Chapter 24

I just like baseball. Baseball’s my favorite.

-Sway’s secret thoughts

Sway

81st game of the season

Texas Lumberjacks v. San Diego Devildogs

Home Game

My eyes widened when I saw the sheer amount of man flesh around the table where we were seated.

They’d been the same way at dinner last night. Intimidating. Handsome. Strong. Silent.

Definitely a lot more strong and silent than I was sure they were used to being.

Today they were a little more outgoing, but their eyes scanned the restaurant around us like they were waiting for the doors to open and bad guys to start pouring in.

Especially Hancock’s brother, Hannibal.

Hannibal’s entire body was twitching and flinching each time a loud noise sounded around us.

Acting like I didn’t notice the fourth time he jumped in the last three minutes, I held out my phone to him.

“I took a picture of your brother last night that I thought you might like,” I showed him, hitting the home button on my phone.

The phone’s screen lit up, and I had to stop myself from laughing.

Again.

“Ruby was supposed to be mine, but I was deployed when she was about seven weeks old. So, I just gave her to him. Looks like I made a good choice,” Hannibal observed.

I grinned.

“I’m not actually sure how she got up there, or what was funnier. Her attempting to get down when she saw him, or him trying to climb up there to get her, scared that if he didn’t go after her she’d fall over the edge,” I told him.

The photo was of Ruby in one of the many weird places that she has gotten herself into since I’d been in her life, but this one was definitely the most adventurous and unusual.

“Let me see,” another man—I thought his name was Tucker—ordered.

And it was an order.

It definitely wasn’t a request.

I showed him anyway, though.

“Wow,” Tucker said in surprise. “How did she get up there?”

I grinned, bringing the picture back to look at it.

“Well, we think she jumped up on the grill, and then walked along the deck railing like a balance beam to the awning, which she jumped up on,” I murmured. “Do you think you’ll get another dog?”

Hannibal looked at me, his eyes so much like the ones I loved, that it startled me for a long second.

“Yes,” he agreed. “Once I decide if I’m done doing what I’m doing, that is.”

My smile was small.

“Your brother was hoping that would be sooner rather than later,” I murmured.

Hannibal shrugged.

“It likely will be,” he mumbled. “Though it’ll probably take a bullet bringing me down permanently to make me see reason.”

My heart rate sped up.

“Almost bit it before my brother had to come and rescue me,” he continued speaking, almost as if he wasn’t even aware of what he was saying.

His eyes were focused on something in the distance, and definitely not the Japanese hibachi chef right in front of us, frying up the rice for our meal.

“Never thought my brother could take a life like he did.”

My belly somersaulted.

He’d taken a life?

I didn’t dare interrupt him, though, in the hopes that he would continue instead of stopping once he realized who he was talking to.

“Looked up, saw all my boys around me…and there was my brother, a gun in his hand, and his heart in his eyes,” he sighed. “Jesus Christ. The man is worth millions, and he came out there to save my ass? Do you have any idea what would’ve happened if he’d died over there?”

No. No, I didn’t.

“But my brother showed his face around town. Got some people scared. And they started to scramble,” he sighed. “Knew it the day that they first spotted him. Had my captors come and check on me every single hour on the hour. Then there was a lot of chattering about them killing me off to save themselves the headache, but the big guy…he didn’t want to kill me right away. He wanted to do it publicly, on a day that was significant to the US.”

My belly rolled.

“It would’ve been bad if he didn’t come.”

That wasn’t news to me.

I’d gotten the same feeling from Leslie when he’d explained the mechanics of it.

Now I just wondered if the people responsible were caught, or if I had to continue to worry about Hannibal.

But Hannibal answered my question without realizing I’d wanted to know the details.

“They found the leak in the chain of command and fired him. Now he’ll probably spend the rest of his life in a place like the hellhole where I was held captive in for three weeks,” Hannibal spoke.

“What are y’all whispering about over here?” Tucker—now I was sure that was him—asked as he took a seat next to Hannibal, his eyes on my face that I was sure was white as a ghost.

“We’re talking about how the Lumberjacks won tonight,” I continued, lying through my teeth. “And what that means for their chances at making the playoffs.”

“Let’s not talk about this,” one of the men, Tim Teague, the leader of this band of misfits, groaned. “That’s all we heard about the entire time we were with this joker.”

He pointed to a bashful looking Hancock, who was staring at his hands like he was about to strangle Tim.

The rest of the group laughed, as did Hannibal.

“They hate it,” Hannibal added. “I made them watch the games, even though they couldn’t stand watching the Lumberjacks. But since I forced them, they’ve become unwilling fans.”

