The Mane Squeeze (36 page)

“Oh,
stop it!
”

Laughing, Blayne nodded. “I am so serious. Word is it’s so bad that someone they call Uncle Eggie is, and I’m quoting Smitty here, ‘Fixin’ to come on up here and wipe the land clean as if the Lord himself had decided Staten Island was Sodom and Gomorrah.’”

“Nice accent imitation,” Gwen sneered.

“I try.”

“This isn’t good,” Lock said. “Uncle…” His chin lifted and his nostrils flared. “Honey buns?”

Gwen handed the bag to him. “Honey buns for my honey bun.”

He stared at her. “You’re going to start calling me that now, aren’t you?”

“You going to keep calling me Mr. Mittens?”

Pulling a bun out of the bag, the bear shrugged. “I can live with being your honey bun.”

“All I know,” Blayne said, “is that Uncle Eggie must be some major badass, because everyone’s in this rather hysterical tizzy, even Mr. Smooth Move Niles.”

“Niles Van Holtz is here?” Lock demanded around his bun.

“Yes. And hot.”

“Stop saying that!” Gwen snapped.

“Why is he here?”

“According to Ric, he was in town.”

“For what?”

Not caring about Niles Van Holtz, Gwen cut in and asked, “This is all because my mother shaved McNelly’s head?”

Lock choked on his bun. “I forgot about that.”

“McNelly won’t.”

“Well,” Blayne said, “this all goes deeper and further back than that. And it looked pretty much like war was coming.”

Gwen studied Blayne. “It
looked
like war was coming?”

“I do believe I’ve come up with a satisfactory solution to resolve all this once and for all—and have managed to get everyone to agree. Now you just have to agree, Gwen.”

Gwen stared at her best friend. “
I
have to agree? Why me? I thought I didn’t matter and it was all Kuznetsovs and Smiths and pups.”

“Right. And the Kuznetsovs, Smiths, O’Neills, and McNellys have all agreed to let all bad blood end here…if you’re in.”

Confused, Gwen shook her head. “If I’m in to…” Blayne gave Gwen her biggest grin and Gwen’s confusion quickly turned into righteous anger.
“Oh, come on!”

Laughing around Gwen’s bellow of rage, Blayne said, “You and only you, Gwen O’Neill, can prevent this war.”

Gwen rubbed her forehead. “And of course this is your
shitty
idea, Blayne Thorpe.”

“Wait.” Lock looked back and forth between the two friends. “I don’t get it. What’s Gwen going to have to do?”

G
wen rolled around and around that little hallway about a hundred feet away from the locker rooms. She should stop, take a breath, but the fact she couldn’t breathe was making at least one of those impossible.

With her hands clasped tightly together, Gwen kept focusing on trying to force herself to breathe and not vomit.

Vomit, bad. Breathing, good.

She couldn’t do this. She couldn’t. And she’d been a fool to agree to this. But now Gwen was in and couldn’t get out.

Why? a sane person may ask.

Because, in the end, Gwen had been unable to pass up the chance to take the trophy out of McNelly’s mannish grip. And that’s exactly what Blayne had used to get Gwen to agree to this stupidity knowing that Gwen didn’t give a fuck about Pack wars or Smiths or men named “Eggie.” No, it was Gwen’s ego that had gotten her here. And either this would go down in history as the bout that stopped a war or it would go down as the time an O’Neill vomited on the track.

What had never occurred to Gwen, what she hadn’t thought about when she’d agreed to this, was her fear of facing the screaming crowd—again. That’s what had gotten her nailed during her first bout all those years ago and it seemed that fear hadn’t changed. And that’s why she felt ready to vomit.

God, what if I
do
vomit on the track? There will be no coming back from that!
she thought hysterically.

The door to the small hallway where she’d been hiding opened. “I’ll be fine, Blayne,” she said without looking up. And she knew it was Blayne, because the wolfdog had been trying to calm her down for the last two hours, but she’d only managed to make Gwen ten thousand times more nervous. “No need to worry. I’m fine.”

“And you call me a lousy liar.”

Gwen’s head snapped up and she never thought there’d be a day where she’d be
ecstatic
to be startled by a grizzly.

He would have walked right by her if it hadn’t been for her scent. That would never change—thank God—but the rest of her sure had. At least for the moment.

She had on thick black eyeliner and her naturally long lashes were even longer and thicker. She wore blush on her cheeks, and her lipstick was dark red and glossy. She had her curly hair pulled into two small ponytails and a black headband covered in skulls and crossbones tied around her forehead.

Lock had debated about coming back here, not wanting to make her any more nervous than he already knew she was, but then he’d gotten that text from Blayne. It had one word…“Help!”

