Player: A Secret Baby Sports Romance (83 page)

“
I
don't like this
.”

The plaza on the outskirts of the Başakşehir district back in Istanbul where we’ve arranged to meet Sasha
should
be quiet, but not this quiet. Bryce nods slowly in reply to my words, his eyes darting around at the windows and ledges of the buildings around us. There’s
no one
here; no washerwoman hanging laundry from apartment balconies, and no kids in the background. You can barely hear the sound of traffic down the road, but besides that, the place is like a ghost town.

“Where is she?” I step closer to him, sliding my hand into his and hooking my fingers through his.

He squeezes back, shooting me a quick grin; “No idea.”

“Well if she’s going to ditch out on us, we could always go back to the inn and…” I blush as I look up into his eyes, tracing my finger over his jawline.

He grins widely at me; “Sorry, darlin,” He says with mock distress in his voice; “I’m just
real
bad at subtly today I guess. You wanted to go back to the inn and do
what
now?” He’s teasing me, trying to get me to blush.

Two can play that game.

I lean in close, my lips just brushing against his earlobe, my breath hot on his skin; “I said,” I whisper thickly; “I think you should take me back to the hotel room and fuck the shit out of me with that big cock of yours.”

Ok, even
I
blush at that level of directness, but I feel the thrill of it throb deep within me as I hear him
growl
at my words, his fingers tightening their grip on mine. He pulls me tight against him, his hand sliding down to grab my ass; “Careful there, darlin,” He whispers into my ear, his hand sliding deep down the curve of my ass between my thighs and making me gasp; “Keep talking like that we won’t even
make it
back to the inn.”

I’m moaning into his kiss when there’s a sudden sound somewhere close. We pull apart quickly, looking around.

“Sasha?” The plaza is still silent, almost even more-so now. I look up at Bryce, his eyes sharp and focused as the muscles in his shoulders tighten. He reaches back into the waist of his pants for the gun Sasha gave us before, pulling it out and quickly checking the chamber.

“Get behind me.”

I frown; “What is it?”

“Nothing- I mean,” He looks around, his eyes darting; “Just, stay behi-”

The wall right next to us erupts in plaster and rock as the shots ring out around us. I scream as Bryce shoves me down behind one of the potted planters in the square, before ducking behind the one next to it as bullets pepper the ground around us. I scream again, covering my head with my hands as I duck down, feeling the adrenaline roaring through my veins. Pottery explodes next to my face, sending me reeling to the ground.

There’s a ringing in my ears as I wince and look up to see Bryce screaming something at me from his spot behind the other planter. His face is red and his eyes are wild as he waves his arms as he yells at me, as if shoving me away.

I don’t understand; what’s happening?

The ringing starts to fade into the sound of thundering gunshots, cracking glass, and shattering plaster walls; “
Run!
”

This time I do understand it, and my eyes go wide at him; “
What?!
”

“Run!” He’s screaming, his face tight as he glances a look over the planter and raises the gun in his hand to fire off a few shots backs; “Get out of here!”

“Are you
crazy?!
” I scream; “I’m not leaving you here!”

“Just
g
-” A huge man in black comes crashing over the top of Bryce’s planter, tackling him to the ground. He’s got a bandage over his nose and clear signs of bruising around his eyes, and it takes me half a second to realize it’s fucking
Anderson
.

“Peyton!” Bryce is struggling with the bigger man, trading punches with him as they grapple on the ground; “
Run!
”

I can feel the fear then, the same gripping, arresting fear I felt once before; that night with Bill, in my mother’s trailer. And just like then, I’m paralyzed by it, frozen to the spot and just
staring
at Bryce as he screams at me.

“
Go!
”

“I’m not going to just le-”

“Get the
fuck
out of here! Get out so one of us can get Logan!”

I scream as two other men come charging around the size of the plaza and join the fray, holding Bryce down to the ground as he roars and struggles against them. And for a second, it looks like he’s winning. He bursts free of them, and in that second, he turns to me as he throws the gun at me. It’s clattering to my feet, and as I look up, it’s almost as if in slow motion as I meet his eyes; “
Bryce
-”

“Come back for me,” He says, and then I’m screaming as the men drag him back to ground.

And then I’m running. I’m screaming, and fighting back the tears, and I’m running.

One of us has to get Logan…Come back for me.

