Twisted Collide: The new sports romance in the Redville Saints series
Twisted Collide: Chapter 62

This fucking blows.

I’m in the penalty box, waiting for my time to end. All I want to do is get up from here.

My leg bounces against the bench as I watch the assholes from the other team get away with shit we’re being called on for.

The longer I watch, the more pissed I become.

It’s horseshit. That dick should have gotten a penalty for the last play, but no . . .

I pull my gaze away from the game. Needing to calm myself, I do the only thing I can. I search for her in the stands.

Stupid, yes, but it’s the only thing that ever seems to work.

She’s the only thing that makes me happy.

Not being with her is killing me.

I need to stay strong though.

The letter is a threat. I know it is. And until I know exactly who it’s from and what their intentions are, I need to protect her.

She’s not in her normal spot, which doesn’t mean she’s not here. She could have gotten up for a second, but as I scan the crowd, I spot someone I haven’t seen in years.

Fuck.

There, in the stands, in clear view as if it were planned, is my uncle.

The bastard I’ve been avoiding since I was eighteen. Even from here, I can see he’s still a bastard.

My hands clench in my gloves. What is this asshole doing here? No fucking way is this a coincidence. He’s here for me. But why?

The last time I saw him, we sat on opposite sides of the courtroom. After the judge awarded me custody of Molly, the dickhead scurried off like the weasel he is.

Finally, my time in the box is over. I shoot out, tearing across the ice, and drive my shoulder into the other team’s defenseman with a sickening force. When he drops his stick and takes a swing, I toss mine, taking out all my frustration on this asshole. The crowd roars as we go head-to-head, punches thrown.

The refs, of course, are quick to break us apart, hauling me off him and sending me right back to the penalty box.

As soon as my ass hits the steel bench, I search for my uncle, but he’s not there.

Did I imagine him?

I close my eyes, willing the game to end.

Behind my lids, I see his mocking face.

The way he went after Molly.

I did everything I needed to make sure she never ended up in his hands.

The man is a monster.

When the final horn blasts that the game is over, red-hot anger courses through me.

We lost, and I’m well aware it’s partially my fault. I played like shit and was too busy fighting to defend my men properly.

But my head wasn’t in the game, and now I have to change and replace him. Despite my earlier assessment that it was all in my mind, I know, in my heart, he’s here.

He has to be.

First—that monster never misses an opportunity to fuck me over.

Second—I wouldn’t conjure him, of all people.

As I walk out of the locker room, dressed, a security guard approaches me.

“Mr. Sinclair, a man claiming to be your uncle is trying to see you.”

Guess I didn’t have to search long.

“Where is he?”

“By the entrance. Would you like me to bring him to you?”

Do I? Or do I want to come outside to avoid a public shit show?

Both options suck.

I don’t want to be openly seen with him. Who knows why he’s here? That man was always after money. All those years ago, he thought Molly would be his payday. His intention to adopt her was never good.

Whatever he has to say to me is better said in private.

“Show him to the private room right beside the trainer’s office. That should be vacant.”

“Okay.”

I head in that direction, opening the door and waiting.

It’s not even two minutes later that the door swings open. He looks just as sketchy as the last time I saw him.

My father’s brother.

A real piece of work.

He’s just as bad as my dad, but this man never had the money my father did. Instead, he hated us for it.

When my parents died, he wanted the inheritance that their estate left behind and fought me tooth and nail to win custody of Molly.

An innocent pawn in his game.

I made sure that didn’t happen and haven’t seen him since.

When he walks into the room, there’s no question he’s still the same pathetic asshole, even after all this time.

The years haven’t been kind to him.

Gray streaks paint his dark hair. The strands look greasy against his weathered skin.

“My favorite nephew.”

“Your only nephew.”

“That doesn’t mean you aren’t my favorite.”

“Cut the shit.” I shake my freshly showered hair, flinging droplets all over his cheeks. “Tell me what you want.”

He smears the water off him. “Oh, I thought that would be obvious.”

