Page 247 of Wrong Pucking Player

I end up being the only one in this section, as the other guys are downstairs picking up puck bunnies. Or, in Kane and Diesel’s case, dancing in a corner.

That involves more than just moving their hips.

“Figured I should with how this club’s standards have skyrocketed,” Wyatt replies as he makes his way over to sit down. “You don’t know who you’re going to meet when you’re chilling in the VIP section of Blood Rock.”

“Ain’t that the truth?” That makes me smirk as I further relax in my seat, my glass of whisky inches from my lips. Taking a generous sip, I lazily scan our surroundings, antsy for Kenzie to return. She went with Katherine to the washroom, probably to change since we all brought a second set of clothes for tonight.

Blood Rock Club was a new establishment that catered to the rich, famous, and obviously those in the shadows who were here for dirty business. If you thought black market deals happened in alleyways or underground clubs, that’s not how it worked in Strattonville.

“Would you like a drink, Sir?” a male server questions as he bows upon arrival.

“I’m good,” Wyatt mumbles, but I’m observing him from his head to his lap, my eyes catching onto the nervous twitch in his right hand.

“Can we get two On the Rocks?” I speak up.

“Yes, Sir Salvatore. Two servings of On the Rocks. I’ll be with you promptly.”

With another bow, he’s gone, but I’m more irritated by his acknowledgment of who exactly I am.

Annoying.

“Salvatore,” Wyatt repeats, his attention on me. “And I don’t need to drink anymore.”

“Why?” Our gaze couldn’t be tenser at this stage. “Your nerves will go through the roof, or your crippling anxiety being in this place is going to set off a panic attack.”

He’s going to say something with how his lips part to combat my statement, but the gears in his head are moving faster than his emotions—for once—leaving him no choice but to hold off.

“You keep looking like a shaky mess, those who are trying to fuck you over are going to assume you’ve become a wimp,” I mutter as I finish the last of my drink. “My brother has strong associations with Salvatores. I’m just thrown into a loop ‘cause we’re blood-related.”

“Meaning you have loads of power, making you into an Alpha wolf that no one dares try to trespass on your territory,” Wyatt summarizes and sighs. “You got a cigarette?”

“You don’t smoke.”

“Unless I feel like I’m dying.”

“Kenzie sees you, she’ll slap you silly,” I voice as I look into his blue eyes. I can see why he needs it.

There’s so much fear in his eyes.

“You don’t want to be here,” I whisper so low, I’m positive not a single soul will hear me. “Explain, Cyrus Jr.”

“Same establishment, different name,” Wyatt admits just as our drinks arrive. We wait for the server to leave before I reach into my pocket and offer him a cigarette. He quietly thanks me before picking a stick. Putting the pack away, I retrieved the lighter and let the flame do its job at the end of his stick. He takes a few puffs, needing the nicotine to rush through his lungs.

“We came here the night before our flight to Moscow when I was nine,” he confesses and closes his eyes. “It wasn’t fancy and shit. There was a basement level. Quiet. Dark. Dim lights of red.” He opens his eyes halfway as he takes another go at his cig.

“Frankie was here with his family.”

An exchange.

“What happened in Moscow?” I want to hear it from him.

“The deal dropped. Angry parents. Even angrier stakeholders. I didn’t understand it. I just heard all the yelling,” he whispers and stares ahead.

As though he’s watching the events happen in real time.

“They told us to go play hockey on the ice. We did what we were told. The girl who was there began to cry because she fell. I cheered her up like any little boy would, but I felt something was wrong. Like we were being watched.”

He’s turning his head, so I can see his eyes.

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