Power Play (Nashville Assassins: Next Generation Book 2) Read online

  Power Play

  The Nashville Assassins: Next Generation

  Toni Aleo

  Copyright © 2019 by Toni Aleo

  All rights reserved.

  Power Play is a work of fiction. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Editing by: Lisa Hollett of Silently Correcting Your Grammar

  Proofing by: Jenny Rarden

  Cover Design: Lori Jackson Design

  Created with Vellum

  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

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Epilogue

  Also by Toni Aleo

  Acknowledgments

  About Toni Aleo

  This book is dedicated to my nieces:

  Madison, Kaley, Abby, and Emma

  May all of you be as strong as Posey Adler.

  Chapter One

  Posey

  Ally: So, the shitith has hitith the fanith.

  Shelli: Um, Dad is freaking out. You’re not seriously moving to Colorado, right? Just a visit to get your head out of your ass?

  Mom: Posey, I swear on everything holy, you best call me. I don’t care if you are twenty-one, I will skin your ass!

  Evan: I feel you might want to abort that mission before Dad comes.

  Quinn: Just FYI, Mom and Dad are PISSED. Don’t answer your phone.

  Owen: Are you seriously chasing after this dude? You know he’s been screwing Stella, right? Like super banging. All the time. All over the place. Surprised she isn’t knocked up.

  Owen: Okay, maybe not super banging, but I don’t think going after him is a good idea. He isn’t that good of a player either. At least go for someone who is good at hockey. You don’t want to be better than them.

  Quinn: Whatever you decide, I stand by you and I love you. But I don’t think this is a good idea. Also, don’t call Dad.

  Dad: Call. Me. Now.

  Dad: If the periods don’t say I mean business, I mean business. Call me, Posey. Now.

  Shelli: Posey, come on. You need to call me. Let’s discuss this before you embarrass yourself.

  Uncle Jakob: I didn’t tell your parents. I did tell Harper, though, and she told your mom, so this may be my fault.

  Evan: Just throwing this out there… Might want to shut your phone off.

  I swallow hard as I power off my phone. As soon as I turned it on after the plane landed, I was bombarded with texts and voice mails. I assume word got out that I left. I should have known my uncle would rat me out. Maybe it’s because he’s not biologically related to me. I bet that’s it. While my cousin, my siblings, and my parents all think this trip is a bad idea, I know it’s not. I have to try. I can’t let him go without him knowing how I feel and knowing how he feels for me.

  Maxim. Maxim Turgenev.

  The love of my life.

  I want to say I fell in love with Maxim the first day I met him, but I know that’s not true. Though, some would fall for him just for his looks. He is gorgeous. He has this boyish air to him, a friendly smile that is very misleading. You’d think he was sweet and kind—and he is…off the ice—but on the ice, he is ruthless. I love that. I love how he plays with no holds barred. When he is on the ice, he makes sure he’s making a play. It’s fun to watch. He also has these unstoppable brown eyes that sometimes look black. His hair is a dirty-blond that he keeps long on top so it falls into his eyes. His lips are thin and his jaw angular and strong. He is tall and very trim. He should be faster on the ice, and he’s working on that. Though, none of that matters when he holds me. In his arms, everything seems right in the world, and he has held me a lot this past year.

  The first time he did it was when I helped him complete a full sentence.

  I am a hockey player.

  So trivial, so silly, but he hugged me like he’d won the lottery, and he didn’t let go. I remember thinking, This gorgeous man is holding me in his arms. I think I might die. But it wasn’t his looks that made it hard to breathe. No, it was his lack of English. I love me a good accent, and Maxim has one. When he moved in, I took on the role of teaching him how to speak and write English. We spent countless hours together, not only at the kitchen counter but also on the ice. We watched Netflix, we laughed, and then I fell. I don’t even know how it happened, but I won’t ever forget the day.

  We were on the ice, just goofing around, and he sent the puck to me, which I one timed into the net with ease. I gave him a sneaky grin as I looked over at him, and he was just staring at me. By that time, we had been sharing a room, even though my parents never knew. We never had sex, but we were sleeping together. He was from a home where he slept with his six brothers, so he was lonely, and he didn’t have to ask twice. I was willing to get caught just to lie beside him.

  “What?”

  With a shy grin, he looked down at the ice, moving the tip of his stick around. “I think you’re very talented.”

  A smile broke on my face. “Thank you. But so are you.”

  He scoffed. “I think you are better.”

  I am. But I don’t have the passion for the ice. I don’t want to be on the ice making plays; I want to be making them from behind the bench. To be honest, skates hurt my feet, and that’s why I don’t like playing. My dad reminds me daily that I’m a wuss.

  “That’s sweet.”

  He smiled. “And very pretty.”

  Yup, I fell because he called me pretty. I don’t get called that much. I don’t think I’m ugly, because I’m not. I look like my mom. She’s absolutely stunning, and with my dad’s genes mixed in there, I’m not so bad to look at. But then there’s Shelli. Everyone—and I mean everyone—is in love with my sister. She is built like my mom, curvy in all the right places and has my dad’s bright-blue eyes. She has long, luscious hair, and she carries herself like a million bucks. She kicks ass and takes names. She doesn’t settle for anything but perfection, and she sings like a damn angel. Anything Shelli wants to do, she does. And basically, everyone is convinced she farts glitter and shits rainbows.

  It’s sorta annoying.

  Meanwhile, there is me. Unlike Shelli, I’m not built like my mom. I’m actually quite tall like my dad—but with my mom’s weight issues. I wouldn’t call them curves, more like speed bumps. I have a wide ass, a little bit of a gut—I don’t say no to donuts—and huge shoulders. I’m just thick. I’ve played hockey since I was two, so it’s easy to say I have a lot of muscle on me.

  My hair does not do that pretty, smooth, wavy thing that Shelli’s does—no, it’s a kinky wave. My wave isn’t even all in one direction—nope, it’s in every direction known to man. If I don’t wake up and straighten this hot mess, I might as well accept I’m going to spend the day loo