. I close my eyes, losing myself in the sensation. He holds my neck, supporting me while my climax nears.

  I’m unbelievably wet below, the folds of my sex open and pressing moisture against the sides of my thighs. My clit throbs under his thumb. I lift my hips slightly to meet it, trying to hold back a steady need that threatens to overwhelm me at any moment.

  I clamp my teeth together, worried a sudden scream is about to come from my mouth that will wake everyone within a ten-mile radius.

  “Come,” he whispers, working faster. “I want you to come all over my fingers.”

  The need to release is so strong my body actually shakes against the mattress.

  His fingers curl up inside me in a come-hither motion, thumb adding additional pressure. I come, bucking off the bed, biting down as hard as I can and gushing against his fingers. My pussy clenches against him as he moans softly into my ear. Clench, release, clench, release, completely out of my control until the fire that has just crested across my vision fades and his fingers exit from my hole.

  I can’t think of a relevant word. My body is numb, bones gone.

  I try to hold on to the feeling as long as I can, but it begins to fade, reality returning once more.

  We kiss.

  We kiss and hold each other until the sun breaks through the trailer window.

  It’s going to be a hot one.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHANCE

  I wake to someone knocking on the trailer door.

  I do my best to get out of bed without waking Sam and make my way down the front. I pull the curtain across and look outside. It’s Morgan.

  I open the door and check my watch. It’s 11:30pm. “I didn’t order room service, sorry.”

  He averts his eyes. “Jesus H. Cover that thing up, will you? I’ll have nightmares for weeks.”

  I grab a tea towel from the kitchen counter and hold it in front of myself. I’m surprised everyone isn’t walking around in their birthday suits given this heatwave. “What is it?”

  Morgan takes a step up into the doorway. “Just a quick courtesy call to let you know the second guard won’t be in tonight. He called in sick and they can’t find a replacement on such short notice.”

  I lean out of the trailer door over Morgan’s shoulder and scan the carpark. “Tony?”

  “Yeah, stomach bug or something, but,” Morgan points to the security box near the gates, “Anthony’s there as usual. I’m sure everything will be okay.”

  There hasn’t been a hint of trouble since Sam moved into the trailer. I doubt anything’s going to go down tonight, especially given it’s one-hundred-and-ten out.

  “Any word on the AC?”

  Morgan shakes his head. “These guys are useless, I tell you. I didn’t even hear back from the last company.” He leans back and looks towards the stadium. “The old girl is getting on, but it’s a god damn air-conditioner for crying out loud. How different can they be?”

  I nod. “I hear you.”

  Morgan takes a step down. “You looked solid in training today.”

  “It’s all thanks to Sam and her magic hands.”

  Morgan makes a gagging motion. “I do not want to know what you kids are getting up to.”

  “Ignorance is bliss, hey?”

  Morgan chuckles, rapping the doorframe. “Where you’re concerned, it sure as hell is. Good night.”

  “You hanging around?” I repeat, watching him go.

  He turns. “Believe it or not, son, I do have a life outside of this stadium, so no. I’m afraid I won’t be
here tonight.”

  “A life outside this stadium, huh?” I tease. “Could have fooled me.”

  “Good night,” he repeats.

  “Good night,” I follow.

  I head back into the bedroom and slide back into bed, ultimately deciding to ditch sheets altogether, lifting them off Sam to reveal the soft curves of her body, now mine. But it’s a different kind of possession I feel now, a need to protect her, not own her per se. I can only hope I can find her a way out of this. The last thing I want to do is condemn her to this damn trailer for the rest of her life.

  *

  “Chance?”

  I wake groggy, sticky on the mattress.

  Sam holds my shoulder trying to wake me, her breasts alabaster in the darkness.

  And that’s just the thing. There’s no light, nothing but the moon outside.

  What the fuck?

  I start to take things in. Normally the security lights around the parking lot are on, but they’re off. The fans at the end of the bed, too. Even the alarm clock is dead.

  I look down at my watch, the luminescent hands showing it’s just past 1 AM.

  “Chance?” calls Sam again, voice low. “What’s going on?”

  I sit on the edge of the bed and press myself up to look out the window. I can see Anthony in the security box at the entrance to the stadium, but he’s little more than a silhouette, what looks to be a phone to his ear. It’s pitch black out there.

  “Chance?”

  “I think it’s a blackout.”

  “A blackout? What does that mean?”

  Without the fans, it’s stifling in this tin can. My skin’s prickly with the heat, my forehead wet and clammy. I notice the boom gate is up. The blackout must have screwed with it.

  Shit.

  “Chance, what’s happening?”

  It clicks. What’s happening is that the security system around the stadium, the alarms and cameras, are all down. It means we’re sitting ducks again, but I’m not about to let this on to Sam. “Everything’s okay. Why don’t you go back to sleep?”

  Just as I say it there’s a flash of light in the security box followed by the telltale crack of a gunshot.

  I see Anthony flung against the window, a dark figure standing in the guard box doorway with pistol raised.

  It has to be.

  “Chance!” screams Sam, sensing the danger.

  “Dress,” I tell her, trying to remain calm. “Quick as you can.”

  I swipe my jeans off the floor and step into them, watching the security box as I do. Anthony doesn’t reappear and once more the scene is cast into shadow, but there’s a car at the boom gate, an Oldsmobile, a driver and the gunman getting into the passenger side. It has to be the two from the alleyway that night, the Eizo and Michael characters the Feds were talking about. How the fuck did they find out she was here?

  I don’t know, but we’ve got maybe a minute to get the hell out before they cover the few hundred feet between us.

  If they know you’re here.

  They must. I can’t take the chance.

  I turn, Sam standing there in a white dress. “You good?”

  She nods, eyes wide and terrified.

