Brogan: A Carolina Reapers Novel Read online

  Brogan

  A Carolina Reapers Novel

  Samantha Whiskey

  Contents

  Also by Samantha Whiskey

  Now Available in Audio!

  1. Brogan

  2. Fiona

  3. Brogan

  4. Fiona

  5. Brogan

  6. Fiona

  7. Brogan

  8. Fiona

  9. Brogan

  10. Fiona

  11. Brogan

  12. Fiona

  13. Brogan

  14. Fiona

  15. Brogan

  16. Fiona

  17. Brogan

  18. Fiona

  19. Brogan

  20. Fiona

  21. Brogan

  Epilogue

  Connect With Me!

  About the Author

  Acknowledgments

  Copyright © 2021 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.

  Also by Samantha Whiskey

  The Seattle Sharks Series:

  Grinder

  Enforcer

  Winger

  Rookie

  Blocker

  Skater

  Bruiser

  Wheeler

  Defender

  The Carolina Reapers Series:

  Axel

  Sawyer

  Connell

  Logan

  Cannon

  Sterling

  Briggs

  Caspian

  Brogan

  The Raleigh Raptors Series:

  Nixon

  Roman

  Hendrix

  An Onyx Assassins Novel:

  Crimson Covenant

  Crimson Highlander

  Crimson Warrior

  Crimson Truth

  A Modern-Day Fairytale Romance:

  The Crown

  The Throne

  Now Available in Audio!

  Grinder

  Enforcer

  Winger

  Rookie

  Let the Seattle Sharks spice up your morning commute!

  To Those Who Never Back Down

  1

  Brogan

  “I’m telling you, this is our year,” Sterling said as we jogged on the trails behind the housing development we called Reaper Village. All but a few of the Carolina Reapers, our NHL team, lived in the subdivision, including me.

  “Stop saying shit like that,” Maxim snapped, shaking his head as we started up the last hill of the trail. “You’ll jinx us.”

  “I don’t believe in that jinxing shit,” Sterling argued. “Luck is only what you make of it.”

  Sometimes it was hard to believe the two were brothers. They’d been raised by different mothers in different households, but though their asshole dad, NHL legend Sergei Zoltov, who had basically hidden Sterling away like a dirty little secret, had played a front-and-center role in Maxim’s childhood. Most days I thought Sterling was probably better off.

  Then again, what the hell did I know? My parents had died when I was six, and I’d been raised by my aunt and uncle who didn’t exactly have much time for another mouth with the eight kids they already had. I’d had my fill of kids growing up and had zero desire to ever bring one into my life on a permanent basis, which was good considering I’d probably make a shit parent.

  “I’m just saying that we’re looking good,” Sterling continued as we crested the hill, our shoes crunching on the red gravel of the trail as we kept a good pace. “We signed some good rookies—”

  “Which was the only benefit of losing during playoffs last year,” Maxim interrupted.

  “And from what I’ve seen, we’re all still in pretty damn good shape,” Sterling continued.

  “If London keeps feeding you cookies, you’re going to be in a round shape,” Maxim quipped, a smirk tilting his lips.

  “Fuck off,” Sterling shoved his brother in the shoulder, sending Maxim into the tall grass for a few strides. “What do you think, Brogan? Do we have a shot at the cup this year?”

  I shook my head at both of them, my breathing even and steady, whereas Sterling’s was starting to strain a little. The guy wasn’t out of shape—we’d just finished seven miles—but Maxim and I were both still going steady as ever. That’s what happens when you get married and your priorities change.

  Fuck that noise. My only priority was my career and taking my team as far as we could get this year. Everything else was taking a sideline.

  “Come on, I know you have an opinion,” Sterling urged.

  “My opinion is that you two should shut the hell up and let us finish this run.” I threw them a wicked grin and kicked on my afterburners, tearing up the trail as I raced toward the open, wooden fencing that marked the start of the neighborhood.

  “Fucker’s fast,” Sterling muttered.

  “Just faster than you!” Maxim called back, hot on my heels.

  Sweat poured off my body as I beat them to the opening in the fence, courtesy of our run and the August humidity South Carolina was known for. It was supposed to get up to one hundred and four today, and it was already in the eighties at seven a.m..

  “You. Two. Fucking. Suck,” Sterling wheezed as he met us, leaning over and bracing his hands on his knees as he gulped in air.

  “It’s the cookies,” Maxim said with a laugh as we started walking again, taking the trail that ended just before the start of the cul-de-sac.

  A smile tugged at my lips as we walked down the sidewalk, cooling down.

  The neighborhood was a mix of styles, from modern farmhouse to minimalist, each house somehow exactly fitting the personality of the player who lived inside. The rules of the community were simple. You didn’t have to live here as a Reaper, but you couldn’t live here unless you were one. Asher Silas, the tech billionaire who started the franchise, had built it for the express purpose of making our team feel like a family, and in that he’d succeeded.

