Page 57

“What the fuck does air-gapped even mean?”

Matty drops the duffle bag on the picnic table at our now official meeting point behind the Wildcats stadium. He unzips the bag and rifles through a tangle of wires before finding a USB drive and placing it on the table.

He sighs and looks at me flatly. “It means it’s not connected to any network. No Wi-Fi. No Bluetooth. Nothing. They’re completely isolated, believe me. I spent hours last night trying to get through any of his fail-safes, and I couldn’t.”

He shakes his head, grumbling as he blows his floppy brown hair out of his face.

“So you’re telling me it was a waste of time?”

“No,” he replies firmly, a small smile quirking at the edge of his lips. “Trimming my girlfriend’s ferret hair is a waste of time. This was fun.”

“For you maybe,” I mumble, holding back my frustration.

It’s going to be fine. It’s going to be fine.

If I keep telling myself that, then maybe I’ll believe it. After all, it’s not Matty’s fault that Luke knows what he’s doing. In fact, I think it’s probably how he’s managed to stay in business for so long.

“Seriously, though. How bad is this guy? If his entire system is offline, then he must be hiding something big, and I love uncovering shady shit.”

“Isn’t money laundering linked with an underground fight club big enough for you?”

Matty raises a brow and his lip quirks just a little. “I’ve hacked worse.”

“So, if he runs this offline, does that mean there’s no way to hack into his system?”

Because if there isn’t, I’m back to square one.

“Now I didn’t say that.”

He taps the USB in front of him. “I can still hack him using this. It’s just going to take a little more effort on your end.”

I eye up the USB, unsure of how it could help us.

“There’s malware on it,” he explains. “Once it’s plugged in, it scans the entire computer and copies all his files. As soon as they’re on here, I can sort through everything and find whatever you need. Just five minutes. That’s all it takes. Once it’s out, I’ve got him.”

I blink at him a few times, repeating what he said in my head just to make sure I heard him right, since my brain is still a little fuzzy after using a vibrating ring pop on my wife last night. The same wife I had to leave behind in our bed to come here before she could ask any questions.

“So let me get this straight. You want me to sneak into Behind Closed Doors, plug this thing into their system, and extract the information for you?”

He shrugs as though it’s no big deal. “If this is the way you want to take him down, then yes.”

I slap my hand against the wood. “ Fuck. How the hell am I supposed to do that?”

Luke’s not going to let me just walk in there unless I’m fighting ever again, let alone get close enough to his internal computing system so I can stick a USB in it.

“I have no idea. I’m just the tech guy. If you can get it in, then I can get the information out for you.”

I laugh bitterly. “Yeah, I get that. I just have no way of infiltrating. Every asshole in that bar either works for him or owes him. They’d all sell me out to Luke in a heartbeat if it meant clearing their debt.”

Maty pushes the USB drive in my direction before zipping his bag up. “Then you’ve gotta find his weak link. There’s always someone in an operation who desperately wants out. Give them that opportunity.”

“And if he finds out that we’ve infiltrated the system?”

“That’s the beauty of my malware design.” He grins. “If anyone starts poking around, it triggers a failsafe. Fries the whole thing, then poof—no trace.”

“You better be fucking right,” I mutter under my breath as Matty stands. “Wait, where are you going?”

“Practice,” he says. “Drills this morning. Coach’ll bench me if I’m late.”

“I thought you were just a kicker. Do you even need to do the drills?”

He shakes his head. “Just a kicker. Is that how you speak to your goalie?” My thoughts immediately go to Dash and how I’m partly doing this to protect him. “We’re all on the same team. What one of us does we all do.”

He’s right. I’m being an ass.

“Fine,” I grumble in annoyance over the predicament I’ve got myself in.

Stick a USB in Luke’s system. Like that’s going to be easy.

I watch Matty walk away before snatching the USB off the table and flipping it over in my hand.

I study the little black piece of plastic with a football sprayed onto the side.

It’s hard to believe that this little piece of metal is the key to finally getting back at Luke.