“We got rid of you and then your brother shows up, forcing us to watch the same shit. It was like you were still there,” Park grumbled.

Instead of the blow up I expected, it only caused relieved chuckles all the way around, and I wondered if this was some weird way that they relieved stress.

“Where are you from, Park?” I reached out for my drink and brought it to my lips. “You sound like you have a southern twang to your speech.”

He grimaced. “Florida.”

“Do you have any family there?”

Another darker grimace rolled over Park’s face.

“What Park isn’t telling you is that he was a gang banger when he was younger, so he has family, just not any that likes him,” Hannibal added when he was sure that Park wasn’t going to say anything on the subject matter.

My mouth dropped open.

Was he being serious?

But I could tell by the death glare that Park was sending Hannibal that he was being very serious.

“That’s…uhhh…interesting,” I finally added. “Is that where you got the tattoos?”

I pointed to the tattoos that lined his arms.

Hancock had tattoos. As did most of these men.

But Park’s were darker.

Scarier and more crude looking.

“Yeah,” he said. “Most of ‘em I got before I was seventeen.” He held up his hands and rotated his arms, his big muscles bulging each time he moved.

“What about the one on your neck?” I pointed to one that looked like a single black line that ran completely around his neck, just below his Adam’s apple.

Park’s face closed off, and instantly I knew he wouldn’t be answering that.

As did the rest of them if the look on their faces was anything to go by.

“Do you have seats for us tomorrow?” Hannibal asked his brother. “We’re in town for another thirty-six hours, and that’s enough to take in a game.”

Hancock’s lips twitched with the knowledge that these boys were going to be forced to watch a game in real time. “Yeah, I can get some next to mom and dad.”

Hannibal grimaced.

“I’m not getting out of seeing them, am I?” he asked.

Hancock shook his head. “No, I don’t think you are.”

“Fucking wonderful.”

***

“I’m late, I’m late, for a very important date…” I chattered as I hurried to the door that would lead me into the stadium.

Soren, the guard who was posted at the back entrance at every home game, waved at me and opened the door.

“How are you, Miss Sway?” he asked politely.

“I’m great, Soren. How are you?” I returned sweetly as I passed.

“Two more weeks!” he informed me. “That means I’m freakin’ great.”

I started to chuckle.

Soren and his wife were having their first child together, and she’d been on bed rest since she was seventeen weeks pregnant. Now at thirty-five weeks, she only had two more weeks until she was allowed to move about.

“That’s wonderful news!” I told him sincerely. “It’ll be here before you know it, and you’ll have your sleepless nights to deal with!”

He chuckled as he waved me on, and I started for the stairs.

I looked down at the new Fitbit on my hand, the one Hancock had given to me the night before.

He’d received it as part of a promotional campaign, and he was supposed to wear it and then let them know what he thought of the product.

Except Hancock didn’t wear anything on his wrists during games or practices—which happened to be what he was doing much of the time during the season—so he’d given it to me.

It was cool, I’d give them that.

It was also motivating.

I hadn’t realized how little I moved until this thing on my wrist told me.

Which, I suppose, was the whole purpose of this product in the first place.

Normally, I would’ve taken the elevator to where I needed to go, but today I chose the stairs to boost today’s step count hit since yesterdays had been so pitifully lame.

I’d just crested the first flight of stairs when I saw Sinclair coming down from the flight above me, a box in his hands and a scowl on his face.

“Fuckin’ bitch,” Sinclair growled. “This is all your fault.”

At first, I thought he was talking to me, but it soon became apparent that he wasn’t when he looked over his shoulder.

“Not sure why you think it’s my fault,” Croft grumbled. “I paid you kindly for what you did.”

“Not kindly enough to lose this job. Do you realize how much I make a year?” he asked. “Two hundred K. That’s twice the amount that you offered to pay me for doing your dirty work.”

“You did this to yourself. I paid you. I never told you to make friends with that bitch’s ex-boyfriend or try to get her fired,” Croft shot back. “That’s all on you.”

“Well you better find a way to get me another decent-paying job, or I’ll let everyone know that you were the one stealing everybody’s stuff,” Sinclair snapped.

“It wasn’t stealing. I borrowed,” Croft replied.

“You stole the glove. You made a copy of the glove, but you still have the original,” Sinclair stopped and dropped his box to the stairs. “You took Manny’s bubble gum and Jessup’s batting gloves.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” Croft narrowed his eyes.

“I do know what I’m talking about.” Sinclair crossed his arms over his chest. “And that’ll get you kicked out of this place just as surely as calling that bitch a fat ass will.”