  We were loyal at best and dysfunctional at worst, but we were a family.

  A red sedan sped down the street, blowing by us way faster than the twenty-five-mile-per-hour speed limit in the neighborhood.

  “Slow down!” Sterling shouted at the taillights. “Kids live here!” The car zipped around the curve in the road, obviously not hearing Sterling, or not caring.

  “Asshole,” I muttered.

  “Fuck,” Maxim swore, wiping the sweat from his forehead with the bottom of his shirt. “Good thing school’s not in session or some of the kids would have been on the sidewalks.”

  We didn’t have a ton of kids on the Reapers, but there were more than a few in the neighborhood.

  “And this is where I leave you,” Sterling said with a wave, heading down the street toward his house.

  “For the good of the team, lay off the fucking cookies!” Maxim shouted after him.

  Sterling flipped him the middle finger in return.

  “Give your brother a break. He’s in great shape,” I said as we approached the section of the street that belonged to us. Maxim lived next
door to Sterling—which had caused hellish conflict our first year here, but I lived across the street from Maxim, just where the cul-de-sac opened up.

  “I just enjoy fucking with him,” Maxim admitted with a grin. His brow furrowed as he looked over my shoulder. “Looks like you had a package delivered.”

  I turned, spotting the dark parcel just in front of my front door. “It’s too damned early for deliveries.” A few strides later, and I was at the front steps that led up to my southern-style wrap-around porch. “What the actual fuck?”

  “What is it?” Maxim called from across the street.

  My stomach lurched sideways.

  It was a fucking car seat, the kind new babies rode around in, like the one Axel had been toting his son, Colin, around in since he’d been born a couple of weeks ago. Was this some kind of prank?

  “Brogan?” Maxim asked, his voice sounding closer as I took the stairs slowly.

  Yep, that was a baby carrier. The black shade with pink piping was up, disguising its contents, and there were two carry-on sized suitcases flanking it.

  “What the hell?” Maxim asked, appearing at my side. “Were you supposed to babysit Colin or something?”

  I gave him a WTF look. “Do you honestly think I’m signing up for babysitting duty?” I fucking hated kids. Well, not all kids, just most of them. They were messy, noisy, and made constant demands for things I wasn’t capable of...things like unconditional affection and love.

  “Good point,” Maxim answered, both of us taking that last step so we stood on the porch, just a few feet away from the baby carrier.

  “And it’s not like Langley would just leave Colin to hang on my porch while we were running,” I noted, kind of wishing that wasn’t the case. At least that would have been an explanation for whatever the fuck was happening right now.

  “Maybe it’s a prank,” Maxim suggested as we both leaned forward, our feet planted like we were both incapable of taking another step.

  “It’s probably empty.” God, please let that fucking thing be empty.

  “Yeah. Totally.” Maxim nodded, his dark brows furrowing.

  I reached forward once, then snatched my hand back. “What if it’s not empty?”

  “It’s empty,” Maxim answered. “It has to be.”

  “Right.” I nodded.

  The car seat rocked back slightly, and the distinct wail of a pissed-off infant filled the air.

  “Oh fuck,” I muttered, jolting forward. I gripped the black carrying handle, and turned the carrier around to face us.

  A baby—a girl, if all the pink was any indication—looked up at me with teary, indignant eyes and shook her fists as she let out another yell.

  “That’s a baby,” Maxim said slowly.

  My chest constricted as I stared at the infant. Her hair was dark and her eyes were a brilliant, bright blue, but there was something about the shape of those eyes that had my pulse pounding an erratic beat. The tiny upturn at the tip of her nose and the heart-shaped face were familiar enough to knock me on my ass.

  The kid looked just like baby pictures of my mom.

  And the way she was screaming at the world? Like someone had dealt her the shittiest hand possible? That was all me.

  What the actual fuck.

  “Okay, and what other proof do you have?” Asher asked an hour later as we crowded into into his glass-walled office at the top of Reaper Arena.

  “Besides the baby with my mom’s eyes and the letter stuffed into her car seat that says, ‘Hey, remember that one-night stand you had in Miami last August? Well, this is your daughter, Skye, and now she’s all yours?’” I motioned to the note Asher held in his hand as he leaned back in the chair behind his desk. “That’s it.” I sat back on the edge of the desk and stared at the red-faced infant that was supposedly mine.

  “She’s the cutest!” London said as she bounced the baby on her hip, making laps around the conference table that took up the rest of the office. Apparently, that was the only way to calm the tiny human down. Maybe she hated that pink, one-piece pajama-looking thing she was wearing. It looked like she could hardly stretch out in it.

