Page 24 of Puck'N Enemy
Because deep down, I don’t know the answer myself.
But I know Dylan Larson. He’s not someone who vanishes after taking a few bruises.
Dylan is stubborn. Loud. And a total bastard when he wants to be.
He wouldn’t hide or quit his job just because a member of an opposing team punched him a few times. If he wanted to stalk me, fight me, or glare at me from across the arena, he would have done so without caring about anyone.
He wouldn’t just disappear. Not unless something was wrong.
“So, what’s this favor you’re asking for?” Mitchikov says, breaking me out of my thoughts.
“I need you to find out where he lives.”
He stares at me for a heartbeat and then laughs. “What the hell are you talking about? Do you hate him so much that you want to go fight him one-on-one? Not that I’m complaining. But dude, you’re still healing. If you want, I can go kick his ass for you.”
“I’m not going to fight him.” Stepping closer to Mitchikov, I glare daggers at him. “And you...you don’t get to touch him.”
The sudden depth and roughness in my voice alert him. “Then, why do you care where the guy lives?”
“Can you do it or not?” I ask, ignoring his question.
Mitchikov shrugs, pulling out his phone. “I know a guy who knows a guy. Give me a sec, okay?”
I nod, watching him step away from me.
Pavel doesn’t talk about it but his dad’s side is connected to a powerful Russian mob family. He’s usually a goofball but there’s a streak of cold, unrestrained lethality in him that he only unleashes on the ice.
Only Coach Sullivan and I know of his connections to the dark underworld of the East Coast mafia network. The rest of our teammates have no idea they’ve been sharing high-fives with a dangerous man who has no business playing college hockey.
Mitchikov walks back toward me, looking grim. “It could take ten minutes to a day,” he says. “Depends on how shady this Larson guy is.”
Digging my hands into my pockets, I nod.
I don’t tell my friend anything, but as far as I know, Dylan’s background isn’t an ideal one. He was a foster kid growing up and lived through some dark shit.
I have no idea what he’s been up to over the past four years he’s been missing. All I can do is hope he didn’t get involved in something dangerous again.
Mitchikov’s phone suddenly starts ringing. His eyebrows rise as he glances down at the screen and then at me.
“This barely took five minutes, huh?” he says, proceeding to take the call.
He speaks for barely a minute before hanging up.
“Larson doesn’t live in the dorms,” Mitchikov says, looking surprised. “He’s registered with the team but he’s staying off-campus.”
I frown. “That’s unusual for someone in an athlete program.”
“Yeah, well,” Mitchikov says, slapping his phone in my hand. “There’s the address. It’s some apartment building across town.”
Glancing at the screen, I see a snapshot of an old, crumbling building in an industrial site. Without a word, I transfer the address and photo to my phone.
“Are you sure about this?” Mitchikov asks quietly. “What exactly do you want to do with his home address?”
“I don’t know,” I say honestly. “Maybe I just want to find out what he’s been up to.”
“The Silver Bears are a bunch of assholes,” he says, looking annoyed. “But are you sure you want to stalk their center? The dude’s good. I’ll give him that. But is he worth the trouble you’re taking on?”
I remain silent.
