Read Iron Cross: The Dartmouth Cobras #6 Online
Authors: Bianca Sommerland
Iron Cross: The Dartmouth Cobras #6
IRON CROSS
By
Bianca Sommerland
Copyright 2014, Bianca Sommerland
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
Edited by Lisa A. Hollett
Cover art by Reese Dante
License Notes
This e-book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This e-book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to the vendor and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental. The characters are products of the author’s imagination and used fictitiously.
Warning
This e-book contains material not suitable for readers under 18. Scenes include depictions of auto theft and inappropriate fondling (all participants are of age though you may wonder at times). Beware of m/m relations with unforeseen combinations, m/f relations, m/f/m/f shenanigans, and extremely hot scenes involving tattoos and Legos! Please be forewarned that there will be lots of hockey. And sex. And more hockey. Not all players will have sexual interactions, but you may wish they do.
Author’s Note: The Cobras series has a continuing arc about the franchise, players, and previous relationships. Some plots continue through the series and may involve more than the main ménage. The series is best read in order.
The Dartmouth Cobras
Blind Pass in
Seduced by The Game
: A Charity Anthology
(The Dartmouth Cobras #0.5)
Game Misconduct
(The Dartmouth Cobras #1)
Defensive Zone
(The Dartmouth Cobras #2)
Breakaway
(The Dartmouth Cobras #3)
Offside
(The Dartmouth Cobras #4)
Delayed Penalty
(The Dartmouth Cobras #5)
Iron Cross
(The Dartmouth Cobras #6)
Also
The End – Coming 2014
The Trip
So many people to thank, this book took a lot of work, but I want to start with all the readers who constantly cheer on the Cobra boys and keep me going when things get rough. You all freakin' rock!
To my dear friends, Heather and Stacey, who are there every step of the way. Whether it's work, or travel, or just hanging out, you two keep things real and know exactly how
to make me smile when I bang my head repeatedly on my desk. I love you both so much!
My betas, Rosie, Je
nnifer, and Lina, thank you for putting up with my weird mistakes and helping me find all those loose threads. Your passion for the stories despite the mess you sometimes walk into makes it so much easier to dig back in and fix things. To Lisa, my editor, you have the patience of a saint and your humor makes the editing process a bit less like hell! Working with you is always a pleasure! Reese Dante, my wonderful cover artist, you amaze me each and every time. The talent you have to bring the Cobras to life never fails.
Cherise, my lovely mentor, I can't say enough how much you've helped me learn and grow. I'm a much better,
stronger author because of you.
Now, Iron Cross touched on a few different languages, and I'm so grateful for the help I got finding the right words. Tanja Miloš, I'm glad I didn't drive you insane with all my questions and I just have to give you hugs and kisses because you rock! Ivana R-Clooney, same for you, girl! Thank you in advance for all the help I'll need wi
th the next couple of books! ;)
Tony, yes, I'm thanking you again. Heather deserves an extra thanks here for putting up with both of us, but you've helped keep out boys out of jail so I appreciate
it. Marcus and WTD, you deserve thanks just for what you do every single day, but your expertise was invaluable while writing a law enforcement officer accurately. I know I asked a lot of questions and went over some crazy scenarios, but in the end you made sure I got it right.
As always, I'm going to end this with a kisses for my girls. One day, in the very far away future, you might pick up th
is book. Stop here. I love you.
Now go read something else. xoxo
Early April
T
hey were killing the fucking Leafs. Tyler Vanek propped his gloved hands on the butt of his stick as he chilled on his blades by the Cobras’ bench, watching the Leafs’ coach bitch to the officials about another penalty. Like it was the ref’s fault the boys from Toronto were a bunch of thugs. Getting bored, he started moving his lips every time the coach did, getting more into it when he noticed Luke Carter—the left winger on his line and one of his best friends—choking back laughter.
