Enforcer (Seattle Sharks Book 2) Read online

  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Epilogue

  Epilogue

  Enforcer

  Samantha Whiskey

  Contents

  Enforcer

  1. Rory

  2. Paige

  3. Rory

  4. Paige

  5. Rory

  6. Paige

  7. Rory

  8. Paige

  9. Rory

  10. Paige

  11. Rory

  12. Paige

  13. Rory

  14. Paige

  15. Rory

  16. Paige

  17. Rory

  18. Paige

  Epilogue

  The Seattle Sharks Have Bite!

  About the Author

  Acknowledgments

  GRINDER

  Gage

  Bailey

  Gage

  Bailey

  Gage

  Bailey

  Gage

  Bailey

  Gage

  Bailey

  Gage

  Bailey

  Gage

  Bailey

  Gage

  Bailey

  Gage

  Bailey

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  Acknowledgments

  Enforcer

  A Seattle Sharks Novel

  Samantha Whiskey

  Copyright © 2017 by Samantha Whiskey, LLC All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review. This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental. This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This 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 person you’d like to share it with. Thank you for respecting the author’s work.

  Cover Design: Mayhem Creations

  ISBN# eBook:

  978-1-946356-94-9

  ISBN# Paperback:

  978-1-946356-95-6

  To anyone who ever had a celebrity crush.

  Chapter 1

  Rory

  Here I am, again. I glanced down at the bruises marring the knuckles of my right hand and muttered a curse. Coach was going to fucking kill me. Fighting on the ice was one thing but in a bar? Yeah, I was pretty much screwed. Given the fact that I’d been sitting here since early this morning, my guess was he not only knew but had decided to let me stew.

  My temper had been sitting at a simmer since I’d been handcuffed. My ass was numb from the hard metal of the bench, my mouth tasted like something was slowly dying in there, and I smelled like bar smoke and stale beer.

  This was definitely not the image my publicist had been trying to cultivate.

  “Jackson, Rory,” the cop called out from outside my cell, glancing up from his clipboard.

  “That’s me,” I said, standing.

  “You look like shit,” a familiar voice said from next to the cop.

  “I’ll give you a second,” the cop said, holding an autographed Seattle Sharks hat in his other hand.

  That’s how Gage got back here.

  “You would too if you’d slept here.” I snapped at my best friend, gesturing to the cells all around me. At least I’d had my little 10X10 to myself. Perks of clearing $8 million last year, I guessed. Gage lifted one black eyebrow and shook his head.

  “I wouldn’t be in the jail cell. Oh, wait. That’s right. I’m not.”

  I folded my arms across my chest. “I’m not in the mood for your shit.”

  From the corner of my eye, I saw at least three of the other guys—who’d been brought in way after I was—leaning forward against their bars. Not that I could blame them. Gage and I were two of the best-paid and well-played Seattle Sharks—the hometown NHL team. “Just get me out of here,” I ordered, lowering my voice.

  “Why would I do that?” Gage asked. “At least if you’re in here, I know you’re not out there getting in trouble. You do realize Coach is going to bench your ass, don’t you?

  I sighed, my shoulders drooping, and rubbed my hand over my forehead. “Yeah, I know.”

  “And you do realize that this is the first year we could actually win the Cup?”

  “Yes.”

  “And you realize that you’re on your seventeenth strike of his ‘three strikes and you’re out’ policy?”

  “God damn it, yes, I know that,” I hissed.

  “Then what the fuck were you thinking?”

  “The guy was an asshole,” I said with a shrug.

  “So you hit him.”

  “He tried to hit me first.” And the minute he’d swung, hell the moment anyone swung, they all became him in my mind.

  Gage shook his head and looked at the ceiling like he was hoping God would come down and save him. “Un-fucking-believable.” A couple of deep breaths later, he finally looked at me again. That amazing control was what made Gage a fantastic grinder on the ice. My temper was what made me the Seattle Shark’s best enforcer, but it was also my biggest liability. “Grow the fuck up, Rory.”

  “Working on it,” I told him.

  “We’re ready,” Gage called over his shoulder, and the cop reappeared. A few quick motions and he had my cell unlocked.

  “You’re free to go,” he said.

  “Thank you…” I glanced at his nametag, “Officer Jonas.”

  About ten minutes, a few signed papers, and one plastic bag with my belongings later, we were in Gage’s car, pulling into Seattle traffic.

  “My truck is still at the bar,” I told him when he made a turn in the opposite direction.

  “We’re headed to my house. Bailey picked up your tux—so remember to thank her—and if we’re fast, we can still make it in time.”

  “Make it in time…” My brows lowered. What was I forgetting?

  “If you forgot, you’d better pray that Coach comes for you because Bailey will kill you on Paige’s behalf.” He wove in and out of traffic, his nearly-dangerous driving at odds with the small booster seat in the back of his car that established his dad status.

