Black and Blue (23 page)

“I know!” a female voice proclaimed.

“Just isn’t right,” another said.

The voices snagged her attention. Behind her, a gaggle of the players’ spouses and girlfriends talked and
ran the gamut of emotion. Each female was tall, thin, and gorgeous, dressed in skimpy clothing meant to lure and tempt men famous for their feminine conquests. Somehow all of the girls were the “bestest friends ever.”

Oi. Because Evie graduated so early, the only female friends she’d ever had were Claire and Eden, and as family they’d
had
to like her. She’d never made a friend on her own. Besides Blue. But he didn’t have boobs so he didn’t count. The mechanics of female bonding utterly baffled her.

At least she had the best seat in the box, the only one directly in front of the window. The rest of the women were squeezed behind her in rows of six.

“The entire situation is just so uncool. But I talked to Pagan last night and she told me they’re just taking a break,” one of the girls said in a stage whisper.

“Well, she lied. Her neighbor was interviewed this morning,” another replied, using the same loud-hush tone, “and the guy told reporters he heard Blue tell Pagan they were finished forever.”

“So brutal!”

Evie remembered how terrible Blue felt when it was over. No way he’d been brutal.

“Good riddance, I say. I never liked her.”

“Me neither. Talk about sleazy. That girl would do anything with a penis. Supposedly, the day after Blue dumped her, she was seen making out with three different guys at Club Joy Ride.”

“I can believe it. I caught her eye-stripping my man once. As if he would ever be desperate enough for the likes of her.”

There was no response, and every moment of silence caused the air to thicken with tension.

Uh-oh. Bet her man
had
done Miss Cary at some point.

“What?” the girl demanded.

“Uh, nothing. Nothing at all.”

“Well, I think Pagan had every right to seek comfort from other men so quickly. How many times did Blue cheat on her? Countless.”

Evie’s hackles rose. These women . . . they didn’t know Blue. They didn’t know his thoughts, feelings, hopes and dreams. They didn’t know the situation or what happened behind the scenes. And yet they acted as judge and jury, as if they’d never made a mistake.

Once, I was just as guilty.
But no more.

Besides, lovers went to Blue with their eyes wide open. They knew what they were getting. He told them.
Just like he’ll tell me.

The conversation tapered into another subject, saving her from having to throw a pimp hand around. After a while, even the newest topic lagged into silence. The girls turned their attention to the game. Unfortunately, the reprieve didn’t last long.

“So, Evangeline. It’s nice to see you here.”

She turned to meet the gaze of the only redhead, and offered a tight smile. Though the girl’s tone was friendly, there was a speculative gleam in her brown eyes. This was a gossip hunt, no question.

“Thanks.” What was Red’s name? The girlfriends came and went so frequently, Evie never bothered to learn.

The speculative gleam deepened. “I feel so bad that
so many of the players want out of their contracts now that Michael is gone. I’m sure it has nothing to do with you personally, though. I wouldn’t worry.”

What a sweet little backhanded compliment. Passive-aggressive behavior at its finest. Better to combat this head-on. “Anyone wanting out of his contract has only to ask. He’ll be cut and replaced within a single day. And, actually, that’s why I’m here. Now that I’ve taken over Black Industries, I want to give the boys a look-see.” Then, just to be contrary, she added, “Might be fun to restructure and use new starters, don’t you know.”

Red flushed and said nothing else.

Break time.
“Now, if you’ll excuse me . . .” Evie stood and walked through the spacious room, past the long L-shaped bar surrounded by multiple padded stools. In the far corner, hidden in the dark wood-paneled walls, was the entrance to a private bathroom. She stepped inside, locked the door, and—even though she told herself not to do it—cranked the volume on the concealed mics in the box, multiple conversations filtering inside as she washed her face. She concentrated on one.

“—should take bets on Blue’s next conquest,” Red was saying.

A catty laugh sounded. “Whoever she is, she’ll be blond and stacked.”

Great. Like Evie really needed the reminder about Blue’s preference—everything she wasn’t!

“So, what do you think of Evangeline? I’ve never been a fan. She’s such a bit—”

Okay. Enough of that. She cut the feed.