A few of the guys on the Cobras
’ bench were snorting and chuckling. Tyler got some dirty looks when some of the Leafs caught him puffing out his cheeks to make his impersonation more realistic. He smirked at them and mimicked the coach’s stance, gesturing wildly with his hand just like the man was doing.
“Vanek!
” Sloan Callahan, officially the Cobra’s assistant coach, but really, the one who ran the show, stepped over the bench and pressed his fists to the top of the boards. He didn’t look any less scary in a dark gray suit and tie than he had in the Cobra uniform with a big C on his chest. And his black gaze reminded Tyler of how the man looked wielding a whip. “Stop acting like a fucking idiot.”
Carter slid up to Tyler’s side, bumping their shoulders together and giving Callahan a charming half-smile. “Aww,
come on, Coach. He’s just playing.”
“Play the game.” Callahan’s eyes narrowed when Carter opened his mouth. He nodded as Carter pressed his lips shut. “We need you both in one piece for the
playoffs. Not gonna happen if you piss off the goons.”
Okay,
Callahan was right, but this game was dragging on forever. The puck was finally dropped to the right of the Leafs’ goalie. Scott Demyan, the Cobras’ sniper and Tyler’s other partner in crime, won the face-off. Tyler’s stick connecting with the puck got his head back into the game where it belonged. He moved, tasting the icy air that flowed around him. Feeling the burn in his muscles as he raced across the ice, dodging the big guys trying to take him out. He was smaller than most players in the league, but he was fast. They couldn’t hurt him if they couldn’t catch him.
But if they did
…yeah, Callahan was right to worry. They’d destroy him.
His pass was perfect, but Carter lost it after getting slammed into from the side. Together, they chased the Leafs to their blue line. H
e met Carter’s eyes and grinned when Carter nodded and picked up speed. They read the play perfectly and made a crushing Leaf sandwich. Checking the beefy forward winded Tyler, but it was so worth it to see the man go down from the impact. He crossed into the Leafs’ zone a step behind Carter, smoothly cupped the pass, then let the puck rip. The post dinged as the puck hit the inside. Then it dropped cleanly over the goalie’s shoulder.
Tyler didn’t get a chance to celebrate the goal. A stick blade came out of nowhere and slashed his mouth. Pain burst from his lips and he reared back, slamming into Carter who’d
stopped mid-congrats to grab a Leaf player. Someone was pulling Tyler backward. He turned and saw nothing but white and blue sweaters. Swung blindly as blood filled his mouth.
Demyan shoved between him and the huge Leaf defenseman. Suddenly, the Cobras’ defensemen
, Dominik Mason and Peter Kral, were muscling their way into the crowd. Mason, big and black and downright feral when he got riled up, pushed Tyler behind him and dropped his gloves.
Tyler took a second to bend over and swipe the blood and saliva from his lips. His blood
dripped onto the ice in time with the pulsing pain. The sight made him dizzy. He had to get to the bench. Chicklet, his Mistress, the woman he fucking worshipped, had made him promise never to play hurt. But a cut wasn’t really being “hurt.” Was just messy and gross and he needed to get cleaned up. He’d get the doc to patch him up and then get back out here.
Before he
could slide forward, there was a big man in a blue jersey blocking his path. His eyes widened when he realized it was the Leafs’ goalie, Andre Thomas.
What the fuck?
“Where do you think you’re going, you little shit—”
“It’s on, Thomas!” Landon Bower, the Cobras’ starting goalie, jetted across the ice like there were rockets attached to his skates. He threw himself at the other goalie.
Both went down in a pile of loose pads and wild punches.
“Vanek!” Callahan shouted, grabbing a stick from Ian White and cracking it repeatedly against the boards. “Get over here!”
Tyler made himself move. Got off the ice and sat in front of the trainer on the bench.
The Leafs
’ coach shouted from the other side of the suicide box that separated the team’s benches. “Your boy started all this. Put a fucking Band-Aid on him and send him home!”
