Page 56 of Sin Bin Bully

I hang up, tossing the phone on the ground. My mind races, piecing together the puzzle. The botched test, the press conveniently catching me with Kim, getting benched with — potentially kicked off of — the team. It all reeks of a setup.

I grab my phone again, scrolling through contacts. There's only one person who can get to the bottom of this mess.

"Xavier," I bark when he answers. "I need your services. Discreetly."

Xavier Reeves, the best private investigator money can buy. Ex-CIA, with a network that puts the NSA to shame.

"Mr. Warwick," his smooth voice replies. "What seems to be the problem?"

I lay it out for him - the false accusations, the suspicious timing, the potential sabotage. "I want answers, Xavier. No stone unturned, no lead ignored. I don't care what it costs."

"Understood. I'll start immediately. Expect daily updates."

I end the call, a grim smile tugging at my lips. Whoever's trying to take me down is about to learn a hard lesson. Nobody fucks with Sam Warwick and gets away with it.

I return to my workout, channeling my rage into each rep. The weights clang as I push myself harder, sweat dripping down my face. My muscles burn, but it's nothing compared to the fire in my veins. Someone's trying to fuck with me, and they're gonna pay.

The phone rings. Xavier. I snatch it up, adrenaline pounding through my veins. It's only been a few hours, so I'm eager to know why he's calling back so quickly.

"Talk to me," I growl, still breathing heavy from the workout.

"Mr. Warwick, I've got something," Xavier's cool voice comes through. "It's not much, but it's a start."

I grab a towel, wiping my face. "Spit it out."

"The person framing you? They're on your team."

My blood runs cold. "What the fuck? You sure about this?"

"Positive. The evidence points to an inside job. Someone with intimate knowledge of your routines, opportunity to access your medical records and the same facilities."

"Jesus Christ," I mutter, pacing the gym. "Any names?"

"Not yet. But I'm closing in. Give me a few more hours."

I clench my fist, knuckles white. "Make it fast, Xavier. I want this fucker's head on a platter."

"Understood. I'll call as soon as I have more."

I hang up, tossing the phone aside. A teammate. Someone I trusted, someone I fought alongside on the ice. The betrayal stings worse than any check into the boards.

My mind races through the roster. Who could it be? Matthew, the new guy I roughed up? But he's small fry, not smart enough for this. Coach? Nah, he's been in my corner since day one.

I slam my fist into the punching bag, the impact reverberating through my arm. Whoever it is, they're gonna wish they never crossed Sam Warwick. I'll make sure of that.

Finally done with my workout, I climb the stairs up two floors. The news from Xavier burns in my mind, fueling my anger and determination.

The need to tell Kim is overwhelming. She's been involved in everything else so far and…I've gotten used to talking to her.

As I approach her room, I hear movement inside. My hand pauses on the doorknob, a strange hesitation gripping me. Since when do I, Sam fucking Warwick, hesitate?

I push the door open. "Kim, we need to talk. I've got some-"

The words die in my throat. Kim stands in the middle of the room, a suitcase — where the fuck did she get a suitcase — open on the bed behind her. Clothes are strewn everywhere, like she's been frantically packing.

"Sam," she says, her voice tight. "I was just coming to find you."

I step into the room, my eyes darting between her face and the suitcase. "What's going on?"

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