Page 68 of Her Puck Daddies
"This is bad. This is so fucking bad," Eric mumbles, mostly to himself, his head buried in his hands.
He’s been like this for the past several minutes. I’ve been trying to block him out. Not that it helps.
We don’t even have access to the thumb drive. They took it back with them. It’s probably for the best. Having copies of something like that is a legal disaster waiting to happen.
From what Sven tells us, our faces are crystal clear.
I’m so goddamn naïve. It never occurred to me that someone would go after these guys, that someone would actively try to harm them. Even though I know famous people deal with stalkers all the time.
Is that what this is? Some obsessed psycho watching from the shadows? Or is it just about money?
That seems more likely, given the anonymous account left on the drive, a cold demand for cash with no personal message, no twisted obsession—just dollar signs.
"I don’t think I even have five mil free and clear to give," Eric says abruptly, lifting his head, his expression grim. "I’d have to sell some shit just to pull that kind of capital together."
"You’re not selling anything," Levi snarls, his jaw tight. "We’re not giving these bastards a single fucking cent."
Sven exhales sharply, dragging a hand through his hair again. He’s been doing it so much, his usually flawless blond tresses are a complete mess. But when his eyes land on me, something inside me turns ice cold.
"There’s something else I need to tell you,” he says, voice lower now, heavier. "I’m pretty sure they suspect the three of us are in a relationship with you, Ava."
The room goes still.
"What the actual fuck, dude?" Eric explodes, coming completely unglued.
“I didn’t tell them," Sven says, his hands gesturing emphatically toward Eric before his eyes lock back onto me. "Not in so many words. But right before they left, Barb mentioned that we shouldn’t be seen with you in public. Whoever this is, is likely keeping tabs on us, and it would be unwise to fan the flames."
Levi doesn’t say a word, but his expression is pure murder.
I haven’t added anything to their frantic back-and-forth, but now I shift, balancing myself on my crutches as I stand. "As much as I wanted this, this is exactly why we should have never kept seeing each other. Now, we could all lose our jobs. We could be dragged through the mud. I'm going home."
"The fuck you are," Eric shoots back, his expression not angry, but deeply concerned.
"It’s not safe," Sven argues, his voice sharper now, edged with something dangerously close to panic. "Some lunatic is watching us. Possibly targeting you, too."
“Didn’t you just say that Barb doesn’t want us seen in public together?” I challenge him. “I think that makes going home necessary. And I’m doing it alone.”
“If you're leaving, then I'm taking you. Period." Sven’s voice is firm, unshakable, pure command, and though I’m tempted to argue, I don’t.
Speaking to him one-on-one is something I need to do anyway.
A few minutes later, we’re in his SUV, pulling out of the underground parking garage beneath his condo. The tinted windows shield us from prying eyes, offering a temporary illusion of privacy. His hands stay firmly on the wheel, his presence protective, absolute.
The silence as he drives is deafening, so I speak up. “Look, Sven, I can’t say why I feel this way, but I have a feeling that Dean is behind this.”
“Your ex?”
“Yes.”
“But he still doesn’t know where you are, right? Or has something else happened with your friend back in Jersey?” he asks.
“Nothing else has happened. At least nothing she’s updated me on. But this has him written all over it.”
Sven wraps his big hands around my shoulder. “That man sounds like someone who needs a fist in his face, no question. The fact that you’re trying to divorce him probably won’t be enough to make him a suspect but letting that security firm know about him couldn’t hurt.”
Once we pull up to my place, Sven glares at my apartment like it personally spit on his skate. "I hate leaving you here."
"I’m fine. This is my home."