Page 3 of My Brother's Enemy
Crossing the kitchen, I found a glass of water on the counter. I tossed her phone into it, then opened my door and dropped the rest of her items at her feet.
“My phone?—”
I slammed the door once again.
I didn’t know how long it would take to ruin the phone, but I didn’t want to risk it. After I figured it’d been in the water long enough, I took it out, ran a towel over it, and when it was dry, I opened the door again.
She quieted immediately, huffing, her face red. “I need my goddamn phone, you prick.”
I dropped her phone into her hands, and when she got a look at my face, she edged back a step.
“If any of those pictures, audio, or videos of me get leaked online or to the press, I will slap you with a lawsuit so fuckingfast, your head will spin. A buddy of mine is a lawyer, and his brother’s privacy was violated by a puck bunny like you, so he has a personal vendetta against your type.” I looked at her for a long moment. “I had no clue what you were about last night, but I am now wondering why my thinking was so clouded after only two drinks. Wondering if that was at your hand too?”
I didn’t really believe she’d drugged me. If I did, I’d be going ballistic, but the threat was an added bonus against her.
She opened her mouth, ready to protest.
“I’m not done.”
The blood drained from her face.
“Find a new drinking place. You willnothang out at Hook Up anymore. You are done chasing any hockey players on my team. Once I find out what’s going on with my sister, I will be telling every player I know how many pictures you took of me when I was sleeping. No one will want to touch you again. Are you hearing me?”
Her bottom lip began to tremble, she jerked her head in a quick nod.
“Now get the fuck out of my building before I call security.”
“I—”
I let the door slam shut one more time, then took a breath and went back to my phone. “Ski?”
My sister drew in a ragged breath. “It’s about Zoey.”
I was right. My twin broke my heart with what she said next.
3
RAIN
Minneapolis
It was a nice restaurant. I recognized it as my Uber dropped me off, thankfully right out front. It was mid-October and getting chillier at night. The wind didn’t help, but then again, thiswasMinnesota. It could be fifty degrees one day and a blizzard the next.
Inside, there was very little light. The place seemed to be running mostly on candles, giving it a cozy and romantic atmosphere. I supposed the low lighting also allowed for more privacy, an added draw for high-end clientele.
“Ms. Connors?” A man in a business suit stepped forward from a corner as I unwrapped my scarf. He held a hand out for me. “Mal Benoit. I’m the one you’re meeting.”
Benoit. The name was familiar, but I couldn’t place him right away. That annoyed me. I was used to knowing all the players in my professional niche.
I gave him a polite smile, a small nod. “Pleasure to meet you, Mr. Benoit.”
He was a handsome man. He wore no wedding ring, but sometimes that didn’t mean anything. White. Mid to older thirties. Six feet. Maybe six two? Broad shoulders. Lean waist. He had the build of an athlete. And dark brown hair he kept a little long.
As the restaurant’s host led us to a table, Benoit walked in front of me, and I glanced down. I wasn’t usually one to check out my potential male clients, though it wasn’t that I couldn’t appreciate when they looked nice, as Mal did with a youngish face and a decent jawline. He was handsome, and his eyes were shrewd and intelligent. But it was his round ass that triggered something in me.
That was a hockey ass.
I’d spent too much time with men who had similar asses. Dread took root in me, and I tried to hold it off. Mr. Benoit’s rear might not indicate what I worried was coming.