“And I thought the cigarettes would’ve killed you by now. Unfortunately, we can’t always be right.”

He scowls before it transforms into a smirk, sending ants crawling up my skin. “I’m sure you’ve gotten my letter by now.”

Motherfucker.

He sent me the picture.

I move forward, ready to deal with him how I always wanted to deal with him. I’m not thinking straight. Without fail, he always manages to upend every ounce of my self-control.

He wags his finger, tsking, before he points up at the stadium camera above us. “I’ve always liked a good photo op, but something tells me this isn’t your most flattering angle.”

“I’m not that eighteen-year-old kid anymore, vying for any scrap of money I can to survive.” I step forward, angling my lips down, so they can’t be read. “I have resources to make your life a living hell, and I have absolutely no problem doing so. Cross me again, and I’ll remind you why men five times your size run when they see me coming.”

I don’t know what’s bravado and what’s a promise. Can I do something to him? Sure. But can I do it without facing consequences? Doubt it. I’ve made too many mistakes. Left too many skeletons. It’s already a miracle that my dirty secrets haven’t been discovered yet.

My uncle smiles widely now, his tobacco-stained teeth showing. “I spoke to your good friend Nick.”

A bomb detonates inside me.

He is not fucking around.

He knows.

“Nick? Good kid. Big imagination.” I keep my face void of all emotion.

Always appear strong. Never show your weakness.

“You can pretend you don’t know what I found out. It won’t change a thing.” He laughs. “You know, if you were a better friend, you’d send him to rehab. All it took was a few too many drinks, and he spilled all his secrets—and better yet, yours. He was a fountain of knowledge.”

I will never understand how anyone can harm their own family.

He’s an unwanted reminder that not all bonds are unbreakable.

I tip my chin up, feigning calm. “What do you want?”

“You know what I want.”

“It always comes down to money for you.”

“You wound me.” He brings a hand to his heart, pretending to keel over. “What if I had cancer treatment I need to pay for.”

“You don’t.”

“How do you know?”

“Because I’m never that lucky.”

“Touchy, touchy. Fine. Money is the most important thing in the world.” He lifts a brow. “I thought you, of all people, would know that.”

The meaning is as clear as fucking day.

He knows what I would do for it.

Sell my soul.

“And how much buys your silence?”

His dark eyes gleam. “Haven’t decided just yet.”

“And if I say no?”

“You won’t.” He steps closer, and the scent of booze infiltrates my nose. “Because I will take away the one thing you tried so hard to protect.”

“Touch a hair on Molly’s head, and the only green you’ll see for the rest of your life is the cemetary before I bury you in it.”

“Now, why would I do that? She’s the reason for all your troubles anyway.”

I don’t dignify that with a response.

“Fine.” He waves a hand. “I’ll leave Molly alone. She’s nothing compared to the other girl, anyway. Anyone ever tell you that windows are clear?” A high-pitched whistle soars past his lips. “Who knew the coach’s kid was so flexible?” He grins like a lunatic. And why not? He knows he has me. “I bet she tastes as good as she looks.”

That’s it.

I don’t even feel the last of my self-control draining.

In an instant, I have him plastered against the door.

He flails in my hold, his legs dangling comically. “Careful there, nephew. You wouldn’t want anyone to hear. How would the coach feel if I told him everything? Past. Present. I have pictures of that, too.”

He wriggles his body until I let him out of my hold, knowing nothing good will come out of touching him.

With a grin, he flicks my hands off his chest and steps out from where I cornered him. “I’ll be in contact.”

The scumbag doesn’t wait for me to respond.

He just walks out the way he came.

My skin buzzes with anger. Ribbons of rage loop around my throat, robbing me of my breath. I want to go after him, throw him against the wall, and pound the shit out of him within an inch of his life.

Fuck.

My fist flies out and punches the door.

The skin of my knuckles cracks, and red rivulets bubble to the surface.

I’m not used to this. Protecting people is wired in my DNA. Since I stepped into skates, Dad drilled it into me.

Protect, protect, protect.

Only this time…the person my loved ones need protecting from is me.