Page 153 of Wrong Pucking Player

Was I once fat?

Yes.

Then I learned all about lifting, bulking, cutting, and repeating that cycle until I was huge with muscle and 6’7” in height.

Took years, but it was fucking worth it.

Which is why I can’t stand here and be insulted.

“We can take you on right this inst—”

I don’t say a word.

Instead, it’s the quiet groan and loud thump sound that delivers the message I want my little audience to hear.

“Fuck! Miguel!”

“Shit… um… Armani, man. W-W-We’re sorry. He’s just a kid! We shouldn’t have brought him.”

“You have five fucking seconds to get the fuck out of my face, or I’ll fuck you three up so bad, you’ll never step near this shithole for the rest of your fucking existence.” My voice is unrecognizable as my Russian accent comes out to emphasize the threat I’ve laid upon these three shitheads.

I witness a Guinness World Record of how fast three men can be out of my sight because they’re gone in a heartbeat.

Such a waste of time and resources.

I really did leave those men on the side of the road after kicking all their asses.

A few of them may be on the verge of death, but that was their fault for thinking trying to stab me was a good idea.

Can’t be stopping pucks with a broken rib or punctured lung.

Without further thought, I turn around and began to walk away.

“Where the fuck are you going?”

“None of your business,” I reply with a stoic voice. I’m not in the mood this early in the morning. I normally would say I’m going home, but I don’t want him following me tonight.

I just want to go home and be with Kenzie right now.

The memory of her hooked up to the IV and looking so vulnerable makes me walk faster, but my instincts kick in because my right foot further presses into the cement to keep my stance solid while I manage to block a punch.

“Are we really doing this now?” I question without looking up from my feet because if I look this man in the eyes right now, I’m not sure what I’ll do.

Will today be the day I kill Winchester?

God, I hope not since I don’t have a game plan as to where to hide his body. I may hate his guts, but I’m not stupid.

“I called you multiple times, and you didn’t fucking pick up,” he snaps at me. “You want me to be fucked over, don’t you? What would have happened if I got punched in the face, huh?”

Good. Let the world see he’s not a golden boy but a volcano ready to erupt with the slightest tremor.

“I didn’t have my phone.” That’s the honest truth.

“What a bullshit excuse!”

“If you don’t want to believe it, that’s on you.”

“You’ve been trying to set me up, haven’t you? You told them I was doing a deal here.”

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