Page 121 of Renegade Ruin

“Yes, Mr. Monroe.”

“I was wondering if you would comment on the plan you presented to your board that would not only misappropriate funds for the team but also see the Renegades welcoming accused rapist Mercer Cohen to the team.”

No.

No. No. No. No.

This can’t be happening.

My mouth drops open, and I could swear all the oxygen has left the room. It’s quiet enough that the only sound I can hear is the low hum of the vibrator in my pussy.

Then that stops too.

My eyes dart to Bishop. His eyes are locked on me, and though they are soft in a way that I have no doubt is meantto offer me strength, his mouth is pinned in a straight line, revealing his anger.

How the hell did the media get a hold of my plans? There was an NDA signed. The whole thing was embargoed until we decided what was going to happen next.

I don’t even want to look down the table at Graham or Nikki, who I am sure is spiraling, trying to figure out how we’re going to spin this.

Bishop nods and I swallow hard before returning my gaze to Mr. Monroe.

He blinks at me expectantly, waiting for my response.

I straighten in my seat and fold my hands in front of me on the table, trying my best to hide the panic that shakes them. “I am not sure how you got a copy of embargoed plans, but I am not prepared to comment on them at this time.”

His lips twitch. “How about the evidence faxed to my office this morning accusing your father of bribing umpires last season, resulting in wins for the Renegades and allowing them to clinch a playoff position?”

“What?” I exclaim. “Who told you?—”

“That’s all we have time for today,” Nikki interrupts my outburst. “We take any and all accusations seriously and will look into these and have a statement ready as soon as we’ve received all the facts.”

My world tilts. Chaos takes over the room. Reporters jump to their feet, shouting questions while they simultaneously scour on their phones for any additional information.

A hand grips my shoulder and I’m tugged from my seat and cradled against a broad chest. When I look up, I’m greeted by Noah’s sympathetic green eyes.

“I’ve got you, boss,” he mutters. I nod and allow him to guide me, pressed between him and Graham, towards the exit.

We make it to the end of the slightly raised stage when a reporter jumps in front of Graham, pushing him to the side to demand answers from me.

I open my mouth to say no comment, but before I get a word out, a hand appears on the shoulder of the lanky reporter and yanks him out of the way. Graham and Noah usher me the short distance out of the press room, but not before I see Bishop push the reporter up against the wall. His eyes are filled with rage, and I’m helpless to do anything but send a silent plea for him to keep his anger in check. The last thing I need is another incident when our house is already burning from the inside out.

The walk from the media room to Graham’s office is a blur of Nikki and Graham yelling at anyone who will listen to find out who the hell leaked my plans and what the evidence against my father is.

I don’t give a shit about my plans. Let them rip it apart—rip me apart. I’ve had to defend my position since the day I took over. It’s nothing new. But my father?—

I feel like I’m going to throw up as I desperately try to make it make sense.

Any of it.

All of it.

My father rigged the game.

My father.

The man who cared about this team more than anything. More than even me.

When we reach the door, Noah gently hands me off to Graham, who wraps a hand around my waist and ushers me into his office. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Bishop pressed against the wall, his hands balled into fists, eyes pleading for—I’m not sure, but it almost looks like he’s asking for permission to be there. I give a quick but subtle shake of my head, and he hesitates before storming off toward the locker room.

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