Page 102 of My Pucking Crush

“God, yeah. Get us home.” I lean back and roughly buckle myself in.

Luca needs to buckle up for what I’m going to do to him.

FIFTY-THREE

Luca

Aweek later, the Crushers are up 3 to 0 in this round, and my asshole is sore from Max fucking me like a warrior each night. He’s high on adrenaline.

He won the final championship before. Some people check off a goal and then move on. I don’t want to call Max greedy for wanting this again so badly, but his drive is near animalistic.

I watch his brutal morning skate routine, then he pumps iron in the weight room. We don’t discuss plans more than a day out. Max is living in twelve-hour increments. I’ve turned into a robot, too. Only stopping to eat, shower, and get fucked by Max.

I wonder if the way he craves me is to get his fill because it can all go up in flames at any moment. He knows I’m leaving the team. But what are his plans?

Game Four in Richmond goes as usual as far as prep. In the practice arena after Richmond’s morning skate, I’m called to a conference room by Bronwin. My heart always jolts, thinking one of his other security guys figured out Max and I are fucking. Or that Belovatwicesent someone to hurt Max.

Stepping inside an office filled with the other agents tightens my chest.

“Sheppard,” Bronwin acknowledges me and calls me over to a table with a laptop. “This guy, right here.” He shows me photographs on the screen. “He’s been at every game this round so far.”

“A rabid fan?” I offer.

“Who traveled from Richmond to Stamford and shows up at games that cost thousands of dollars. In asuit?” Bronwin argues.

“Did you check to see if he’s the dad of a Richmond player?” I ask.

“He’s not.” My boss shakes his head. “We cross-matched everyone. Players have season tickets for family. They sit in the same seats. We went back to all their home games and identified people who are here for Richmond families.”

“An agent of theirs?” another guard suggests.

“No.” Bronwin keeps shaking his head as we offer up ideas.

“Did you do facial recognition?” I ask.

“The shades are messing up the software.” The lines of frustration in Bronwin’s face make him look older. This is all on him if Max gets hurt due to a security failure in the stadium.

“And he’s not on Richmond’s security team?” I finally offer even though that should have been the first guess.

Bronwin snaps up. “Sitting in a seat?”

“A backup?” I’m annoyed that I can’t ID this guy either, but my job has been to protect Max. Not do intel at the same time. That’s their job. Hunting down these leads.

They’ve known about this guy for a week and are only telling me about him now? I feel betrayed. Looking at Bronwin for any sign he’s been compromised from Belova, I come up empty and relax.

“Trinity.” Bronwin looks at our tech guy. “Match this guy if you can to Richmond security.”

“Will do.” Trinity takes the printed photo and gets on his own equipment he travels with.

Being in this arena creeps me out. While he’s busy, I give Bronwin updates that bore the hell out of him. Telling him about the guy with the knife I killed wouldgive him a heart attack.

If I know Belova, he thinks the ghost mercenary disappeared because he failed. Or maybe Ivan knows I killed him.

“Contractor,” Trinity pipes up. “Outsourced security.”

Bronwin shakes his head. “You called it, Sheppard.”

“Who is he protecting?” I ask Trinity. “He’s sitting in the stands like a fan.”

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