Page 25 of Renegade Ruin

“Yes sir,” he stutters. “I mean, we’ve been advised not to serve you alcohol.”

Annoyance flashes over my features. “By who?”

“I’m not sure. My manager only told me there was a phone call received and that we aren’t to serve you any alcohol.”

“Are you fucking kidding me?”

His eyes dart from side to side, likely looking for anyone to relieve him of this situation. “I’m sorry, sir.”

My jaw tightens and everything in me wants to unleash a rage of “do you know who I am” mixed with a desperate plea to help me numb the emotions brimming within me.

It’s not this kid's fault, a part of me reasons. Thankfully, it’s loud enough to stop me from laying into him.

“Thanks for nothing,” I snap.

Shoulders tense, I push away from the bar and head to the elevator, contemplating which of the upper management made the call. I punch the elevator button harder than I should, grateful when the doors open immediately and there’s no one else inside. The last thing I need is prying eyes while I work through who is pulling the strings this time.

Not Vaughn. It’s no secret he wants to see me fail.

Not Adrian. He fired me as a client after the second bar fight, and I’ve yet to confirm with the management company who my new agent is.

Possibly my unwanted emergency contact, Graham.He’s been a constant thorn in my side throughout the off season, despite the fact that I’ve only met the man a handful of times. Admittedly, it’s always been when he’s trying to mitigate my fuck ups and I’mtoo intoxicated to care.

I reach the fifth floor and cover the short distance from the elevator to my room. Wrenching the door open, I let out a weighted sigh. It’s nothing special, but it’s home for the next month and a half.I stumble over my bags and head straight for the minibar.

The fridge is tiny, but I know they keep it stocked for their VIP clients. They want us to spend our hard-earned money, and I am more than ready to take the edge off, even if it costs me triple what the bar would. Picking up the glass from the top, I savor the thought of the burning liquid as it slides down my throat. Only when I open the door, it’s empty.

Every. Single. Fucking. Bottle has been removed save for the water and club soda.

What the actual fuck?

It’s one thing to starve me from the endless well downstairs, but to take away the option for release in the privacy of my own room too.

Who cares enough to do that?

The answer hits me like a ton of bricks. It’s simple, really, and I’m a dumbass for not putting it together sooner. Who is the one person who has been the biggest pain in my ass since waltzing back into my life?

Willow. Fucking. York.

Everything always comes back to her.

I back away from the fridge and clench my empty fist. I need to hit something courses through my veins.

How dare she?

It’s one thing to take over my team and exploit them in every interview and press conference imaginable. I’d even be willing to give her a free pass on her genius plan to use their children as a money-making ploy, especially if she is indeed going tofixit, as she claims. But to strip me of the vice that makes my very existence bearable is too far. It was fine when she was just the imaginary force pulling the strings?—

Fuck.

It’s been her all along.

The back of my legs hit the bed and I sink onto the plush pillow top, dropping the glass onto the bedside table beside me. My elbows find my knees, and I let my head fall into my hands, my fingers taking out some of my rage in the strands of my hair.

Graham always being the first call.

The fact I haven’t been fined a penny by the league.

A private plane.

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