1
NIK
The secondI step into the locker room, everything freezes, like someone hit pause on the world.
Then it erupts, whistles, catcalls, and laughter bouncing off the wall, heads snapping toward me like I just kicked over a hornet’s nest.
“Holy shit, Captain. What’s with the suit? You interviewing at Goldman Sachs or trying to seduce the judge?” Conor “The Mouth” Murphy bellows, eyebrows climbing halfway to his hairline.
The guys pile on instantly.
“Zoolander!”
“Damn, Nik, save some sex appeal for the rest of us!”
“Someone’s getting laid tonight!”
It’s chaos, pure locker-room firestorm, and I don’t flinch. Let them gawk. Let them run their mouths.
I glance down at the dark gray suit, which molds perfectly to my body, with its crisp lines and the black silk tie snug around my neck.
Damn, I look good.
Too good for this fucking, sweat-stink locker room.
“Why are you walking in here all suave, Nik?” someone calls out.
“Did you have press or something?” Conor presses, leaning on his locker, grinning like a kid who just found a loaded firecracker.
“Or something,” I reply, shrugging as I toss my jacket onto the bench.
The laughter swells, but I ignore it.
Press. Sure. That’s the polite explanation.
Truth is, I didn’t just roll out of bed in this suit. I’ve been torturing a man over an unpaid debt.
Suit optional? Hell no.
But unofficial research conducted exclusively by me proves that a well-dressed torturer is infinitely more intimidating. It makes them sweat harder and instills greater fear.
Best part? Not a drop of blood on this suit. Not a wrinkle. My shirt’s pristine.
A quick glance in the mirror reveals not a single hair out of place.
Smooth. Calm. Menacing.
That’s the goal on and off the ice.
Now the red marks on my knuckles? Well, those can be chalked up to the fact that I’m a pro hockey player, and pro hockey players get banged up a lot.
Conor smirks. “Lateanddressed like a Bond villain. Bold move, Captain. Did the guy sign the IOU, or is round two on the schedule?”
I flip him off as I peel away the expensive layers. “Round two is on the ice,” I murmur, my voice low and tight. “Let’s see how long your mouth stays open when I’m done with you, Murph.”
Cheers and laughter ripple through the room.
They don’t need to know the truth.