“How about you teach your fucking gorillas to play the goddamn game?” Callahan strode up to the glass, looking like he wanted to go right through it and kill the other coach. “Just because they can’t use their sticks to score goals doesn’t mean they can use
them as fucking weapons!”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about. That was an accident!”
“Accident, my ass!” Callahan hit the glass with the stick. “I’ll show you a fucking accident!”
Tyler cringed as the trainer pressed a towel to his lip, then ducked to avoid
getting hit by the stick Callahan was swinging. At least the penalties were even, so they’d play four on four for two minutes. No big deal except all it took was a little joke for both teams to lose their minds.
Nice going, Vanek.
The trainer glanced up at Tyler with a strained smile on his lips. “You need stitches. How about you head to the locker room, let the doc take care of it?
Away
from the insanity.”
“Can’t you just—” This time, both Tyler and the trainer had to duck to avoid getting clocked by the stick. “There’s still ten minutes left to the game!”
“Ty.” A player moved behind the benches, one Tyler had a really hard time being around without his heart beating like the drums from a heavy metal band. Raif Zovko, all dark and dangerous, a player fans called “Midas.” He just had to look at Tyler to turn him into the little boy who’d thought Raif was a hockey god. But he didn’t seem too happy with Tyler, which had Tyler staring at his skate laces. “The game is won. Go have your wounds seen to.”
Callahan was pulled back by the
“real” coach and turned to Tyler, practically snarling. “You good?”
Tyler hesitated, looking from Raif to the trainer. The trainer shrugged a
nd put a butterfly bandage above Tyler’s top lip. “This will hold for now. But you need to get this taken care of soon.”
“Ten—nine minutes soon enough?” Tyler glanced over to the ice, not thinking much beyond the game that continued no
matter how messed up things got. A bit of blood was nothing. He was still alive and that’s all that mattered. So long as he was breathing, could hold a stick, and keep moving, he would play. “I’m good, Coach!”
Lips thin, eyes hard, Callahan studied Tyler as a few guys came in for a line change. He nodded and waved Tyler on. “
Humiliate those fucking assholes.”
That was all Tyler needed to hear. He vaulted over the boards, jetting across the
rink, tapping his stick on the ice when he saw Carter intercept a pass. A black blur and the puck hit his tape. He dodged, flew forward. Slapped the puck high stick side.
Goal! Fuckin’ right!
Before a single Leaf could get close to him, White had the biggest guy on the team in a choke hold. Tyler elbowed his way into the crowd as White was surrounded. Carter hauled Tyler back. The refs broke up the fight before it even got started. The game ended without the Leafs even getting another shot in. The score was 6-0.
In the locker room, the guys stripp
ed off their gear, shouting over the punk rock music Pischlar blasted from his small stereo. Shawn “Easy” Pischlar was a third-line left winger, laid-back and fun to hang out with. But Callahan was giving Pischlar “the look” as Pischlar put the small black plug earring back in his ear. Didn’t seem to bother anyone that Pischlar seemed to have new ink every time he had more than a day off the ice, but the piercings were an issue. Two cartilage ones in each ear and the slightly bigger one in his right earlobe.
Best to keep clear if Callahan was in lecture
-mode. Tyler headed to the stall with his gold name plate at the top of the wood structure about the width of a regular-sized player’s shoulders. He glanced over at Demyan when Callahan started on Pischlar about how he wasn’t supposed to wear the plug at the Forum.
Demyan rolled his eyes, patted Tyler’s shoulder, and went to stand beside Callahan. Arms crossed
over his bare chest, Demyan studied Pischlar. “Long as he don’t start putting a puck in there, I don’t see the issue.”
“This is none of your business, Demyan.” Callahan’s lips thinned. “But since you’re so fucking interested, Pischlar’s been getting shit from PR. You know what that’s like
, right?”
Aww, fuck.
Last thing the team needed was more bad press. Tyler half expected Demyan to back down because he’d risked being traded when he’d gotten one too many bad headlines. But he wasn’t all that surprised when Demyan faced Callahan, speaking low, his muscles tightening like he was ready for a fight.
