Loser Streak

Brooklyn

 

 

 

I SPRINTED AFTER ERIC, nothing on my mind but grabbing him and beating the shit out of him. Entering the mouth of the alley just as he exited the other end, I put the push on. No way was the wife beater getting away from me. Not when I was one of the top runners in the NFL.

Untamed fury fueled me down to my bones as I sped onto another sidewalk. Eric lumbered up ahead, losing ground.

I dodged people on the sidewalk crowded with downtownies, tourists, Christmas shoppers.

Delaney’s husband slipped into one of the cemeteries hidden between Charleston’s one thousand and one churches. He glanced back, that hunted look in his eyes.

Good. Let him see how it feels for a change.

In between the gravestones, I chased that fat fuck. Hopping over the last marker in the way, I brought the meat puppet down . . . fucking hard. His chest slammed into the cold earth, his head narrowly missing the corner of a headstone.

Bummer.

I flipped him to his back, sneering into his ugly face, and he had the goddamn stupid balls to snarl right back at me.

“So you’re her new moneybags. Sounds about right. Slut left me when I didn’t become the quarterback with the big bucks she always wanted.”

“Funny. That’s not how I heard it.” Rampant rage stamped every muscle in my body taut.

I cocked my fist, about ready to bash his face in.

Eric Grimes, the grimy cunt, tried to buck me off him. “Lemme guess. She gave you the whole sob story about the miscarriage? The brat probably wasn’t even mine to begin with. Good riddance, I say.”

I hit the redline of anger just before I hit him. My bare-knuckled fist blasted into his face. Black eye to go with his black heart, and I was just starting.

Other folks—the sightseers, the weekend shoppers, the college students—started converging.

“You need to get the hell out of Delaney’s life for good.” I brought his fugly face to mine with a hand at his neck, watching the fast blooming bruise spread.

“Go ahead.” The shitheel’s voice oozed out like slime. “I’d fucking love to have you arrested. Hit me again, and I’ll press charges against you.”

Breaths steamed in and out of me. My nostrils flared. So close to cold-cocking him one. A clean kill was too good for this abusive bully.

“Isn’t that Brooklyn Holt?”

“The tight end from Carolina Crush?”

My fingers slipped as soon as I realized people recognized me.

Eric scrambled from beneath me. “How do you think this will go down for your big career?”

I popped to my feet. My chest tightened.

Gritting my teeth, I balled my fists at my sides. “You stay away from her.”

“Yeah. Sure.” He straightened his jacket, ambling backward. “Tell Delaney I said hi.”

If anyone asked me for a fucking autograph at that moment I’d probably hit them, too.

Charging from the cemetery, back through the alley to my truck—I was so pissed I couldn’t fucking see straight.

And there was a parking ticket on the windshield of the Ford. Of course.

“Goddammit!” I kicked the tire, aching to kick the shit out of Eric Grimes until he bled red into the ground.

****

Delaney was in the stable when I got home. I made sure to comb my hair back with my fingers, checked my knuckles weren’t bruised, and tried to wipe the brutal expression off my face.

Delaney’s home.

That was all that mattered.

She fed Cinnamon another apple, long hair swaying down her back. I stood watching her, need riddling my senses, until she turned around.

Cool December sunshine from the other end of the barn gilded her in gold.

“Brooklyn! I thought you’d be back earlier.”

“I need you now.” The muscle at the corner of my jaw clenched and unclenched.

Stalking toward her, I pulled off my leather jacket, slapping it aside.

“Here?” She gasped, pulling away from the stall.

“Now.” I unbuttoned my shirt, the tails flapping at my hips.

“Brooks—”

I hauled her up around my waist, taking her into an empty stall. The smell of old leather and fresh hay rolled around us.

Setting her on her feet, I flicked open my jeans, yanked them to my thighs, freed my aching cock.

Delaney’s eyes darted down. Her mouth popped open. She took me in her hand, and I barged against her.

“Too close?” I gusted a breath against her ear before turning my head and crashing my lips to hers.

“No.” She shook her head when I pulled up.

My hands worked at her pants, her panties, dragging both to below her knees.

“Too fast?” I slowly sent my palm down her belly, her pelvis, into her slit.

She rose to meet my touch, tongue laving at my neck. “I’m already wet for you.”

“Turn around. And brace yourself.”

I watched, savage, as she pivoted and propped her hands against the wooden timbers. Spreading her legs as much as I could, I drew the bursting head of my cock along her pussy.

“You sure this is okay?” My feet stamped on the floor. I reached a hand around to flick at her nipples through her shirt.