  Paige. Gage’s fiancée’s best friend and the current subject of most of my fantasies lately. Okay, all of my fantasies. She was fucking perfect—petite, gorgeous, with a body that begged to be stripped out of those super-serious suits for some super-serious fucking. She was brilliant, and not just in a ‘yeah-she’s-smart,’ kind of way. No. She was Ivy League and the only girl I considered out of my league.

  “Paige’s fundraising gala,” I muttered, rubbing my hands over my face.

  “Bingo,” Gage said, crossing three lanes of traffic for the exit.

  “Fuck, I forgot that was tonight. It’s not like every other Shark won’t be there. She won’t notice one empty seat.”

  Gage pointed to the dash clock. “Red carpet is at five, which means we have exactly an hour to get ready and get there. And yes, when it comes to you, she absol
utely will notice.”

  Right. I did promise to autograph all those sticks. Shit.

  “Okay.” I ran through a quick mental schedule. At least I’d have time for a shower, so I wouldn’t show up smelling like I’d spent last night and the better part of today in a drunk tank.

  We pulled into Gage’s driveway as my cell phone rang.

  “It’s Coach Harris,” I groaned.

  Gage killed the engine and slapped my shoulder. “Good luck, with that. Your tux is in the guest room when you’re ready.”

  “Thanks, man.”

  I answered the call as Gage shut the door, leaving me alone in the car.

  “Coach.”

  “Jackson.” His voice was soft, which I knew meant he was way more pissed than when he yelled.

  “I have no excuses and I know it’s not enough to apologize,” I said, leaning my head back against the rest.

  “You’re damn right you don’t, and it’s not. Look, the guy agreed not to press charges—”

  I breathed a huge sigh of relief.

  “—but I can’t exactly look like I’m letting you off the hook on this one.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “You’re way past the age where you should be pulling this shit, let alone two months before playoffs when we’re an actual contender.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Now it was his turn to sigh. “Look, Rory. You’re good. Damn good. You and I both know it. But this has to stop. There’s a line between being a playboy with a temper and getting your ass thrown in jail. It looks bad on me, the team—hell, the whole franchise. You cannot be the face of the Sharks if you’re wearing orange, you get me?”

  “Yes, sir,” I repeated, waiting for the other shoe to drop. My no-trade clause ended at the end of the season, and for the first time in my career, apprehension ran up my spine that I wouldn’t be in Seattle next year.

  “I have to bench you this weekend.”

  “Coach—”

  “No, you sit there and listen. Take this weekend and figure out what the hell it is you’re doing, and how much you really want to be a Shark. This can’t happen again.”

  “I understand.”

  “If it does…then we’ll have to take the hit to the roster and bench you for the season. And then…”

  “Yeah, I get the picture.”

  “Clean up your image. Hire a better publicist, or hell, just listen to the one you have. But for fuck’s sake, stop acting like a hormonal teenager with something to prove.”

  “Got it, Coach.”

  We hung up, and I made my way into Gage’s house, going through the garage door. We made the same salary, but we couldn’t live any more differently. Where I had a two bedroom penthouse loft downtown, Gage was up here on the hill with a huge house, complete with painted pictures on the refrigerator and an array of toys in the living room. He had something I didn’t, and didn’t know if I’d ever be lucky enough to have—a family.

  “Hey, need some water?” Bailey asked from the kitchen as I walked by.

  “That would be great, thank you,” I said as she handed it over. The diamond on her left hand looked good on her—so did the small swell of her belly where another McPherson was growing. “Where’s Lettie?” I asked, looking for their precocious four-year-old.

  “With Gage’s mom,” she said with a smile.

  “Wow, you look gorgeous,” I told her, taking in the arrangement of brown hair on the top of her head and sweeping black dress.

  “Thank you. Now you’d better get dressed before I’m forced to kick your ass.” She nodded toward the guest bedroom, and I saluted her with the water bottle, draining it on the way to the shower.

  I washed the bar and jail grime off, thankful that I kept a small toiletry kit here for nights I was too drunk to drive after our weekly poker game. Ten minutes later, I had clean hair, scrubbed skin, and brushed teeth.

  Wrapping a clean, white towel around my waist, I walked into the guest bedroom and stopped dead in my tracks.

  “Oh!” Paige said, her mouth a delicious O shape. Her eyes ran hungrily down my bare chest, and I resisted the urge to flex.

  Guess she did notice me after all.

  Her red hair looked soft enough to touch, and the hue of her red lipstick against her pale skin made me wonder what those lips would look like wrapped around my cock.

  Do not think like that about Bailey’s best friend.

  What the hell was I supposed to think about when she was standing there in a bathrobe? One simple tug of the belt and she’d be naked—all milky white skin and pert breasts.

  Shit, if I didn’t get ahold of my thoughts, they’d make themselves known soon. The towel wasn’t going to hide much.

  “I’m so sorry,” she said, her voice sweet and clear. “I meant to be out of here by now.” She tugged on her lower lip with her teeth and I cursed my semi-hard on that was going to be a full one soon.

