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Brienne’s fingers drum against the desk. “We need to take precautions. I can at least hire security—”

“No.” The word comes out sharp, immediate. “I don’t want that.”

Brienne arches a brow. “You’d rather have no protection at all?”

“I don’t like attention,” I grit out. “Security would only put more eyes on me.”

Brienne sighs. “Then maybe we should consider the police again? I have contacts.”

I hesitate, because it’s true… Brienne has power in this city. “I don’t know yet,” is all I’m willing to commit.

Brienne exchanges a look with Callum, then leans back in her chair. “And Mila?”

I exhale. “She’s safe at my house.”

Brienne tilts her head. “So she’s just going to stay locked up there?”

I open my mouth, then close it. I hadn’t thought about it that way. And I have no clue how long she’ll be there. Maybe I should consider security, at least for her.

Brienne sighs. “There’s a home game tomorrow. I want her to come. She can sit in my box and I’ll have a few of the other ladies join us to make her feel welcome.”

I shake my head. “Not a good idea.”

Brienne smirks. “Why? Because people will see her?”

Because that puts an importance on her that I don’t want. Like she’s personally important to me in some way past a duty to help her out as a friend.

I don’t answer and Brienne’s sharp eyes seem to pierce right through me. “Have her come to the game tomorrow to sit with me in the box. That’s not a question.”

It’s a demand, and given she’s my boss, one I probably shouldn’t ignore.

Her power move does nothing but piss me off, so I don’t acknowledge her words in any way. Instead, I rise from the chair. “Thanks for listening.”

Brienne inclines her head and Callum watches me thoughtfully as I leave. I shut the office door, as I’m sure they want privacy to discuss all the ways they want to stick their nose in this. But I make it no more than two paces away and the door reopens, Callum slipping through.

“Penn… wait.”

I tamp down the frustration and fix as pleasant an expression on my face as I can muster.

He stops just before me, hands tucked into his pockets. “This why you’ve been walking around wound tight as fuck? Why you won’t let your teammates in?”

“Seems like you’ve already got it figured out,” I reply evasively.

He appraises me, almost as if he’s looking into my soul.

“You don’t form connections, you shun any attempts to socialize with your teammates and you’re grumpy as fuck.

You’ve had teammates betray you in the past, turn their backs on you, and thus, you can’t ever trust that type of relationship again.

” I don’t answer, just stare at him blandly. “It sure explains a hell of a lot.”

“Is that all?” I ask quietly.

Callum folds his arms. “Penn, these guys—you have to let them in. Trust them.”

I let out a mirthless laugh. “I don’t need anyone, and I’d appreciate it if you’d stay out of my business.”

I don’t give him a chance to respond. Merely turn on my heel and walk away.

My mind spins as I make my way through the arena and back out to the players’ underground parking lot. I sit in my G-Wagon, fingers drumming the steering wheel. Telling Brienne and Callum my story accomplishes nothing.

Solves nothing.

It would be completely acceptable for me to do nothing.

Continue to live my life, ignore the periodic threats and taunts, and assume that Peter, or Jace, or whoever wouldn’t be stupid enough to come after me.

I’m also of the frame of mind that I wouldn’t mind if they did because I’ve got my own years of pent-up anger to release and I’d enjoy hurting them.

Bottom line… I’m not scared or worried, and my life will continue on tomorrow, just as it has today, same as it did yesterday.

But Mila changes things. She cannot live in fear.

And while I’ve had subtle threats, hers are more violent.

I think it’s clear the real enmity is directed at her because she betrayed a family member.

It was her testimony that gave the stalled case the steam it needed when she corroborated my story.

In essence, none of those guys would have ever gotten into trouble if it weren’t for Mila.

And as much as I hate to be dragged back into this shit, I cannot let her get hurt.

It will mean that everything I did was in vain.

Resolved to do something, I know my options for information gathering are very limited. There’s no way I can reach out to the four Wraiths who lost their careers and two of them a part of their lives in prison.

But there’s one person who hates my guts who just might give me the time of day.

I pull up my contacts and scroll, then press my contact for Brayden Hughes, one of my former teammates on the Florida Spartans.

While I wasn’t close to any of them, I still have all their contact info in my phone, same as I have all the Titans.

The phone rings twice before he answers. “Navarro? What’s up, man?”

Brayden actually sounds pleased to hear from me and I find it odd. Again, we didn’t interact beyond the ice, but we were on the same line. I lean my head against the headrest. “I need Jacob McLendon’s number.”

There’s a long pause as he puts two and two together. McLendon’s dirty cross-check made all the sports reel highlights so Brayden would know there’s bad blood. “You’re serious?”

