Page 92 of In Too Deep
My eyebrow twitches down for a moment with confused alarm, but I manage to keep the rest of my face impassive.
“Thank goodness, then, that I’m not lesser, and not a man,” I drawl, mouth working before my brain.
Gideon lets out a humorless laugh, a sinister sound that has my hair standing on end. “If you weren’t such a bratty fucking bitch, I’d almost respect you, you know that? Not many people have the balls to say shit like that to my face.”
I roll my eyes, unable to help myself. His arrogance grates on my nerves, allowing me to push away some of my fear in favor of irritation. I can handle a battle of wits, though my opponents rarely come as armed as the alpha across from me.
My phone buzzes in my pocket, and just because I know it’ll irritate Gideon, I pull it out and glance at the message, while also confirming that I have, in fact, turned on my voice recorder.
Oli
If you don’t come out of there in the next three minutes, I’m going to break down that door myself.
I type out my reply, and I’m about to hit send when Gideon lets out a cruel, humorless laugh, pulling my attention back to his face.
“Oh, am I not worthy of your precious attention? Maybe you’ll find these interesting,” Gideon spits, reaching into the inner pocket of his jacket and throwing three identical manila envelopes onto the floor between us.
I lower my phone and leave my message unsent but the app open as I slide it back into my pocket. I refuse to give in to hispower play, instead just pacing over to the thick documents and nudging them with my toe. Each envelope has two simple lines of text on it, and my heart drops as I read them.
Oliver Astrauckas — Carolina Hurricanes
Elijah Jokinson — Winnipeg Jets
Spencer Black — San Francisco Wardens
“What are they?” I ask, my voice a hoarse rasp.
“Trade agreements. Already signed by Hoover and ready for submission to the league,” Gideon sneers.
I look up in horror, unable to hide it as my stomach drops to my feet. My phone buzzes again, probably Oli threatening to break down the door again. But even if he did, and managed to knock Gideon out long enough for us to announce our intent to form a pack, is that enough to stop a signed and sealed trade agreement? And of all the teams he could have bargained with, sending Spencer back to the team that made him miserable would be almost worse than forcing us apart.
“You think that you’re untouchable because you four are forming a pack—and don’t bother denying it, Miss Strauss; I’ve found the court filings—but you don’t get to call the shots onmyteam. You don’t have any power here.”
My pulse rushes in my ears, making Gideon sound like he’s at the other end of a tunnel, rather than only a few feet in front of me.
“But since I’m feeling oh-so-generous, I’ll offer you a deal,” Gideon says, his voice slick as an oil spill.
I look up, not able to form words even if I wanted to. My phone buzzes again, but I’m frozen, waiting for the other Italian leather shoe to drop.
“I’ll tear up those contracts, and your precious little alphas get to keep playing for the Mystic. But you have to sign this, tendering your formal resignation effective immediately. And as long as you never set so much as a pinky toe in my building or my arena ever again, you can even go through all the court bullshit and form your stupid fucking pack.”
The world seems to slow, each of my heartbeats lasting an hour or more, as things come into focus. Oliver and Elijah have been fighting tooth and nail to stay together since before I ever met them. Spencer was miserable on his own in California, and he’s found peace and happiness and belonging on the team here. And to be left behind, without them, it would kill me.
Is this even home without the men I love?
Is it worth having a life and a career if I don’t have my pack to share it with?
Five months ago, hell, fiveweeksago, this choice would have torn me to pieces. But as a sharp pounding comes from the door, the handle rattling, I’m pulled back into the present. And there’s no doubt in my heart or head as I snap my head up and hold out a steady hand toward Gideon St. Clair.
“Do you have a pen?” I ask, voice stronger than ever.
“Tori! Open the fucking door! Can you hear me?”
“Let us in, you piece of shit! Tori!”
“Does no one have a motherfucking key? Tori! Unlock the door!”
The voices of my soon-to-be pack mates are muffled by the thick wood of the fire door, but I’m almost detached from reality. Gideon’s smile is a barbed wire slash across his handsome face as he pulls out a singular piece of paper, walking with me toward the table pushed against one side of the room. He slaps it downand takes out a pen that probably cost more than my yearly salary and holds it out to me.