Gwen rolled over to him and right into his arms. “Oh, my God! I’m so glad you’re here!”

Rubbing her back, Lock decided not to be too freaked out about her wardrobe. He didn’t mind the glittery, bright red four-wheel skates. They were cute. But Gwen was hot when she wore her cargo pants and an old Eagles sweatshirt. Now she was volcano-hot in black fishnet stockings with kneepads over them, a miniscule red pair of shorts, three layered tank tops with red on the bottom, black over that, and white on top, black elbow pads, and body glitter smeared on her biceps and neck that made the tattoos on her arms pop.

He was torn between wanting to show her off to everyone and covering her with his jacket.

But before he could worry about that, he had another concern at the moment…

“Why do you have Van Holtz on your ass?”

Startled, Gwen glanced at her ass as if expecting to find Ric there. Thankfully for the wolf, he wasn’t. However, his name was there…right on Gwen’s ass. Or, in this instance, her shorts. Her derby name—TastySkate—and her number “59” were on her tank top.

“According to Blayne, he’s a sponsor.”

“Does he know his family name is on the asses of a Roller Derby team?”

“Doubt it.”

Okay, that was actually kind of funny. “And TastySkate?”

She let out a sigh. “You know…like Tastykake.”

“You mean the fine makers of my favorite Krimpets?”

She glared up at him and hissed, “Yes. Like the Krimpets and cupcakes and the pies that we of the Tri-States all grew up loving. It was either that or Philly Killsteak.” When Lock frowned, she added, “You know…like Philly
cheese
steak?”

When he laughed, she scowled, so he stopped.

“Gwen, you’re going to be great. You shouldn’t be worried.”

“Oh, I know. I’m sure I’ll be fine.”

She was lying again. He knew that because Gwen was shaking.
His
Gwen. Fistfight with an entire derby team? Nothing. Taking his intimidating uncles at poker? Nothing. Getting in a vicious revenge fight with crazy wolves in the basement of a club? Eh.

Putting on derby skates and facing off against her mother’s reputation? A mess.

“Gwenie?” He tightened his grip on her, hoping that talking would get it out of her. Although, Gwen wasn’t much of a talker. “What is it? What’s really bothering you?”

Gwen may not be much of a talker, but once she got going…

“What if I screw up? What if I blow it? What if I let the team down? What if I make a complete fucking idiot out of myself? In front of everybody? What if I lose to that humongous bitch? What if I get so injured I can never walk again? What if there’s a war anyway? What if I embarrass my mother? What if I embarrass myself? What if your parents find out? What if your
sister
does? What if—”

“Okay, okay.” He had a feeling she could run with the “what if” scenarios until the next millennium and he knew they didn’t have that kind of time right now. So what should he do? Tragically, he knew what he had to do. As much as it appalled him, he knew there was only one thing he could do at this moment to snap his Gwen out of this.

So, taking a page from the Alla Baranova-MacRyrie handbook of motivational techniques, Lock said, “Hey, I totally understand if you can’t do this.”

“You do?”

“Sure. I mean…McNelly’s good.”

Gwen snorted. “She’s brute force. That’s different from being good.”

“But she’s bigger than you, weighs more than you, and you can’t shift into cat or pull out that razor blade when you’re on the track, so you have no real advantage over her. And…to be honest—” Oh and this would be the hardest part to say “—I don’t want you out there. I want you home, safe…where I can protect you.”

Gwen eased out of his arms, her body gliding away because of her skates, her gold eyes peering at him curiously. “What?”

“I said, go put your clothes back on and let me take you home. This is no place for you. You’re mine now and I want you safe and preferably unmarred.”

Her hands went on her waist, her red, white, and black nails tap-tap-tapping against her hips. “You don’t think I can do it.”

Lock shrugged. “Sweetie, she’s gonna kick your ass.”

“Did you just call me sweetie?”

“You rather I call you baby?”

Without another word, Gwen rolled past him and into the main hallway that led to the stadium.

“Good,” he said behind her as the Babes rolled out of the locker room, Blayne moving in front of them. “I’ll take you home and we can forget all about this. I’ll always take care of you, Gwenie. You’ll never have to worry about anything.”

Blayne’s eyes grew wide and her gaze bounced back and forth between Gwen and Lock.

Slowly Gwen faced him. “I don’t need
anybody
to take care of me. Especially freakishly sized bears with kumquat heads.” She held her hand out and one of the Babes slapped a helmet into her palm. “Now get the fuck out of my way.”

She rolled toward the stadium entrance, where they’d wait to make their grand entrance, and the team followed right behind her.

Reaching out, Lock snagged Blayne by the forearm and pulled her back. “When this is over, she still better love me.”