I went to the landing and tried the door handle, thankful that it wasn’t locked.

It led to the locker room level, which usually was locked.

Luckily, not today, because without waiting for a reply, Sinclair picked his box up and tucked it under his arm.

“I suggest you figure out whether having a professional baseball career is worth…you fucking bitch!”

This time I knew he was talking to me. I knew it, mostly because the moment I tried to go into the door, someone was coming out of it, forcing me to back up whether I wanted to or not.

“Language,” the big man, Furious George, replied. “Sorry, little lady. Did you need something in here?”

I nodded my head and then blushed.

I didn’t normally go into the locker room if there was a possibility that they were getting dressed, if I could help it. Most of them walked around naked half the time, and if I could save myself the embarrassment of seeing men who weren’t Hancock naked, I’d do it.

“I was trying to see Hancock,” I lied. “Is he in there?”

Furious George’s face went from me, to the stairs above me where I suspected Sinclair and Croft were standing, glaring most likely.

“How about you and me walk up there together?” he asked. “I wanted to get you to look at my wrist anyway. I had to play with a different bat yesterday because mine went missing, and now it’s killing me.”

I wanted to scream at Croft, asking him if he’d stolen George’s bat, too, but I managed to control that reaction.

But just barely.

I could tell when we passed Croft that he knew I was about to blab everything.

Which was why, in the next moment, he grabbed me by the hair as I moved by him and tried to throw me down the stairs.

But suddenly we weren’t alone.

George took Croft by the throat as I started to fall.

Or would have fallen had my man not caught me before I could go tumbling down the stairs.

“Jesus fucking Christ!” Hancock hissed, pulling me protectively into his arms and burying his face into my neck. “What the hell is wrong with that fucking kid?”

George’s hand tightened on the kid’s throat, and Sinclair took in the look on both George and Hancock’s faces and decided to cut his losses.

Without another word, he left, leaving us alone with a purple-faced Croft who had a whole lot of questions to answer.

His interrogation took about an hour as Siggy got into drill sergeant mode— something he’d picked up during his eight years in the Army—and grilled Croft until he confessed to every single thing he’d stolen over the course of the season.

Something I wasn’t able to stay and witness since I had a whole baseball team to prepare for the upcoming game, and two assistants, who could only work under my direction since they weren’t certified athletic trainers like I was.

Forty-five minutes later, I was bending over to check my bag that I took with me to all the games when I felt someone come up behind me.

I knew it was Hancock without even looking up.

Not because I could smell him or feel him, but because he was just that big of a presence. It was like my body was tuned in to his, and I knew it was him from the electrical charge I always felt when he was close.

“You ready, big boy?” I asked him.

He stilled my hips that I didn’t even realize were swaying to the music playing softly on the phone in my pocket and fitted his chest against my back.

“I’m ready,” he agreed. “Even more ready now that I have my glove back.”

“You have your glove back?” I whispered, straightening. “But I didn’t even tell you that…”

“I heard everything that was said. I’d already come into the stairwell to meet you in the parking lot, but I froze when I heard Sinclair and Croft talking,” he explained. “That’s why I was late getting to you.”

I harrumphed.

“I can’t believe that kid stole all those things.” I shook my head in confusion. “From what I understand, he was a decent catcher at one time. He didn’t need to steal y’all’s shit to get any better.”

“My guess is that the kid just wanted to fit in. Maybe he wanted to commiserate with the players that lost something,” he explained. “But we won’t know for sure until Siggy gets done with him.”

I shuddered as I thought about Siggy getting done with him.

“Alright, you handsome man, are you ready to play?” I asked, changing the subject to something a little less sad.

My handsome man with his badass beard smiled.

“I will be as soon as you give me my kiss.”

I gave him a kiss.

“Break a leg.”

His eyes crossed.

“That’s not what you’re supposed to say!” he growled in exasperation. “Never!”

I rolled my eyes.

“Then what am I supposed to say?” I questioned.

“Have a good game?” he tried. “Telling me to break a leg isn’t something you’d ever want to wish on me.”

“Whatever.”

“Not whatever,” he countered. “If I break a leg, you’re going to regret it.”

“You won’t break a leg. Now get out there, and show ‘em what you got.” I shouldered my bag. “I’ll see you on the bench.”

He sighed and pushed away, holding my office door open for me.

“Yes, ma’am.”

It was in the second inning that he broke a leg.

Luckily, it wasn’t his own leg that he broke, but the other team’s catcher’s leg when he had tried to stop Hancock from crossing home plate.

He scored, and the catcher got a season-ending injury for his efforts.