Bracing her hands against the sink, she leaned her forehead against the mirror.
I’m in way over my head, aren’t I?

Blue could be on the Bedroom Olympic Team.

Evie had experience. A lot of experience. More than she liked to admit. So much she was ashamed, often trying to hide behind a mask of propriety.
I can be honest with everyone but myself.
But all of that experience had come before the age of eighteen, when she’d desperately craved male attention. Whatever attention she could get. She’d learned from boys, not men. How was she supposed to seduce someone like Blue?

Uh, you haven’t had trouble so far.

True. Three encounters with him, three earth-shattering orgasms. But what was it going to take to get Blue to go all the way with her?

Sighing, she left the confines of the bathroom and settled back in her seat. None of the women spoke to her. Wise.

Both teams rushed onto the field for the next play. Every member of the Invaders and every member of the Strikers was an otherworlder of some sort. From white-haired Arcadians like Blue, to big and meaty Ell Rollies, to thin and colorful Mecs, to catlike Terrans and Bree Lians, to Viking-like Targons.

Each race came with different abilities, which made the game a thousand times more dangerous . . . and exciting. There was only one rule. No using super-speed. Otherwise, spectators and refs wouldn’t be able to track what was going on.

Evie watched the players explode into action, the
ball whizzing through the air, some men diving for it, some throwing others halfway across the field. After a particularly nasty tackle, the Arcadian known as “the Mack” shoved Blue, his hands exploding with a ball of light. Blue went soaring backward. A giant Ell Rollie pounded through the men forming a circle of protection around Blue, tackling him. Once again Blue soared backward . . . and yet still he managed to maintain a solid grip on the ball.

He rolled to his feet and launched into motion, slamming into the Ell Rollie and nearly splitting the man in two.

The crowd went wild, loving his use of brute force.

As the male writhed in pain, Blue grinned a cocky grin while lifting the ball and ending the play.

The third quarter concluded with no touchdowns.

In the middle of the fourth quarter, the other team finally managed to score, and she could tell Blue was ticked off royally. Then the . . . whatever his title was threw the ball to Blue and Blue threw the ball to . . . no, Blue faked a pass and now ran . . . and ran . . . and ran . . . until the Mack caught up with him. Rather than dodge, Blue grabbed him by the neck, twisted, and flung the limp body to the side. The Mack wasn’t dead, but he’d be in pain for days to come.

Half of the stadium jumped to their feet and clapped as he sprinted . . . across . . . yes! He’d just crossed the finish line.

The Invaders scored their second touchdown!

Blue’s teammates dog piled on him. Behind Evie, the women whooped and danced.

The game continued with two more plays, but the opposing team couldn’t break through the Invaders’ defensive line. When the final buzzer rang out, the Invaders were still ahead.

Victory belonged to Blue.

Utter chaos reigned on the field. As the other team jogged away to sulk, the Invaders, their coaches, and the fans closest to the action hurried together, cheering and hugging.

Blue stood in the middle of the storm, somehow set apart from it. He combed a hand through the pale hair plastered to his scalp. The black streaks painted under his eyes were smeared. Blood streaked his chin.

White-hot awareness held her in a tight clasp. He’d never looked more rugged.

He’s mine.

For right now, at least.

He glanced up at the window where she waited and grinned slowly.

At her?

Heart thumping, Evie walked out of the box. She joined a group of reporters already congregating outside the locker room, and leaned against the wall to wait. A few eager beavers asked her what she thought of the game, but her answers must have bored them, because she was soon forgotten. An hour passed before Blue finally emerged, showered and clean, wearing a black tee and jeans.

She straightened as recorders were shoved in his face and questions were hurled at him. He ignored everyone, his gaze scanning the crowd. When he found
her, a megawatt smile broke out on his face. Her heart skipped a beat and her blood heated.

He marched forward, and anyone stupid enough to stay in his path got mowed down. Then he was standing in front of her, thrums of his power stroking over her, making her tremble.

“As the new owner of the Invaders, what’d you think?” he asked.

She gave him a more colorful response. “A little tame, yeah. I expected rivers of blood stopped up by the occasional organ.”

He barked out a laugh.