  I take her hand. “Listen to me. We’ve got to go, right now. Follow me. Just do exactly what I do. Can you do that?”

  Although the situation is dire, an odd sense of calm comes over me. More than that, it’s comfort in the fact I excel under pressure. It’s where I thrive, regardless of the circumstances. I’ve been up against a lot more than these two fucking bozos. I’ve got this.

  “It’s those men, isn’t it?” asks Sam.

  “We’re going to be okay.” I look out the window. The Oldsmobile’s headlights flicker to life, lighting up the parking lot. “Come on.”

  I pull Sam through the trailer and down the stairs into the open, the headlights swinging and lighting us up momentarily before I manage to get us around the side of the trailer, sprinting for the access door to the stadium.

  The Oldsmobile’s tires screech as it accelerates hard towards us.

  I come against the door and push, but it’s locked. I slam my fist against it. “Fuck.”

  “What is it?” says Sam, the panic clear now in her voice.

  “The blackout’s fucked up all the electronics.”

  I drag her down to the next door, but it too is locked. We’re running out of time.

  I head us for the old door at the far end that joins to the locker rooms. It’s been busted for years. As we’re running I hear the car rev behind us, its headlights once again illuminating us.

  “Come on!” I yell, pulling Sam harder.

  Tires screech again as the car comes to a halt, doors opening.

  This is it. If this door doesn’t open we’re caught in a dead end.

  We stand in front of the door.

  Please.

  I grab the handle and yank down, but it’s locked. Morgan must have had it fixed recently.

  Fucking hell.

  “Chance!” screams Sam again.

  I look at the door. It’s old, bent out of shape from water damage.

  Here goes nothing.

  I can hear the sound of footsteps running towards us. I’m waiting for the gunshot as I stand back and lift my leg, use all my weight and power to kick hard into the center of the door just like we used to back in Afghanistan.

  To my relief, it works. The kick manages to smash the door open. It hangs loosely off the top hinge as I push Sam in front of me and send her through. “I’m right behind you,” I tell her.

  She’s running down the hall in the dark. “Where am I going?” she yells, her voice echoing in the small space.

  “Take the first left.”

  She stops and heads down the hallway leading to the left. I can’t quite remember where it leads. Everything looks so different in the dark.

  I follow her white dress, use it like a beacon as voices echo behind us—male voices, gruff and harsh. They’re coming, but they’re not going to find us.

  I consider who might be around, but this is Saturday night. Apart from Anthony and maybe another guard inside, I doubt there’s anyone else here.

  We come into what must be a kitchen behind one of the food outlets on the lower floor, stacks of cups and plastic utensils rising to the roof.

  I place my hand on Sam’s back and direct her down behind a chest freezer. I squat down beside her and press her in behind me, putting a finger to my lips.

  She nods, hair sticking to her face, pupils huge.

  I listen, but the footsteps seem distant. We might be okay if we can just wait them out. There’s a game tomorrow. The staff will start arriving at six. That’s five hours away.

  I pat down my jeans pockets and find my cell, pulling it out only to find it’s dead.

  Of fucking course it is.

  I see a phone on the wall, but it’s only for internal calls within the stadium. I can’t remember where to find a phone to call out. I know there’s one up in Morgan’s office, but to get there we’d have to head back out into the open and up the stairwells. It’s way too exposed.

  It’s a fucking mess, but at least we aren’t outside. At least in here we have a chance. For now, we just have to hunker down and hope the hitters don’t find us.

  I look around and stand up cautiously, moving to the counter at the front of the outlet.

  Sam’s tugging my jeans. “What are you doing?” she whispers.

  I place my finger on my lips again and make my way over, opening the drawer below and hunting through it with my hand until my fingers fall on the handle of a knife.

  I pull it out, the blade glinting in the darkness.

  I tuck it down the back of my jeans and crab-walk back to Sam.

  If they do find us, I’m sure as fuck not going down without a fight.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  EIZO

  As soon as the blackout hit, we knew this was our chance. The AC contact was a lucky break, almost divine
intervention, but they had to run, didn’t they? It would have been nice if it was just the girl. The football kid hasn’t done anything wrong, though he did put my favorite team out of contention last week, so I guess a bullet between the eyes won’t hurt. Collateral damage. The Don will understand.

  We’ve both got our pistols raised, working our way through the back corridors of the stadium. It’s dark, not much to go on, but over the years my eyes have tuned well to the shadows. The darkness is where we live, where we thrive.

  Michael and I don’t talk. We’ve been working together long enough now that we’ve developed a kind of sixth sense, a natural intuition. I can tell by a simple shift of his head, a lift of his shoulders, what he’s thinking.

  We come down a narrow hallway and I can almost smell her, that sweet scent of young pussy, the fear. It’s the best fucking smell in the world.

  I’d hoped the security guard in the box up front would have put up more of a fight, but he’ll live in any case. That was a clean shot through the shoulder. One of my best.

  Michael looks back and motions me towards a kitchen running off the corridor.

  I take the lead and move in.

  SAM

  I’m trying to keep it together, but I can’t stop shaking and I can’t stop thinking that this is real, that the men hired to kill me are here, right now. I might be dead in less than a minute—nothing. No Chance, no life, no future, no family. I will cease to exist.

  Please let it be quick.

  I hear footsteps. I know Chance hears them too because of the way he tenses up in front of me, hand holding me behind him protectively. He’s got a chef’s knife tucked down the back of his jeans, but I don’t know what good that will be against a gun.

  The footsteps grow louder and I fight the urge to scream, to call for help. Chance turns around, finger to his lips, his eyes steely and collected.

  With a sudden horror I realize they’re here, in the kitchen.

  I see a shadow loom on the wall, growing and growing as the hitman gets closer.