Back arching, hair flipping, body open, she slanted a wanton look over her shoulder. “Fuck me.”

Hot, fast, hard entry.

I bellowed, bucking into her. Every wild impulse drowned in her drenched cunt.

She howled at each thrust then backed up for more.

I left marks on her hips. Bites on her neck. Rough words at her ear.

Rutting, rearing into Delaney, I reached breaking point fast. Too fast. I pushed her with me, jamming my exploding cock to the depths, fingers lightly pulsing on her clit.

And she came with harsh high breaths of her own, head thrown back, ass pressed to my pumping pelvis.

Then after, slower strokes, tender words, gentle hands. Pulling out, kissing her with a hand on her cheek, a slow mating of tongues.

“That was unexpected.”

I nuzzled her ear. “Yeah.”

“So you think we’re over the rough patch? You know, having sex the night before a game?” Her sleek black brows rose.

“Hope so.” But it was more than the game, and all tangled up in the game.

My hands were tied where her husband was concerned. I couldn’t go around pummeling the fuck outta him in front of folks who recognized me. I couldn’t blow off the game tomorrow against Georgia to track him down.

Delaney didn’t even want the police involved.

“Hey.” Her fingers smoothed across my forehead. “Okay in there?”

“I’m fine.” I struggled for a wink and a grin, pulling her clothes back in place then taking care of myself.

Jester whinnied from his stall.

“Sounds like someone isn’t so fine.” She rolled her eyes, taking my arm.

“He’ll survive.”

“Hard-ass.” Delaney pinched my ass.

“You know it.” I slipped an arm around her shoulders.

And I was going to be the biggest hard-ass of all with her husband. But in the meantime, I wasn’t gonna let Delaney outta my sight. Not for the rest of the day. Not tomorrow. Not until we got shit sorted out with Eric.

Just need to get through the game. Then I’ll end this shit one way or the other.

****

Nearing the end of the second quarter, we were bruising the field against the Georgia Pride. They were going down. Ten seconds left until halftime, I had two touchdowns under my belt, and Crush was a solid twenty-one points ahead.

I’d psyched myself up beforehand, hitting the weights, guzzling the electrolytes, trash talking with Rafe and Calder and Marquis and Bunyan. Akoni sang his opera, we all performed a semi-half-assed haka . . . I was trying not to psyche myself out this time.

We needed this win to have a chance at the playoffs.

When the whistle blew at the end of the second quarter, I flipped my helmet into my hand and sprinted to Delaney for a quick kiss. Fraternization fuck you.

Coach D yanked at my arm, herding us off field. “The locker room, get in there now.”

I took one last peek at Delaney, stretching for her halftime game, before I sprinted into the underbelly of the arena. Then I nodded at Frankie, who had a stellar seat in the first row. He waved his big red foam thumb at me, and I was glad he was there to keep eyes on Delaney when I couldn’t.

The locker room jock talk went right over my head. I swiped at my face with a towel, tried to clue into Coach D and Coach Frank as they gave us a rip-roaring pep talk.

I just wanted to get back out there and take this one to the win so I could get Delaney home and safe as fast as possible.

“You okay?” Rafe asked. “You’re not getting the heeby-jeebies about bein’ my best man next week, are you?”

I chewed on my lip. “Last thing I’m worried about.”

“Wanna talk about—”

“Huddle up!” Coach D blew his whistle. “If we lose this one, we’re not gettin’ to the playoffs. You heard that?”

“Heard that, Coach!”

I placed my hand in the middle of my teammates, drawing focus back down.

“One team! One ring!”

“One, Two, Three . . .”

“Crush IT!”

Fists bumping. Ass slapping. Chest thumping. Onto the field amid the deafening roar of the fans packed into the Carolina Crush stadium in Charleston. Noise blanketed me. Screams rolled around us. I fitted my mouthguard, hunkering down to listen to any play changes.

Scanning the sidelines, I glommed onto the Carolina Cougars. Scanned again. Counted the number of players and looked for the QB with the long black ponytail. Punching up to my toes, I sucked in a breath.

Delaney wasn’t with her tribe.

I jetted on field, anxiety gnawing at my gut so much I thought I’d throw up on the turf.

I heard Rafe’s call.

I ran on automatic.

I won’t search for her.

I won’t look for him in the stands.

I only caught the ball by magic, balanced on my toes then tipping backward.

End of the play.

Marquis helped me to my feet.

He said something.

I didn’t hear him.

I focused on the Cougars again.

Definitely no Delaney.