“Don’t worry about anything,” Blayne promised. She leaped up and kissed his cheek. “You’re the bestest bear ever.”

“Yeah, but I better not be the loneliest,” he called after her.

Typical. Absolutely typical. Show a man a moment of weakness and he figures he can turn you into a barefoot breeder making him honey-soaked meals all day.

“You all right, Gwenie?” Blayne asked.

When all Gwen could manage was a growl, Blayne didn’t say another word.

As they waited in the long hallway that led out to the stadium, the Furriers rolled in. Their uniforms were cute little plaid skirts and tiny pink and black tops to match. But it didn’t matter. McNelly still looked like a big bitch in a cute-girl’s outfit.

McNelly stopped in front of Gwen and stared down at her. What was happening between McNelly and Gwen was something that went back to their mothers’ time when the derby queens wore a lot less makeup but lived the life of the true derby girl.

Now all that past shit was coming down to this and Gwen wouldn’t back away. Yeah, her mother embarrassed the holy hell out of her, but she was still her mother and Gwen was still an O’Neill.

“See you out on the track, O’Neill.”

McNelly followed after her team and Blayne muttered, “I hate her.”

“Yeah…but I hate her
more
.”

And that was why
if
Gwen went down tonight, she’d go down fighting—and she’d make sure to take McNelly with her.

Lock stood at one of the entrances to the VIP seats, searching for his parents and Ric. His father had insisted on coming. “How could I miss something so interesting?” Of course, his mother was no better. “Females in a battle of strength? Why would I miss that? Besides, it’s our Gwenie!” Iona, however, had simply stared at him when he mentioned it to her. But she did promise to have the emergency room on alert should any of the players need medical care.

After a few moments, Lock saw Ric with Brody and Alla sitting behind him, but when he saw who surrounded them, he started to back away until two sets of strong hands grabbed him from behind.

“Oh, no you don’t.”

The two lion brothers hauled him toward Ric.

“You didn’t really think we’d let you get out of this so easy, did you?” Brendon Shaw asked.

“You wanna be with my baby sister, then you’ll have to get the
full
experience,” Mitch said.

They dragged him to the section that had been taken over by the O’Neill Pride, the Smith Pack, and the Kuznetsov Pack. Several of them had banners, air horns, and superbly made T-shirts with Gwen’s name on it.

“Lock!” they all cheered when he stood in front of them.

“I’m so sorry,” Ric mouthed. He glanced at the female who had her arm around him. Roxy O’Neill.

“Lock! You sit right here, baby-boy.” She nudged Ric. “Move handsome. I want this gorgeous grizzly to sit near me.” Once Ric had moved over, she patted the empty spot beside her.

Mitch and Brendon pushed Lock and he snarled, snapping at them both.

Roxy O’Neill laughed and clapped her hands together. “And cranky just like a bear should be! I love it!”

Remembering well how his mother warned him falling in love often had unpleasant side effects, Lock stepped past several rows of Gwen’s family and friends until he could drop down next to Gwen’s mother. He held his hand out. “Hi, Miss O’Neill.”

“Call me Roxy, Baby-boy. Everybody calls me Roxy.” She ignored his hand and pulled his head down so she could kiss him on the cheek. “I’ve just been chattin’ with your parents.”

“It’s been fascinating,” his mother said, but when he looked back at her, she crossed her eyes in exasperation.

“But you and I will talk after the bout,” Roxy threatened. “I want to know
all
about you.”

Lock scowled at both lion males sitting one row back and over, and they gave him the finger.
Philly bastards
.

“I can’t see past your giant melon head,” a thick Southern accent complained.

Lock looked over his shoulder. “If I tear your head off that measly body, I can put you in my lap for a much better view.”

“Or we can switch!” Jess said, stepping over her mate and forcing him to move one seat over so she was now next to Lock’s parents. “Hi, Lock.”

“Hi, Jess.”

“I’ll just lean on you like this.” She leaned forward, wrapped her arms around his neck, and rested her chin against his shoulder. “Then I can see everything.”

“Jessica Ann—”

“You started this, Smitty, and I’m comfortable.”

“Jessica, I’m not letting you—”

“
Don’t make me upset!
” Jess screamed in Smitty’s face, shocking everyone but her fellow Packmates, who had to quickly look away so they could laugh in peace.
“I wanna rest on Lock!”

“Okay! Okay! Calm down!”

Brody watched Jess as if she were a coiled snake ready to strike, but Alla only rubbed her nose and looked off, a little snort slipping by. Jess returned to her spot on Lock’s shoulder, her cute face pressed against his. “I swear,” she whispered against his ear, “I’m going to stay pregnant all the time. I totally have control when I’m pregnant.”