“I’ll see you tomorrow night at Star Light, Mr. Blue.” She left as reporters snapped pictures and threw more questions at him, but waited for him in the private parking garage the players and their significant others used.

He arrived a short while later. None of the others had made it yet, which led her to believe her man had rushed to get to her.

The thought warmed her.

As they walked side by side, he bumped her with his shoulder. “What’d you really think?”

“You should have broken every bone in the Mack’s body, not just his scrawny neck.”

His lopsided grin was too adorable for words.

A blond woman with tear tracks on her cheeks stepped from behind a pillar. Blue stopped abruptly.

“Pagan,” he said, surprised.

Instant guilt.

“If I can’t have you, no one can.” The girl aimed a
.44 and squeezed off two shots before Evie had time to process what was happening.

Blue’s body jerked once, twice before a crimson flood sprang forth, soaking his shirt. It looked like two valves had burst inside him.

Crimson. Blood.

Not Blue. Anyone but Blue.

Pagan sprinted off. Evie wanted to chase after her,
so badly
, but she wanted to see to Blue more. Concern coursed through her as she dug through her purse, searching for the first-aid kit she’d decided to carry only this morning, thinking Blue might have a few cuts and bruises after the game.

He pressed his fists into the wounds, then lifted his blood-soaked fingers to the light. Fury bathed his expression. “I’ll be fine. Go get her. Bring her back. Mostly alive.”

“Blue, you’re—”

“Evie.”

Fine. She tossed him the kit and launched into motion, following the path the human had taken. As she ran, she palmed her pyre, her gaze constantly scanning . . . there! The blonde shut the driver’s-side door to a navy blue BMW. And she had clearly already programmed her escape route into the GPS, because the vehicle darted into motion.

I don’t think so.

Evie aimed. Fired.

A stream of golden light arrowed to the back tire, and the vehicle slowed, stopped. That was the problem
with preprogrammed systems. One little thing went wrong, and the entire vehicle shut down.

Evie closed the distance and jerked at the door. Locked. She aimed the gun at the window and said, “Open it and get out on your own, or I’ll open it and drag your bleeding carcass out.”

Wide, watery blue eyes stared at her for a long moment. Pagan’s gun rested on the passenger seat, but she didn’t reach for it. Her empty, trembling hands pushed the door out of the way.

“Slowly,” Evie commanded.

Pagan straightened at a snail’s pace, gripping the side of the door to remain standing as her knees knocked together.

Evie had once felt bad for this woman. And, okay, a part of her still did. But shooting Blue? Hell, no. That wasn’t allowed.

“D-don’t hurt me,” Pagan stuttered. “Please. I’m . . . pregnant. With Blue’s baby. Please, just let me go.”

Pregnant? Hardly. Blue was smarter than that. “Don’t be that girl. Now step away from the car, and drop to your knees.”

Tears falling in earnest, Pagan obeyed. Evie moved behind her, dug a pair of laser cuffs from her purse, and fastened them around her wrists. When Evie pressed the center, the cuffs lit up, bonding to Pagan’s skin. If she tried to break free, she’d lose her hands.

Evie helped her to her feet. A little push between her shoulders propelled her forward.

Blue hadn’t budged. He’d removed his shirt and
strapped bandages over the wounds, but the cotton was already soaked in blood. Evie’s anger revved back up.

“Knees,” she commanded, forcing Pagan to the ground. Then she placed the barrel of the gun at the back of the girl’s head. “I wouldn’t try anything else, yeah. I’m already looking for an excuse to end you.”

A sob bubbled from the girl. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Blue. I didn’t mean to kill you, I just . . . I’m so sorry. I wanted you to hurt the way I’m hurting.”

“I know,” he said, and his gentle tone surprised Evie. “But you could spend the rest of your life in prison for this, Pagan.”

Her head bowed. Her body shuddered.

“Tell him what you told me,” Evie snapped.

“I’m . . . not,” the girl said, her shoulders hunching in. “I lied.”

“About?” Blue asked.

Evie met his gaze. “Pregnancy.”

His lips pressed into a thin, firm line.

“I’m sorry,” Pagan said again.

He sighed. “I’m going to let you go.”

“What?” the girl gasped.

“Yeah,” Evie said, baffled. Mercy from a hardened agent? “What?”