I guess the question now is, how the fuck am I going to get it into his system?

I can’t just waltz into his territory myself and tell him Savannah is off the table. I saw how Cal and Mark were looking at her before they knew I was there. She’s not going anywhere near that cesspit again. Not if I have anything to do with it.

Matty was right. I need someone on the inside. Someone who hates Luke as much as I do, but isn’t stupid enough to get themselves killed in the process. Someone desperate enough to take the risk, and angry enough to see it through.

The list of candidates is shorter than my patience.

Actually, scratch that. There is no list.

The only way to create one is to go back there and observe the newer people on Luke’s payroll… and the only way I’m going to be allowed back in there is if I go through with that fight.

Fuck.

If I don’t get killed in the fight, Savannah and Dash will do the work themselves. They don’t want me there. I don’t want to be there, but what choice do I have? If I can get this fucking USB in Luke’s ratty ass computer, I don’t just free my family, I free everyone.

Well, shit. When did I become so altruistic? I guess desperate times call for fucking desperate measures.

I slide off the picnic table, pocketing the USB as I try to think of another way out of this.

A way that doesn’t involve breaking a promise to my new wife, but whatever shitstorm I’m about to unleash will have to wait.

Right now, I've got a game to focus on, and maybe, if I'm lucky, sixty minutes of mindless violence will help me figure out how to destroy Luke without destroying myself in the process.

Probably not.

But a man can dream.

The second my skates hit the ice, everything else disappears. The noise. The crowd. The weight in my chest. It’s all gone, except for two things: winning this game, and her.

My wife is pressed up against the glass wearing our name on her back, and seeing her there ignites something in me. She’s why I can’t afford to lose. Not this game. Not against Luke. Never again. There’s no backup plan when failure means Luke getting any part of her.

I fall in line with the boys, circling the boards in our usual pre-game loop. The scrape of our blades usually locks me in, but tonight, everything feels off.

Dash coasts up beside me, hulking and silent, his eyes burn behind the cage of his helmet. “Focus,” he growls.

His annoyance isn’t his usual goalie-mode bullshit. He’s furious with me, and I can’t blame him.

I told him. He’s the only person who knows what I’m planning and he fucking hated it. So much so, he spent half an hour tearing me a new one over how monumentally stupid I’m being.

You’re a fucking idiot. You could lose everything, Cade.

Your degree, your contract, your future.

Hell, Luke’s practically salivating for the chance to destroy you and you’re just going to willingly walk in there and self-implode.

I know you’re a reckless motherfucker, but this is the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard you do.

Who the fuck knows what he’s got waiting for you out there.

His words echo in my head as he skates toward the goal, his shoulders rigid with disapproval.

He’s right. Of course he is. My giant goalie friend has never been wrong in his entire life.

Except for when he betrayed me and dated my sister, of course.

But I can’t be too angry about it because now it gives me leverage.

He has to help me with this. He might not want to, but he does.

The crowd roars as we take our positions, and I use that energy to fuel the aggression already burning in my veins. I shoulder-check a couple of Southern Collegiate players as I move. Not hard enough to draw attention, but enough to let them know I’m not here to play nice.

SoCol. Our biggest rivals and one of the dirtiest teams in all of college sports, have built their reputation on cheap shots and referee payoffs, clawing their way to championships through every underhanded trick in the book.

Perfect. Tonight I need an outlet for all this rage, and they're serving themselves up on a silver platter.

When the whistle blows and the ref drops the puck, Scotty launches himself forward, his stick crashing against SoCo’s center as they battle for control.

When the puck breaks free, I cut in fast, my stick snagging it before the other team can react.

I twist my body, shifting direction as I scan the ice.

Erik is open on the right side, so I pass it and he catches it cleanly, dodging an incoming defenseman before slamming a hard shot toward the net. Their goalie barely gets a piece of it as the puck bounces off the pads and ends up loose in the crease.

