Page 2 of Penalty Killer

The other man had gone pale, the flush from terrible sex evaporating as his gaze swept Nico’s hair, face, down his seated frame to take in the expensive suit, the custom-made leather shoes. Then his eyes found the pistol resting on the side table. “Who the hell are you?”

“I am the person telling you to sit the fuck down.” It was an order and only a fool would ignore it.

Verreault wisely lowered himself slowly onto the sofa, the muscles of his bare torso shifting as he moved. Not that Nico noticed. “Okay,” Verreault said. “Now tell me who you are and how you got in here.”

Nico pressed his fingertips together and studied the other man. “I am here to talk to you.”

“Look, if this is about—” he motioned in the vague direction of the elevator “—that was the first time I’ve ever . . .”

Did he think Nico was stupid? “I don’t care if you fuck men, Verreault. That isn’t why I am here.”

Verreault blinked several times, his eyes darting to the pistol once more. “What, then?”

Nico said nothing.

Silence was a weapon, one Nico loved to wield. Most people didn’t care for it; the quiet made them jumpy. So Nico let the silence stretch, allowing Verreault’s panic to simmer, winding the string tighter and tighter. To Verreault’s credit, he didn’t fidget. He met Nico’s stare directly, never shying away or cowering. Nico could respect it. More than one man had pissed himself under Nico Marzano’s intense scrutiny.

Suddenly, Verreault reached for his jeans on the floor. “I’m calling the police.”

“Do not be stupid,” Nico said smoothly. “Five nights ago, a member of your team was at a club called The Loop.”

“And?”

“And my young cousin was there, too.”

“Okay.” A little divot appeared between his eyebrows, a chasm of confusion. “I’m still not understanding.”

“Were you there?”

“No.”

“No?”

“I don’t . . . They don’t invite me.”

Unsurprising. When players trolled for pussy, it stood to reason that Verreault would opt out. “Because you like dick.”

“Because I’m their captain,” Verreault said sharply. “They don’t know about the other thing.”

“A big secret to keep, no?”

Verreault’s upper lip curled as his shoulders straightened, as if he were bracing for an impact. “Ah. You’re here to blackmail me.”

“Not in the way you are thinking.” Nico placed his hands on the armrests, relaxed and non-threatening. “That night in the club? One of your teammates drugged my cousin.”

Verreault went still, his body locked into place. Nico watched carefully, looking for clues of recognition, a hint that this man knew about what happened, but he remained inscrutable. “Drugged, like gave him cocaine?”

“Her, and no. Drugged, like roofied.”

“Fuck.” Verreault’s nostrils flared as he inhaled deeply, maybe gathering his thoughts. While Nico waited, he discovered a scar on Verreault’s jaw, the only imperfection in an otherwise flawless face. “Did she say who?” the other man finally asked.

“If she had, we would not be sitting here, having this conversation.”

“How do you know it’s a Reign player?”

“She does not remember much, but she remembers him bragging about a Stanley Cup. She also remembers seeing a hockey equipment bag with the team logo in the back seat. Is that enough proof for you?”

Verreault’s expression was hard to read, even for Nico who was better at reading men than most. The hockey captain sat stiffly, seemingly uncomfortable in his own skin, and Nico wondered if this was because of his presence or because of Nico’s discovery about Verreault’s sexuality. Verreault dropped his head back, his words aimed at the vaulted ceiling. “It could be a staff member or a coach. They would have access to the equipment bags and the Stanley Cup.”