“Honey shampoo,” he said with a smile. “You must be Gwen.”
“Do I know you?”
“We have a mutual friend. Lock. I’m Ric.” He pulled off his glove and held his hand out. Gwen shook it. “Nice to meet you.”
“You, too.”
“I recognized your scent from when Lock came back to the house after his run-in with that invading Pack. Sorry about all that, by the way.”
“It wasn’t your fault.”
“Perhaps. But it was brought to the attention of the Board, and you and your friends should see some recompense for the attack.” She would? But before she could ask for more details—because ya-ha! Free cash!—Lock returned. He’d changed into sweatpants, sneakers, and a light gray T-shirt that looked like it had been molded to his body. And…uh…yowza.
“Hey,” Lock said to Ric.
“Hey,” Ric said back. Then he walked away.
Nope. Gwen would never really get guys.
Lock smiled at her. “You ready?”
Lock had never been so grateful for being on the hockey team before today. It was an excellent way to work off nervous energy and earn a few extra bucks. He’d joined the team about six months after his return from the Marines. Nearly a year after that, Ric had become the team captain and Lock his backup. Which meant he had access to all the cool little benefits that all the team captains and managers had…like primo seats at derby bouts.
What he didn’t expect was to find half the Kuznetsov wild dog Pack taking up most of those primo seats.
“Hey.”
Jess Ward-Smith glanced up from her program and broke out in a huge grin…until she saw Gwen standing next to him. Then her eyes grew wide and…yeah. He definitely saw panic.
“Hi!” she said, way too brightly. “What are you guys doing here?” She elbowed the wild dog next to her without giving Lock or Gwen a chance to answer her. “Hey, Phil. Look who’s here.”
Phil glanced over and then barked, “Oh, shit.”
He then elbowed Sabina, who elbowed Danny, who elbowed Maylin, who yelped at the sight of them. Considering the wild dogs had actually allowed Lock to be around their pups on a regular basis, he somehow doubted they suddenly feared him.
“Where is she?” Gwen demanded, confusing Lock more by her aggressive tone.
“Whoever could you mean, Gwen?” Jess replied, again, way-too-brightly and with a higher pitch to her voice than Lock could ever remember her having.
Gwen pointed her finger at Jess. “Don’t lie to me, Benji. Where is she?”
“What’s going on?” Lock had to ask. And, as if in answer, the lights shut completely off and a rough female voice came over the speakers.
“Ladies and gentlemen, I hope you’re ready for a night of raw brutality and unrepentant violence. You’ve been waiting for it…you’ve been wanting it! And now you’re going to get it! The new girls on the block against the most vicious broads known to derby. Welcome, one and all…to Boroughs Brawlers Banked Track Derby!”
The crowd roared, especially the wild dogs—except for the “top five,” as Lock called Jess and her best friends. They were all whispering and generally panicking.
“So let’s get this party started,” the announcer yelled. “And let’s all put our hands together for…the Assault and Battery Park Babes!”
The response was not exactly enthusiastic, the Babes being pretty new and mostly hybrids. Lock had been hearing a lot about them this past year, though, as they steadily moved up the ranks in the league, taking everyone by surprise.
The spotlights hit the track as the Babes came tearing out to John Lee Hooker’s “Boom Boom.” They moved fast and looked really cute in tiny red shorts, black fishnets, bright sparkly red derby skates, and three layers of too-small tank tops in red, black, and white. As each player zipped around the track, the announcer called them out by number and derby name.
“Number thirty-eight, and team captain, Pop-A-Cherry! Number sixty-two, Marlon Brandher. Number twenty-four, Our Lady of Pain and Suffering.” Lock laughed, kind of wishing they had cool names like that on the professional teams, when he heard Gwen gasp as the announcer called out, “Number seventy-six, Evie Viserate!”
Lock heard the wild dogs barking and was about to ask who she was when Jess yelled, “Lock, get her!”
Get her? Get who? Following where Jess pointed, Lock watched as Gwen marched down the stadium stairs toward the track.
“What the…” Glad he’d changed out of his skates, Lock went after Gwen and grabbed her around the waist, hauling her back up the stairs.
“Put me down! She’s not doing this!”
“Who?” he demanded.
Jess motioned to the track again and Lock looked at Evie Viserate. Really looked at her. She had her hair in two ponytails and a bright white helmet over that. But when she smiled Lock could only cringe. Because he’d recognize that smile anywhere.
“Uh-oh.”
Gwen was still putting up a fight. “Put me down! Right now!”
“I’ll be back,” he said to Jess. “Hold our seats.” And then he hauled the crazed feline back up the stairs and out into the stadium hallway.
“How could she lie to me like that?” Gwen demanded as soon as Lock put her down on the ground in the hallway.
“Maybe because she knew you’d get a tad hysterical.”
“I’m not hysterical. I’m pissed off! She’s going to get herself killed out there.” She tried to go around him again, but Lock took one small step and immediately blocked her way with that insanely beautiful body of his.
“How do you know that?”
Arms folded under her chest, Gwen demanded, “Have you ever watched derby? Real derby? Not that full-human one,” which was pretty tough for a bunch of full-humans but, compared to shifter derby, totally lightweight.
“No.”
“Then you have no idea how bad this could get.”
“But you do?”
He really thought she was being a little drama queen for no reason, didn’t he? That her whole life was built around stopping Blayne from having any fun because she was Gwen the Fun-inator.
“Yeah. I do. I’m the daughter of The Rocker.”
Lock frowned. “The baseball player?”
Taking a deep breath, “No. Not the baseball player.” You pinhead! “The derby queen.”
His frown faded and she watched him try not to smile. “Your mother was a—”
“Yes. But not ‘a,’ she is the derby queen. Even now. She and my aunts ran the Philly league for years. Just surviving bouts against the Philly Phangs was considered an accomplishment by most teams. For shifters, derby hasn’t changed that much. The uniforms are hotter, the girls cuter, but the rest of it is exactly the same.”
“And you don’t think Blayne can handle it.”
“I know she can’t.”
“Because you tried and failed.”
Gwen paced away from him. “Yeah. I did try.” She leaned against the wall. “I did fail.”
Lock stood next to her, still towering over her even as he leaned back. “That doesn’t mean Blayne will fail.”
“I’m not worried about that, her failing like me. I mean, I was eighteen and daughter of The Rocker. I didn’t stand a chance, and everybody knew it. Even my mother. The whistle blew on my first game and I froze. Just froze. I’ve never experienced fear like that before.” She shook her head. “That won’t happen to Blayne.”
“Then what are you—”
“Her name was Marla the Merciless with the Pittsburgh Stealers—that’s ‘Stealers’ as in thievery. She slammed into me like a two-ton truck. I hit the ground and then she came down on me, breaking my leg in five places.”