Scotty’s there in a heartbeat, bulldozing through the players as his stick stretches for the loose puck, which is knocked away in the last second. Southern Collegiate’s defense clears it down the ice, but Dash is on it, stopping it dead before it can get into the goal and flicking it toward Brooks.

We regroup and I dig in, sprinting up the ice, and my lungs burn as I try to break away from our opposition.

Brooks sees I’m open and passes me the puck.

This is it. One chance. It’s all I’ve got.

I drop my shoulder, selling the fake left so hard that the defender bites completely. His weight shifts, committing to the wrong direction, and I cut right so sharp that my skate blade carves a perfect arc on the ice.

The goalie’s eyes widen as I close the distance. He’s good, SoCol doesn’t recruit scrubs, but he’s also trapped between staying upright and dropping into position.

Time fractures. The crowd disappears.

It's just me, the puck, and sixty feet of frozen possibility.

I pull back my stick and fire. The puck rockets off my stick, straight to the top corner, and when the red light flashes, the crowd erupts.

Erik and Scotty crash into me in celebration.

“brIGHT! brIGHT! brIGHT!”

The chant thunders through the arena, and the only person I care to look at is Savannah. She’s hugging Madison, beaming as she celebrates. When our eyes connect, I tap my fingers against my chest, then point toward her.

For you, Pretty Girl.

Because it’s true. Everything I do is for her, and seeing her face light up in the stands, watching her jump and scream my name with that beautiful smile, knowing I’m the one making her smile, makes everything worth it.

We have a meeting with that lawyer about Adley tomorrow, which is another step toward giving Savannah and her sister the reunion they deserve.

Everything is falling into place. The game, the adoption, our future.

It’s all working out, which makes going to the fight feel less like suicide and more like a necessity, because when you have everything to lose, you fight twice as hard to protect it.

Luke thinks he can threaten my wife, mess with our family, tear down everything we've built together?

He's about to learn exactly how wrong he is.

The prospect of walking back into his world, of putting myself in his crosshairs again, should terrify me. Instead, it fills me with purpose.

I glance up at Savannah in the stands, her eyes shining with pride and love, and make her a silent promise.

Whatever happens in that ring, I'm coming home to her.

I have to.

I’m called off the ice for a line switch, and just like that, the rest of the game passes quickly. Southern Collegiate pushes us hard, which is expected. Their defense tightens and they manage to tie it up in the second period. We answer quickly with an assist from Erik and Scotty scoring easily.

Unsurprisingly, Dash is like having a wall in the net.

He shuts down almost every shot that comes his way, doing moves to make impossible saves, which I can only thank Bertha, his foam roller, for.

I may make fun of him about it, but that thing keeps him damn nimble to the point where you’d think he was toying with the opposition.

By the final minutes of the third, we’re still up by one.

That’s when they decide to pull their goalie so it’s six on five. Chaos. That’s the only way to describe the last minute of the game. Bodies fly, sticks clash, and they hammer us in our zone.

My focus is razor-sharp, waiting for any opportunity to present itself. When the puck’s loose, I snag it and cut hard to the boards, skating full speed toward the empty net.

Someone slams into me from behind, making me stumble, but I manage to twist my body just enough to flick the puck forward. It slides, slow at first, then picks up speed, crossing the blue line, drifting closer… closer…

It hits the back of the net.

Game. Over.

I barely have time to react before my teammates are on me, slamming me against the glass, shouting. The final buzzer blares, and the arena explodes around us.

We did it.

I grin, breathless, scanning the stands until I find Savannah again.

She’s watching me, her hands pressed to her lips, eyes glistening with pride.

Fuck, she’s beautiful.

It’s in that split second that something solidifies in my chest. I’m not just going to win this fight at Luke’s.

I’m going to destroy everything he holds dear because I would burn down the world if it meant Savannah could live a second longer.

I'd tear apart anyone who dared threaten her smile, her laugh, her life.

Luke thinks he knows what he's dealing with. He thinks I'm just some college hockey player who got in over his head with a girl who he views as disposable.

He has no idea what a man becomes when someone threatens his everything.

But he's about to find out.