Page 9 of Renegade Rift
I should nip that look out of existence.
I should’ve looked at the roster before coming here.
I should’ve known.
How the heck could I have been so stupid?
“Get the fuck out.” Ford’s voice booms, deadly calm and eerily similar to his stepbrother’s.
It’s a shock to my senses, and my body reacts in kind. Covering my breast, I sink back against the counter. A whimper escapes when the granite edge cuts into my bare back, hard enough to break the skin. My head spins, trapped in the flashbacks of my mind, but instead of the concerned manin front of me, I see another brown-haired ball player.
My eyes snap shut, and I silently chant.It’s not him. It’s not him. It’s not him.
Not that Ford isn’t just as, if not more, pompous and arrogant. But he’s not Tyler.
Tyler’s dead.
I’m safe.
Mostly.
Still, my instincts take over and before I can think better of it, I whisper, “I-I’m sorry. I’ll go.”
“Shit.” Ford squats down so his midnight blue eyes align with mine. His hands wrap around my biceps and give a gentle squeeze. When he speaks again, it’s soft, almost desperate in a way I didn’t think possible. “Not you. Never you.”
The warmth of his hands disappears, and he turns, using his body to block me from the view of his teammates. “You three. Out. Now.”
“But—”
“I swear on all that’s fucking holy if you three don’t get out of my apartment in the next ten seconds, I’m going to make sure you can’t play in our game tonight.”
“Shit.” The one who hired me, Carson, exhales. “Is that really?”
No. There’s no way he knows who I am. Right? If I thought my heart was pounding before, it’s sprinting a marathon across my throat.
He can’t know.
None of them can.
It’s not safe.
In a manic moment of bravery, I peer around Ford’s broad form and meet the easy blue eyes of his teammate. Softened with pity, they tell me everything I need to know long before Ford confirms with a solemn, “It’s her.”
Seconds pass like hours as his teammates shuffle from their seats and exit the apartment. One of them stops in front of Ford and mutters, “If you need anything,hermano, you call.”
“Gracias.”
His Spanish catches me off guard, but I don’t think too much about it. Mostly because all I can do is wonder how the hell I’m going to get myself out of this situation. They know who I am now. If any of them look too deep into where I’ve been or who I’m connected to now, I’m not sure I can protect them.
Slimy Saul doesn’t give a shit whose life he ruins as long as it translates to money.
Once the guys are gone, Ford tugs his shirt over his head, revealing broad, muscular shoulders. The kind that form shelves and dents as they move. All centered above an unreasonably tapered waist.
For a moment, I forget who it is in front of me and marvel at the sight. It’s been so long since I’ve even considered a man attractive. Not that I think—not that Ford is?—
Thankfully, I’m saved from my thoughts by a gruff grunt and a T-shirt being shoved over his shoulder. “Put this on.”
I stare at the faded black Renegades shirt. “I have a coat over there,” I protest. The last thing I want is to take anything from this man.
