Chapter 7 Meeting Him

Kade’s POV I swallow hard, forcing my expression into something neutral, because the last thing I need is for my team to see me unraveling over a single text. “Yo,” Ben nudges my arm while frowning. “You good?” Moving, I shove my phone back into my pocket, forcing out a chuckle. “Yeah. Just a bunch of GMs playing games with my ranking. Not the first time it’s happened.” Tyler eyes me, but I can see that he's unconvinced. “You sure? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” “Just surprised, that’s all,” I lie. “Didn’t expect teams to start pulling this kind of shit already.” Alex shakes his head before putting his phone away. “They better not be serious about it. You just won the fucking game for us.” “I wouldn’t worry too much,” Ben adds. “Draft analysts are probably just stirring shit up. No way a player like you drops unless there’s an actual reason.” That’s exactly what Nikolai is counting on. I exhale, pushing back from the table, running a hand over my jaw. “I'm gonna grab some air.” Tyler raises an eyebrow. “You sure you’re okay?” “Yeah,” I say. “Don’t wait for me. I've got other plans,” I lie, but I don’t look back as I head for the exit, my phone feels like it's burning in my pocket with the weight of the decision I already know I have to make. The second I step outside, the cool air hits me, but it does nothing to settle the war that is currently raging inside of me. My pulse is still pounding, my fingers twitching at my sides as I yank my phone out of my pocket. Standing here, I stare at the message for a second longer than I need to. The sooner you agree to meet, the sooner your draft stock stops dropping. Nikolai isn’t just fucking with me. He’s already pulling strings, already making good on his silent threat. If I don’t play along, if I keep ignoring him, he’ll bury me before I even step foot on rink again. I've got to do this, inhaling slowly, I exhale through my nose, then type out a response. Where? The reply he sends, comes almost immediately. Regent Hotel. Private lounge. Thirty minutes. I let out a quiet scoff, shaking my head. Of course he’s sitting in some rich hotel, drinking expensive scotch, waiting for me like this is just another business meeting. Like he hasn’t already got me by the throat, and is ready to destroy my entire fucking life. I type back one last word. Fine. Quickly shoving my phone back into my pocket, I start walking. But I don’t rush, fuck him if he thinks he can snap his fingers and I’ll come running, he’s got another thing coming. I take my time, deliberately slowing my steps, letting the city hum around me. I stop at a street corner, pretending to check my phone. I pause outside a convenience store, glancing inside even though I don’t need anything. I let every passing minute stretch, dragging it out just to be late. If he’s going to pull me into this game, and try to destroy my life, I’ll play it my way. I won’t let him think I’m scared, even if my stomach is twisted into a thousand knots. This is the only control I have right now, I take the longest possible route to the Regent Hotel, my steps are slow, deliberate and I'm stretching out every second just to be late. But no matter how much I stall, my brain won’t shut the hell up. Nikolai Volkov. That name isn’t just known in the league, it controls it. To the public, he’s just another billionaire who dabbles in sports ownership, an investor with his hands in multiple teams, businesses, and international properties. But behind closed doors? He’s the kind of man who doesn’t ask twice, he's the kind of man who makes people disappear when they become a problem. I think everyone knows it, just no one says it, because Nikolai Volkov isn’t just rich. He’s the fucking mafia. Hence i was surprised he didn't shoot me when I hit him hard with my shoulder. His empire stretches far beyond hockey. Illegal gambling, fight rings, underground casinos, he’s got his claws in all of it. And even though he doesn’t own my team, that doesn’t mean he doesn’t own the people around it. He’s got influence in every boardroom, every backroom deal, every whisper that decides which player goes where. He could make sure I never get drafted. Or worse, make sure I end up exactly where he wants me. And then there’s Rook, his son. His golden boy. His legacy. The star player of our biggest rival. We’ve hated each other for years. On the ice, it’s a blood feud. I throw hits harder when he’s in my line of sight. He chirps me every chance he gets. We’ve come close to dropping gloves more times than I can count. I don’t know what’s worse that he’s related to the man trying to own me, or that I’ll have to face him on the ice while knowing his father is pulling my strings. My stomach twists, my jaw locking. I don’t want to meet Nikolai or hear whatever bullshit deal he’s about to offer. But I know exactly what he’s capable of and if he wants me under his thumb? I’m already halfway there. The Regent Hotel seems to almost come alive today under the afternoon sun, its glass reflects the bright sky, making it look even more expensive and high end than it already is. Standing outside for a moment, I adjust my jacket, inhaling slowly. I should walk away, I should turn around, go anywhere but here. But I don’t. Instead, I push through the revolving doors, stepping into the cool, perfectly controlled lobby of the hotel. The lobby is everything I expected from a place like this. It has high ceilings, polished marble floors, and there's the quiet hum of wealth mixed into every inch of the place. Staff move efficiently behind the front desk, while the guests linger in expensive suits and designer dresses, but I don’t stop. I already know where I’m going. A woman in a black dress steps into my path, smiling in that professional way that doesn’t quite reach her eyes. "Sir, may I assist you?” I meet her gaze, keeping my voice steady. I didn't need someone to help me, this is why I hate places like these, they get involved before you ask for help even if you don't wan it. “Nikolai Volkov is expecting me.” Her smile falters, just for a second when she hears my words. Yeah, that name means something. It carries weight, the kind that makes people hesitate. Then, just as quickly as her face froze, she smooths her expression, nodding once before gesturing for me to follow. Sighing, I follow her, even though I don't need directions. She leads me down a dimly lit hallway, stopping in front of an unmarked door. Without a word, she enters a keycode into the panel and the lock clicks open. “He’s inside.” I nod, pushing through without waiting.