  “Don’t get any ideas,” Sterling said to London with a smile, enjoying his seat at the table as Maxim looked on with a furrowed brow.

  “There’s no paternity test,” Asher muttered, flipping the letter over and examining the back. “Do you remember anyone named Tiffany?”

  I shook my head. “That whole fucking weekend is a blur.” It had been a single guy’s trip—the last before the season started—and I’d tied one on pretty fucking well.

  “Well, that’s encouraging,” Asher said, cocking a brow at me.

  “She obviously knew where you live,” Maxim noted, leaning forward and bracing his elbows on the table as London passed by, carrying the baby.

  “That’s not hard to find online,” Asher countered. “And look—” He put his hands up. “I’m not saying that’s not your kid, but I’m not about to sit by and let you get taken advantage of if she’s not.”

  I nodded, which was pretty much all I’d managed to do since calling Asher from my front porch. His answer had been instant and easy—meet him at his office. He handled every issue on our team as a family matter first and foremost.

  Holy fucking shit, did I actually have a family? Was that kid mine?

  I always wore protection. Always. But what if I’d been so trashed that I’d slipped up? How the fuck would I have let that happen?

  The door burst open and Axel, our captain, appeared. The giant Swede was carrying a car seat that looked just like Skye’s, except blue. His firecracker of a wife, Langley, walked in right after him.

  “You’re supposed to be on maternity leave!” Asher snapped.

  Langley narrowed her eyes at Asher, which was something not many people did without fear of repercussion. “I think this calls for an exception, don’t you?”

  “Fuck, Langley, you just had him like four days ago or something,” Asher muttered.

  “It’s been two weeks,” Axel countered, “And trust me, I did everything I could to keep her at home, short of tying her to the damned bed.” He set the carrier down on the floor, clear of London’s pacing path.

  London passed us again, and I turned in my chair to watch. The baby was gnawing on a fist in between spurts of yells that bounced off the glass walls and only seemed to increase in volume.

  “Well, she yells like you,” Langley said with a slight smile.

  “I’d be yelling too if I’d just been dropped on my porch, too,” I muttered, tearing a hand through my dark hair, which I realized was the same shade as Skye’s. “What are we supposed to do?” I asked Asher. “Procedure wise, we call the cops, right?”

  The women in the room gasped and both spun to face me, outrage lined on their features.

  “What?” My jaw ticked. “If someone abandons a kid, you call the cops.”

  “They’ll put her in foster care!” London hissed, covering one of Skye’s ears like she’d understand.

  Shit. When had I started thinking of her as Skye and not the baby? Wait. Foster care? Nausea rolled up to my throat. I’d been in foster care for the first month after Mom and Dad died and I wouldn't wish that kind of hell on my worst enemy.

  “You don’t know if she’s yours!” Langley argued.

  “There’s something to be said for that,” Asher said slowly. “I’m not saying don’t inform the police. But maybe we should have a rush paternity test done before that happens. You have a better chance of keeping her in your house with one of those in hand.”

  In my house?

  What the fuck was I supposed to do with a baby? Ice-cold tendrils of panic raced up my spine, freezing my muscles and my thoughts. Father.

  I couldn’t be a father. That kid—hell, any kid—deserved someone a hell of a lot better than I was. They called me Demon on the ice, and it wasn’t just because I was faster than a bat out of hell. It was because my temper was legendary. I was one of the Rea
pers’ enforcers, a fighter by nature. My hands were built for beating the shit out of my opponents, not holding a baby, and there was way more to parenting than holding a baby. There was...everything.

  Shit, she was still crying.

  “Does she have a bottle or something?” I asked, my grip tightening on Asher’s desk. The sound of her cry made me want to rip apart the room until I found something to make it stop.

  “Now I know why the army uses baby cries for psy-ops,” Maxim muttered, flinching when she hit an especially ear-piercing pitch.

  “I already fed her,” London said, adjusting her hold. “She’s clean, too.”

  Thank God, because I’d never changed a diaper. Ever. Fuck. Diapers, wipes, cribs, clothes, bottles, formula...babies needed a lot of stuff, and I had nothing.

  She might not even be yours.

  The logical thought kept beating around in my skull, demanding to be acknowledged. NHL stars were banks to some people, and there was a good chance that this was just a scheme cooked up for an easy payday.

  But there was something...an intangible, unidentifiable feeling that defied logic and screamed that she was mine.

  “Brogan, are you listening?” Langley asked, waving her hand in front of my face.

  “Sorry,” I muttered, shaking my head a little. “I can’t really think with her screaming like that.”

  Her eyes softened with compassion. “Yeah, that happens. Just wait until it’s three a.m. and your brain quits.” She gave me a soft smile. “It’s going to be okay. I already have a plan.”

  “Of course you do,” Axel said with a quick smile and a roll of his eyes.