“Yeah.”

A beat. Then, “You do know he obviously fucking hates you, right?”

I huff out a humorless laugh. “Yeah, I got that memo. Can I get it anyway?”

“You going to try to patch things up?” he asks.

“Nothing to patch up, but I do have something important to discuss with him.”

Brayden waits for more, the silence beckoning me to be a little more transparent. When I don’t offer anything, his responds begrudgingly. “Yeah… sure. I’ll send you his contact now.”

“Appreciate it,” I say and then hang up without a goodbye. I can imagine Brayden now staring at his phone and muttering, Still the same old asshole.

I receive a text from Brayden with Jacob’s contact attached.

I save it to my phone, but I don’t call him.

If he’s anything like me and most other players I know, he’s not going to pick up an unknown number.

So instead, I text him. This is Penn Navarro.

I know you don’t have my number, but I need to talk. I’m about to call you. Pick up.

I have no clue if Jacob’s the type to stay attached to his phone. I have no clue if he’s busy at this moment, perhaps on the ice practicing with his own team. But I’m not going to wait around. I count to ten very slowly and then dial his number.

He picks up on the third ring. His irritation evident. “What the fuck do you want?”

“Yeah, yeah, I get it,” I drawl, hoping to poke at his ridiculous grudge. “You hate my guts. But this isn’t about me.”

That takes the wind out of his sails and he sounds curious. “Then what’s it about?”

“Mila Brennan.”

There’s a long silence before he murmurs, “What about her?”

I have no clue what Jacob feels about Mila.

I have to assume he knows, just like all the others who got their information via the grapevine that Mila turned in her brother and the guys.

For that reason alone, he should hate her as much as he hates me.

But Mila was a good kid, a sweet girl who all the guys felt protective of.

Maybe there’s still some of that within Jacob.

“She’s in Pittsburgh. She’s been getting violent threats and she’s scared. Her brother’s being released from prison in a few days. I need to know if you’ve heard anything.”

McLendon exhales, and I hear rustling on his end—maybe shifting in his seat. “I haven’t talked to Peter or Jace since they got locked up. I don’t know shit about what’s going on.”

I close my eyes for a beat, frustration simmering under my skin. “Yeah, well, someone’s been sending her messages. Emails. Texts. Detailed shit.”

McLendon is quiet, then, “What kind of threats?”

“The kind that if it ever happened to your sister, you’d tear the person apart with your bare hands just for them thinking it.

” I keep my voice even. “They started a few months ago. She’s getting texts from an unknown number, emails that can’t be traced.

They mention Nathan. They mention me. They say she’s gonna pay for what she did and describe exactly how. She’s not safe.”

McLendon curses. “Jesus.” I hear the faint creak of a chair, like he’s leaning back, thinking. “You think it’s Peter?”

“He’s top of my list since he’s getting out. But there’s no way he’s got the ability to send these messages. Someone could be helping him, and then there’s the fact it’s her brother. No matter how much he hates her, would he hurt her?”

“Could be Jace.” McLendon sounds doubtful, though. “But he’s been out a year. Why start now?”

I shake my head. “That’s what I don’t get. He’s had plenty of time to come after her if he wanted to, but he could be the one helping Peter if it’s him.”

McLendon is silent for a second, then says, “Ryan and Colton?”

I frown. “You know where they are?”

“Ryan’s in St. Paul. Last I heard, he’s working in real estate, married, couple of kids. Colton’s still in Minnesota too—owns a gym.” McLendon exhales. “I don’t see them doing this, though. Those guys… they were pissed when everything happened, but they moved the fuck on.”

“Ryan showed up at one of my games, threw a water bottle at me and called me a traitor. I don’t think he’s moved on.”

Neither has Jacob, and he confirms that by saying, “Well, it’s what you are.”

I ignore the barb because no matter how much we despise each other, he could know something important. “So, you don’t think it’s Ryan or Colton. That leaves Peter or Jace.”

“I don’t know, man,” McLendon mutters. “But if they are behind it, then yeah, you’ve got a problem. Those guys did some serious time.”

No shit. And it’s because of me and Mila.

I hesitate for half a second, then force the words out. “If you do hear anything, will you let me know?”

There’s no pause or reluctance. I suppose the fact it’s Mila that’s in danger softens him. “Yeah. Of course I will.”

It’s not much, but it’s more than I expected. I nod, even though he can’t see me. “Thanks.”

McLendon scoffs. “Don’t thank me. I still hate your fucking guts.”

I smirk despite myself. “Feeling’s mutual.”

The line clicks dead.

I set my phone down and stare out the windshield. I don’t know if that accomplished anything, but at least I’m doing something .