I don’t see the car until it practically hits me. I lunge out of the way as it comes screeching to a stop right in front of me, and it’s then that I look up with wild eyes and see the jet-black hair, and the blood-red lips of the woman behind the wheel.

Sasha
.

She flings the drivers side door open and steps out, looking more afraid than I’ve yet to see in her always-cool demeanor; “Get in the car.”

The gun in my hand is cocked and held right out towards her in a flash. Red rage starts to cloud my vision as one singular thought thunders in my head.

She sold us out
.

“You!” I’m bellowing at her; “You led us right into-”

But Sasha only rolls her eyes; “Get in the
fucking
car, Peyton.” Her eyes dart over my shoulder towards the plaza I’ve just come running out of; “And
please
, if I lead you into a trap, you won’t know until you’re dead.” She narrows her dark eyes at me; “You want to get him back?”

I tense my jaw, but slowly, I’m lowering the gun.

“Get in the
damn
car, Miss Rivers. I’m about to save your life, and then I’m going to help you save your brother and your boyfriend.”

T
his place is old
.

The church, which is really more of a fortress than anything else, is easily a thousand years old; probably from the Crusades or something. And I’m sitting in the oldest part of it, down in the dungeons chained to a chair like some scene out of Braveheart. There’s a dim light that comes in through the window of the heavy wooden door, showing old wood beams in the ceiling, old crumbling plaster on the walls.

Like I said, ancient. Old architecture, old walls…

Old foes.

“Long time no see, Connors.” The overhead lights snaps on, making me wince and squint in the sudden brightness, however dim. Benson stands in the doorway, leaning against the frame and nodding slowly at me, as if appraising me sitting there shackled to the chair in the middle of the room; gloating at me.

“Long time,” I say, my voice leaden.

“Jesus, Connors; I mean, you don’t call, you don’t write?” He makes a tsking sound and shakes his head as he steps into the room. The door stays open, but it’s an empty hope; not like I’m getting far with handcuffs securing my arms and legs to the metal-frame chair. Benson moves in front of me to lean against a table full of tools; tools that I know are there to scare me into wondering what they’re there for.

“You know, a guy could get to thinking you just don’t care, buddy.”

“What do you want, Benson?”

He sighs and rolls his eyes; “Jesus Christ, what, we can’t just catch up? I gotta Facebook you or some shit to make conversation? C’mon, Connors, you know that’s just not me. I’m not up on the tech stuff like you kids.”

I’m silent, my jaw tight as I just level my gaze at the man in front of me who I used to know. He’s older now of course, but he looks older than five years should have taken; goatee silvered, his stomach a bit rounder than it used to be.

But his eyes are still just as cagey and just as sharp as they always were.

He shrugs; “Alright,
fine
, let’s be uncivilized.” He reaches back and picks up a hammer, weighing it in his hand and turning it in his fingers as he grins at me; “So-”

“You need to lead with the questions first.”

He frowns; “Excuse me?”

“The questions, Benson; I mean when you’re trying to interrogate someone. You don’t just jump right into showing them the scary fucking tools; it puts them on edge and makes them clam up.”

His lips pull back in a wicked looking grin and he shakes his head at me; “I don’t know if I like this new sober ‘funny man’, Bryce. You know, I think I liked you better when you were that zombie junky you used to be.” When I don’t respond, he shrugs and drops the hammer back on the table with clang; “Alright you little prick, we’ll do questions first. Where the fuck are they?”

“Where the fuck are what?”

“Don’t be smart, kid. I was
there
, you little shit; we found them
together
.”

“The
fuck
do you need diamonds for, Benson? You guys are the like the largest DOD contractor in the system.”

“The heart wants, my little friend; the heart wants.”

“Excuse me?”

“I want bigger, and better.” He narrows his eyes at me; “I want a William Archer life; a charmed
Bryce Conners
life.”

“Trust me it’s not what it’s cracked up to be.”

“I’ll be the judge of that.”

We stare at each other like that for a moment; two soldiers, facing off; “So this is all for the money?”

Benson laughs; “Of course it is, the whole fucking world’s about money.”

Well, this sounds familiar.

He glares at me; “So where are they?”

I shrug, shaking my head; “I don’t know.”

Benson lets out a long a long sigh as he turns and picks what looks like an electric razor off the table; “Want to try that again, Brycey-boy?”