Frankie, front and center in the best seats, had stormed to his feet with the rest of our fans. So he wasn’t with her. She had no protection at all. I couldn’t even call her or signal to him. No way could I ditch in the middle of a game Shit, shit, shit. I’d probably escalated the situation by pulling that stunt with Eric yesterday . . .

Back on the field—fourth quarter, Georgia tightening the score—I stuck to my lane and ran the ball. I just wanted this to end. The adrenaline pushing me had nothing to do with the game against Georgia anymore. Everything to do with locating Delaney.

I slammed my way through colossal linebackers, the football tucked against my chest. I rammed my head down—gunning for the end zone. Every single moment sliding past in slow motion. Every hit taken hardly registering. Every yard fought for burning my calves like the air burned in my lungs.

I straight-armed, strong-armed, shredded the field beneath my feet—blasting back against every lineman in my way.

Didn’t even realize I’d hit the end zone until Marquis grabbed me by the grill of my helmet. “Hellz yeah!”

Hardly even noticed I’d made the last score. The game was over. We’d won.

I felt nothing but sheer panic.

So wild I was outta control, I shoved Marquis away.

Rushing to the sidelines, I only halted when Rafe got in my face. “What the fuck, man? We won.”

“Get outta my way.” I barreled past him to the Cougars. “Where is she?”

“Delaney?” Sammy asked.

“We just thought she was sick.” Lourdes frowned.

“She’s been a little stressy lately,” Raquel confirmed.

Understatement of the fucking century.

“She’s fucking missing! Her husband’s been on the hunt for her.” Another hit of panic ripped through me, and I was close to freaking the fuck out.

“Wait. Delaney . . . she’s married?” Rafe shouldered beside me.

“He beat her. He’s been after her for three goddamn years.” I raked my hands through my hair. “I don’t know what he’ll do to her.”

Frankie turned up in front of me. “What’s the what?”

“I hope you enjoyed the fucking game!” I slammed my palms against his chest, and he stumbled back a few paces.

“Madon. What’s the problem?”

“Delaney.”

“About her.” Luke Buckley tugged on my arm. “I think you got some competition.”

“What?” I reeled the weasel closer with my fist in his jersey.

“Saw some guy lurking around Delaney right after halftime.”

I grabbed him to my face. “Why the hell didn’t you say something?”

“Keeping my mouth shut this time.”

“Wrong time to nail your trap shut.” Reining in the rage, I asked, “Blond dude? Dumpy looking?”

“Yeah.” Luke’s brows drew tight. “I think he could pass for a used car salesman.”

“Fuck!” I tossed him aside with a hard thrust, and Luke bounced into Calder.

I didn’t even realize I was causing a scene on the sideline until Coach D started making his way toward me. Didn’t give a shit either.

“How the hell are we gonna find her?” I turned dark eyes on Frankie.

“Got an idea.” He pulled out his phone. “I’ve got a buddy on the police force. He can run Eric’s license plate. Trace it. Maybe get a location if he searches traffic cameras.”

“You already know what happened last time the cops were involved.”

“Got any other bright ideas?” Frankie muttered, tapping into his phone. “’Sides, you can trust Detective Angelo. I’ve been through a few sticky situations with the man.” He looked me up and down, the serious expression changing to something completely different. “You maybe wanna put on some street clothes while I handle this? Because not for nothin’”—he whistled—“the uniform distracts me.”

I nodded, starting off at a fast clip to the locker room, weaving through teammates and cheerleaders and the Cougars.

“Wait up.” Rafe slapped a hand on my shoulder. “I’m coming too.”

“Count me in.” Bunyan rolled up on my other side.

“Some asshole messing with Delaney? Sign me up for the beat down.” Joining in, Calder gripped me on the back of my neck.

“Rafe?” Peyton called out as we raced past.

He slowed for a moment. “Sorry, baby. Delaney’s in trouble. Gotta help Brooks.”

“Be safe.” She popped up to kiss him quickly.

After the fastest clothing switch in history, we met up with Frankie at our cars.

“What’s the word?” Impatience, anger, worry shredded through me.

“Looks like he’s trying to leave the state. Travelling west on I-26.”

“And that detective?” I jumped into my truck, Rafe climbing in beside me.

“He’s giving us a ten-minute lead. So we better haul ass, and you better do what you gotta do before he gets there. Capiche?”

I nodded, yanking the truck door shut. Calder and Bunyan peeled out behind me with Frankie bringing up the rear as we tore out of the stadium.

“I’m gonna beat the ever-loving shit out of that motherfucking waste of space when we catch up to them.” I pounded on the steering wheel, nearly grinding my teeth to dust as I slammed into high gear.