“And I rest my case.”

Cella looked at Crush, but he only shrugged. “It’s up to you. But I should remind you that you invited Hannah to the try—”

“Oh, my God!” Cella pointed at Reed. “Round up a few of the guys and all of you get on your gear. I’ll meet you in the rink.”

“Okay.”

Cella ran back to her locker and yanked out her equipment, quickly putting everything on.

Without opening her eyes, Sophie knew someone was in the Atlantic City hotel room with her, and even as she reached for the gun she kept under her pillow, she already knew it wouldn’t be there.

It wasn’t.

“Might as well get up, darlin’. Ain’t got all day.”

Her mind scrambling for a way out of this, Sophie sat up, her eyes straying to the two windows closest to her and the door. Maybe she could—

“You’ll never make it out of here before I catch ya. We both know that.”

They did. Sophie studied the tall, big-shouldered female sitting across from her. In the twenty-three years Sophie DiMarco had been on this earth, she’d learned how to read people. It was a skill that had kept her alive and relatively unscathed. When she’d picked up that bleeding guy, she’d known she was safe with him. Not just because he was bleeding out in the car, but because she could tell. She sensed it.

With this woman, however ... she knew if she ran, the bitch would kill her and it wouldn’t even cross her mind again once it was over.

“What do you want?”

Eyes like a dog’s blinked at her. “I need you to show me where you picked up that boy.”

“Can’t I just give you—?”

“It’s not that I don’t trust you ... I just don’t trust anybody. So show me where it was.”

“And then what?”

“Darlin’, if I was gonna kill you, I’d have done it by now. But commitments were made and I hold to those.”

“Yeah, but—”

“You want that boy safe, don’t you?”

“I guess. I mean, I don’t really know him or anything.”

“You always pick up strangers bleeding out on the street?”

Realizing the woman was either going to kill her or not and there was nothing Sophie could do about it, she admitted, “That isn’t what I saw. And we both know it.”

“Help me,” the woman said. “And I’ll make sure no one bothers you.” She leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees, and added, “As long as you keep your mouth shut.”

Crush followed Cella to the rink, then stood outside. A few seconds later, Reed and the rest of the players he’d managed to find at the Sports Center ran by, with their gear on except for theirskates. Crush grabbed the handle and pulled the door open, allowing the team to charge inside. Reed stopped. “You coming in?”

“The sign”—he pointed at the big sign that had several stadium guards standing around it—“says only players and tryout invitees. I’m neither.”

The wolf grinned. “Ain’t you cute.” Then he grabbed Crush by the shoulder of his sweatshirt and hauled him inside.

“Are you sure this is okay? I mean—”

“Quiet, son. And just watch your woman work.”

Cella skated across the ice toward Novikov. Novikov, who was in the middle of a tirade against some kid that didn’t even look eighteen years old.

Cella maneuvered between the two, coming to an immediate stop in front of Novikov. “What is wrong with you?” she asked him.

“Nothing. Why are you here?”

“I’m here to help.”

“You can’t. You’re not on the team.”

“I can’t help, you idiot, during a game. There’s nothing that says I can’t help with tryouts.”

“You’re supposed to be getting me an enforcer from the losers we already have. I’ll handle the new losers.”

Cella closed her eyes, took a deep breath. “Can I talk to you for a minute?”

“Not if you’re just going to yell at me about how I shouldn’t call any of these idiots ‘losers.’ Especially when you’re not even on the team anymore.”

Cella opened her eyes, looking up at the seven-one hybrid through those black lashes.

“Uh-oh,” Crush muttered.

“Yeah,” Reed agreed. “I was thinking the same thing.”

Cella skated off across the ice, stopped at one of the other exits, and walked out.

Reed looked at him. “That’s it?”

“Doubt it.”

Novikov was already back to destroying the hopes and dreams of complete strangers when Cella came in again. She skated over to him and stopped, gazing up at him.

“What? You’re back? Why?”

“You did ... didn’t you?” a small voice said, and Crush and Reed leaned over to see who was standing in that entrance Cella had just come through.

“Oh, man,” Reed muttered. “Malone is stone cold.”

“I know.”

Novikov glared at Cella, then faced his fiancée. “Blayne—”

“You!” the wolfdog exploded, “are a horrible, horrible man! How could you say that to Cella after all she’s been through? I’ll never marry you! Never!”

Blayne ran out and Novikov handed his stick over to Cella. “I hate you,” he told her.