  “No problem. I enjoy finding partially-clothed beautiful women.” I smiled, and she blinked quickly for a moment.

  Then something marvelous happened—she stood straighter, her chin rose, and she morphed from shy, delicate Paige, to Vice President of CranBaby Organics Paige, calm and collected. Damn, I couldn’t decide which was sexier.

  “I’ll just grab a dress and change in the bathroom.”

  I followed her gaze to two dresses hanging on the closet door. One was black and elegant with a simple scoop neck and lace overlay with cap sleeves. It was refined and screamed perfect for the Paige I couldn’t touch.

  The other was red, strapless, and would hug every one of her delectable curves. It was the dress for the Paige that might ogle my bare chest.

  “The red,” I suggested, my voice gravelly.

  Her green eyes widened subtly as they found mine. “You sure?”

  There was a palpable zing between us, the mark of hot as hell chemistry that I’d never experienced on a level like this before.

  Bailey’s best friend.

  Bailey’s best friend.

  Bailey’s best…oh, fuck it.

  “I’m sure. Wear the red.” I forced a smile and hoped it was charming instead of horny as fuck. “And save me a dance.”

  “Okay,” she said softly, taking the dress and damn-near running from the room. Since I stood in the doorway from the attached bathroom, I couldn’t help but wonder exactly where she was going to change…or why she’d left so fast that I’d wanted to check for fires.

  “Down boy,” I told my dick.

  I found my tux and started to dress, trying—and failing—to keep my mind off Paige and how she was going to look in that dress later.

  She wasn’t the girl for me. She was smart, put together, driven, and straight as an arrow. Hell, I doubt she’d ever even parked illegally. She was the kind of girl you built a house for, not the kind you hailed a cab for after a marathon of sex. Hell, I couldn’t even get my hands on her, not with her connection to Gage.

  She was off limits in every way.

  Well, every way but my fantasies...and I had a feeling her ass in that red dress was going to make more than one appearance there tonight.

  Chapter 2

  Paige

  #7: Sleep With / Fuck Rory Jackson.

  The number on the dirty-girl bucket list Jeannine had made Bailey and myself make over cocktails one night burned in my mind as red as the dress I wore. The dress Mr. Jackson himself had chosen for me. I’d known the modest black gown was the option I should’ve selected but when he’d pointed to the red something inside me sparked, and I couldn’t say no to him. It may have had something to do with the white cotton towel barely hanging onto his perfect hips—complete with lickable v lines and a rock hard abs I wanted to trace with my fingertips.

  I shifted anxiously in my seat next to Bailey in the back of the limo I’d arranged to pick us up at her house and did everything I could not to look at Rory. He sat next to Gage across from us, staring out the window with his brow furrowed like he was mentally tryi
ng to hold the world together.

  What on earth could the playboy Shark have to worry about?

  Like a magnet, the sight of him tugged at my chest, begging me to smooth the wrinkle away and tell him whatever it was couldn’t be that bad. The man had everything from a celebrity athlete status to an endless supply of puck bunnies and fantastic parties to attend plus a job he loved and was damn good at. Just thinking about him on the ice sent warm shivers all over my skin and I licked my lips unconsciously.

  Rory blinked and flipped his gaze to me, catching me practically drooling over him. I jerked my head around so fast I nearly hit Bailey with my nose.

  “Paige?” She asked, placing a steady hand on my shoulder. “You all right?”

  Blood rushed to my cheeks, and I straightened my back. “Perfectly fine.”

  Bailey arched a knowing brow at me, but when I briefly glanced toward the two gorgeous hockey players sitting merely a foot from us, she nodded. There would be time to talk later and damn if I didn’t need her to shake some sense into me. My undeniable urge to dive across the seat and straddle Rory to check off number seven on the list right here and now was almost as consuming as the knowledge that I absolutely couldn’t do that.

  Our limo finally pulled up to the Four Seasons, and I sucked in an encouraging breath. We were next in line, just like everything else in my life. As Vice President, I loved being the behind-the-scenes brains of CranBaby Organics. After all, it was my family’s multi-billion dollar corporation, but I’d yet to really feel comfortable with the more public aspect.

  This black-tie gala was more than public…it was press-worthy. Dozens of flash bulbs went off as I prepared to get out of the limo, careful to keep my good-girl covered. The last thing Dad needed was to see my panties splashed on page one of the social section of the Seattle Times—not when I was this close to finally taking over as president.

  Seven years of working my way up from the bottom floor, earning my position within my father’s company—despite the disbelief of outsiders—and my dream was finally coming true. Not only would I be the head of one of the largest global family products companies in the world, but I’d also be in a position of power to make a real difference, and I knew just where to start—Seattle’s homeless and underprivileged. For years I’d dreamed of revolutionizing the concept of the shelter. I wanted to make them bigger, better-stocked with food and supplies—really transform the system into a working outsource program. Give those who’d lost everything an honest chance and not the glossed over photo-op they had now.