Page 288 of Wrong Pucking Player

“Now then, Joseph,” Mr. Tobias begins and pulls out a pack of cigarettes. “I’m sure you remember Miss Andrews.”

The man muffles against the binding cloth that’s around his mouth like a gag.

“It was quite an effort to swipe the videos of you handling her so roughly. A pain, actually. Wouldn’t want all of Strattonville witnessing you disrespecting Saskatchewan Pincer’s team nurse, now. It’s not very professional, even in an emergency.”

He lights his cigarette and enjoys taking an exaggerated inhale. Letting it out, he couldn’t look more commanding in this space.

Powerful.

“You know how the NHL runs things around here. We enjoy good publicity, especially for those who are valued in our community. Watching one of our own get hurt because they want to be of service in protecting those they love and care about feels like a direct stab at us.”

He takes a few steps, standing before this man who’s now fighting his handcuffed bindings. Every jerking movement only makes those metal restraints further dig into his flesh, which is already bleeding.

“I’m very aware of who paid you to be rough and unbothered by the obvious threat before your entire department. I won’t reveal all the details since we have company who would rather enjoy a nice path after such an eventful evening than be here, but I’ll let you know, there are consequences when you play with fire.”

He takes another puff and lets the smoke out in Joseph’s face, forcing a row of coughs to be muffled by the wrap.

“Let’s begin, shall we?” he decides and looks to his right, making me realize there’s another door that’s hidden almost perfectly, thanks to the black paint.

It opens to reveal three men who roll in a table of items. It reminds me of those sinister movies, and I know what’s going to happen next.

Yet I feel immune to it all.

Like something I’ve seen before.

Only when I was younger.

More innocent.

A child with a curious mind.

To see what Daddy does.

“Those fingers got to go,” he affirms with a smile as he walks back to sit down in a chair that’s been wheeled into the room. “So, you’ll never deliver a death grip to a woman ever again.”

He chuckles at that while his eyes darken further.

“As if you’re going to see the light of day again. I’m such a critic.”

Armani squeezes my hand, and I pull my eyes just enough so I can peer over to him. He’s checking to make sure I’m ready for what’s about to transpire, and I give him a slight nod.

We return our attention to the events unraveling in real time.

Listening to Joseph’s cries for hours after.

When we’re finally out of there, my ears are still ringing, but I’m on autopilot, even when we’re at a new place. It’s bigger, black-themed, sophisticated-looking. One of those buildings you’re positive is staged for all those fancy photoshoots because it looks like something you’d see in a movie with elite actors.

When I register where we are now, I notice the bath a few feet from where I stand.

It’s a tub but double the size of a typical one. It’s most definitely triple the size of my tiny tub in my apartment. The aroma in the room is a mix of eucalyptus and lavender, while sage drifts upward from a lit incense.

When my eyes notice Oscar, he’s standing in front of me. His touch is soft as he leans down to kiss my cheek and then my neck.

“Want to share a bath with me?”

I barely have the energy to function, but the idea of being in his embrace within those steaming, bubbly waters is enough motivation to encourage me to nod.

He helps me get out of my clothes, and soon enough, we’re sinking in the waters, my back pressed against his front side as we let ourselves finally relax.

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