“I
don’t
know.”

“Wrong fucking answer.” The device in his hands sparks blue light, and I suddenly realize it’s a damned
taser
in his hands.

Well, shit; this is about to get a whole lot less fun.

Benson’s arm jerks forward, and I can’t help but scream when the thing makes contact with my shoulder. The taser is like twisting, biting heat lancing through me, clenching my muscles into painful knots and knocking the wind from my lungs .

Benson hoots as he draws his arm back; “Man, technology is a motherfucker, huh! Who needs creepy old tools anyways?” He laughs; “So you want me to keep asking until you piss yourself, or do you just wanna tell me now?”

“I’ve got no idea-”

The taser connects with my skin again, making me roar out a scream as the pain thunders through my nervous system, shorting out my brain for a second as my thoughts go numb.

“Fuck!” I shake my head as Benson draws back, trying to clear the thudding fog from my senses; “Jesus Christ, Benson, you knew me back then. I was a fucking waste-case; I was high out of my fucking mind. I’ve got no idea where we put them.”

Benson scowls at me, his lips drawing back from his teeth; “Oh I know where we put them, Connors. Problem is, the day you left, they weren’t there anymore.”

“It was a war -zone dickhead, anything could have happened to them.”

He’s grinning at me, but his eyes are anything but smiling as he leans closer to me; “You’re selling me bullshit, Connors, and I’m not buying.”

He turns his back to me, reaching for something else out of sight on the table; “How about a trade.”

“What?”

He turns, his hands wrapped around something and that wicked glint in his eyes as he grins pure evil at me.

I don’t like this.

“I said,
how about a
trade
.” He opens his hands, and I can feel my whole heart go numb as my eyes narrow in on the syringe in his hands. I’m drawn to it, like a moth to flame; unable to look away or even fucking blink. Five years clean, and I
want it
; I want it so bad I can fucking
taste
it. Five years without a drop of poison in my system, and I’m practically aroused just looking at the fucking thing.

That’s
addiction for you.

“So, how about it, Connors?”

My eyes linger on the silver and glass weapon in his hand before I finally tear my eyes away to look up into his face; “I’m clean, Benson; I don’t want it.”

He smiles, his eyes narrowing even further at me; “
Oh
, I
know
you don’t.”

A very cold feeling begins to spread through me, choking the blood to ice in my veins and seizing up my chest.

And I’m scared.

Benson sees it like the predator that he is, and takes a step towards me; “Yeah, thats right, you don’t want this at
all
, do you you little fucking junky.”

He moves his arm out, the needle moving closer and closer to my outstretched, tied-down arm, and I can feel every muscle in my body tense up. And there’s a war being fought inside my head, between the part of me that wants to run screaming from this nightmare and the part that
craves
every single fucking drop in the needle.

The room starts to fade around me, the edge of my vision growing darker as Benson moves his hand closer, until the cold metal of the needlepoint is against my skin. I’m drowning, my head swimming as the freezing chill of it all starts to claw it’s way up my throat. He draws the point of it up and down the skin of my inner arm, and I’m losing control.

I’m drowning.

“Where are the diamonds, Connors.”

I want to tell myself not to break, not to give in. But the worse part is, there’s nothing to tell anyways; no answer that he wants to hear.

“
Tell me
.”

I’m drowning, my throat closing up inside, and the demon inside is
raging
. He’s tearing at his cage; ripping at the floorboards, shattering the bars, and screaming like a fucking banshee roar inside my head;
I WANT IT. I FUCKING WANT IT!

The needle pulls away, and suddenly, I can breath.

I gasp, letting the air fill my lungs as the blackness in the corners of my eyes begins to fade; the rampaging demon inside crawling back to his cage.

Benson laughs; “Jesus Christ, once a junky, huh?” He shakes his head as he walks to the door and knocks on it until a man in black comes to open it. He turns and waves the needle in his hands at me; “I’m gonna ask you again tomorrow, buddy-boy,” He says evenly; “And after that, I’m gonna keep asking you.” A wicked grin creeps across his face; “But Bryce, after tomorrow, you’re not gonna be worried about what happens if I
do
stick you with this.” He looks hard into my face; “You’re going to be a whole lot more worried about what’s gonna happen when I
don’t
.”