Tyler couldn’t make out what was said, but Callahan nodded, spoke quietly, then glanced around the room at the players, who’d all gone real quiet. “Hey, we won this fucking game! The press is gonna be on us in about ten minutes
, so do all your stupid shit now!”
Now
that
sounded like a plan. Tyler stood, grunting as White rammed into him from the side. They both hit the floor and White barred an arm across Tyler’s neck. Tyler laughed, twisting to get free of the big brute’s hold. They wrestled for a bit, but winning a fight against White was about as likely as taking down a bear with your bare hands.
Tyler tapped out and rolled onto his back.
White’s eyes widened as he stared down at Tyler. “Fuck, I completely forgot about your mouth. Sorry, kid.”
W
armth spilled down his chin, dripping onto Tyler’s neck as he lifted his head. He let his head drop to the floor when he saw the doc hovering. White stood and gave him a hand up. Hovered as the doc made Tyler sit and started poking at his lip.
Ouch!
The hot, dull throb had Tyler jerking back. Heat spread over his cheeks at White’s snort.
“He ain’t even pulled out the needle yet!”
Just the idea of Doc using a needle on him had Tyler all queasy. He didn’t usually get patched up in front of the guys because he didn’t want them to see what a wimp he could be.
T
he doctor ignored White as he cleaned Tyler’s wound. “Not too bad. Hasn’t swelled that much, and you won’t even have a pretty scar to show for it. A couple of stitches will stop the bleeding.”
“Great.” Tyler rubbed his sweaty pa
lms on his thighs, doing his best to hold still as the syringe was pulled out.
When the doc
injected a local anesthetic, White snorted again. Tough guy probably didn’t need anything to numb the pain. Maybe Tyler shouldn’t either, but…fuck, it hurt!
“Take it, boy. You know you want to take it.” Chicklet’s breath stirred the curls at the nape of Tyler’s neck as she ran her hands over the flaming flesh of his back. “For me.”
He inhaled roughly, letting his Mistress’s words get him past the needle piercing his flesh. But he didn’t like being watched. She was the only one who got to see him like this—taking whatever she told him to for her pleasure alone. Okay, so she wasn’t actually
here,
but knowing he’d been strong while he was stitched up would please her.
“Three stitches. It’s nothin’, buddy.” White slapped Tyler’s shoulder, probably trying to be supportive, but Doc glared at him. Which got him backing up and holding up his hands. “Sorry, I’ll go away.”
Thank you!
Tyler inhaled as Doc finished up. He’d probably been making weird-ass faces and if White teased him about it, he wouldn’t like the man so much anymore.
Doc didn’t say
anything after he was done with Tyler. The press had come in and the guys had calmed down for their interviews. Tyler stayed in uniform as mics were shoved in his face. Talked about the “team effort” and made sure not to comment about how Coach had lost his mind. He was pretty good at the typical, scripted answers, so reporters got bored of him quick.
Besides, what Pischlar was saying was a lot more interesting. Tyler stood behind Carter and Demyan as Pischlar straightened his shiny
gray tie and nodded at the last question shouted at him.
“No, my last girlfriend didn’t ‘
turn me gay.’ I’ve always been open to whatever.” Pischlar shrugged and slung his sport bag over his shoulder. “That’s why they call me ‘Easy.’”
The next question had every player in the room going still. “Did joining the Cobras make it feel more acceptable to be honest about being gay?”
Fuck, go right for the jugular, why don’t you?
Tyler wanted to say something. Take some pressure off the other man. But what could he possibly say? He wasn’t as out there about his relationship as some of the guys were. Less than half the team was in ménage relationships, but the media painted them all with the same brush. They were all considered kinky. The guys who were happily married with 2.5 kids were asked if they cheated on their wives with their teammates. The team’s owner, Lorenzo Keane, had been trying to steer the focus away from the players’ sexuality. Without much success.
