19. McQuinn

19

McQuinn

I don't like McDonald's, but there's always one in the Olympic Village and Meggie wanted familiar comfort food. Which means Nils wanted it too. Which means, here I am sitting at a sticky booth in an overcrowded room of athletes stuffing their faces with greasy fries.

But Nils is sitting across from me, telling me all about this medical mystery podcast episode he was listening to at the gym, and that makes it worth it. I'll take any moment I can get with him these days. Especially moments alone, like the one we're getting right now while Meggie waits for the food. Nils and I both offered to do it, but she and Emily were still deciding what they wanted and said they needed the girl time. I didn't argue.

Just when Nils gets talking faster with that excited look in his eyes, the last person I expect to see strolls up to our table.

Glenn fucking Plansky.

Guess that answers the question about whether he figured out who I am.

"How—what are you doing here?" I half sputter, half growl. He shouldn't have been able to get into the Olympic Village.

"I got eyes places." He sits down at our table like we're old friends. "It came to my attention that you're a bit of an athlete." He tsks and steals my soda while his over-muscled alpha buddy takes the seat next to Nils.

"Of course," he says with the straw of my drink still in his mouth, "you and I both know athletes aren't supposed to do certain… unsavory things."

The goon with him looks around, like he's checking for threats or listening ears. The place is packed, but it's also noisy and everyone's pretty focused on their own conversations. It still makes my stomach flop that we're talking about this here.

"About that," I snatch my drink back, "I want to pull out. How much will it be?"

I know he told that other guy twice as much—which I don't have—but I'm curious to see if his tune will change now that he knows I'm an athlete.

He ignores my question and wipes his hands on a napkin. "I've got a little proposition for you. A way to make right, if you will."

I open my mouth to tell him to shove it, my temper flaring at the way his buddy moves closer to Nils and the subtle threat in his words. I'm tired of being fucking worried about what a guy named Glenn could do to me. He and his henchman might be alphas, but so are we. Maybe we need to just settle this with our fists and have it out.

But then, Nils shakes his head and I catch the glint of metal just visible under the table. Fuck.

Glenn leans back in the booth and crosses his arms over his broad chest. "I'm gonna let you out of your little indiscretion."

"Seriously?" That was not what I was expecting him to say. Maybe he doesn't want to get in trouble for accepting a bet from an athlete. Could he get in trouble for that, or would it just be me?

"But," he says, "you need to do something for me in return."

There it is. "What do you want?"

He leans into the table, closer to me, dropping his voice so he's certain no one but us will hear. "You're gonna make it to the finals, and then throw the last game."

"Making it to the finals isn't just on him," Nils says, speaking slowly, controlled, eyes flicking down to the knife at his side. "It's a team sport, and we're up against a lot of good teams."

Glenn smiles with a shrug. "Not my problem."

"What if I don't do it?" I ask.

Glenn picks up my drink and gives it a little swirl, the ice clattering inside the paper cup. "Make it to the finals and throw the last game or pay triple."

"We can't pay triple!" I say, just a little too loud.

We all look around and breathe a sigh of relief when no one pays us any attention.

He leans closer, his breath smelling of cigarettes and brie. "If you can't pay, then we'll give you a little incentive to come up with the money. Or make you work off the debt. I could probably think of a few uses for two pretty boys like you." His gaze flicks to me, then Nils, before traveling to where Meggie stands in line waiting to order. "Maybe you could pay off the debt faster with the help of your pack."

"Why you fuckin—" I go to take a swing at him, but hands grip me from behind. I didn't realize he had another asshole with him. This one's got a tattoo on his forearm and a worried look on his face.

"I wouldn't do that, if I were you," the alpha behind me growls, while the other presses the tip of his knife to the side of Nils's ribs, just barely visible over the edge of the table.

Fuck! Fuck! I can't let him hurt Nils. And the thought of this fucker anywhere near Meggie makes me physically ill. Our internet search pops back up in my memories. We were half joking when we looked up selling kidneys, but now I'm ready to do it. Except… it would take four illegally-harvested lungs to cover a debt that size.

Glenn calmly slides out of the booth, wipes his hands on a napkin, and strolls out. The two guys with him shove off and follow.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

"What the hell are we gonna do?"