Free Off the Grid by Cassandra Carr Page A

glanced at each other and the second man spoke again. “You know, everybody says that. We’d hate for you to have an unfortunate accident if you don’t pay up.”
    “Yeah, that’d be a real tragedy, wouldn’t it?” The first remarked. They both laughed and Ethan’s blood began to pulse with adrenaline.
    “Look, I wish I knew what you’re talking about but, seriously, I have little contact with my money. I sign my paychecks over to my parents. I have no clue who your boss is.”
    The first man spoke again. “No clue, huh? That’s funny, since he’s been real nice to your parents for a long, long time. I’m surprised they’ve never mentioned Mr. Delacourte to you. He’s helped ’em outta a couple of scrapes.” The other man nodded, and the first guy went on. “Maybe we need to give them a little idea of what’ll happen if they don’t take care of this. But since they’re not here…”
    Ethan held up his hands. As a professional hockey player, he had more bulk on his body than the average guy, but these two looked like they could hold up a building with one hand.
    As he stood there, his breath sawing in and out of his lungs, the synapses in his brain woke up. The letter and now this. What the hell are my parents into?
    “I’m in the dark about this. How about you give me some time to find out what’s going on?”
    The first man snorted. “Your parents have had time and the boss isn’t all that patient. All we want is what we were sent here for.”
    “I can’t give you what I don’t have. I don’t even have access to my accounts. My parents give me money every month for day-to-day living, but they handle all the money.” It sounded strange coming out of the mouth of a guy in his early thirties, but that was the way it had always been. His voice had risen in pitch as he’d spoken and Ethan could sense real panic setting in. His gaze darted to the now-gaping front door, but that way was blocked, so he took a step toward the hallway.
    “Uh-uh. You ain’t leaving.” The first man advanced on Ethan, drawing out a small handgun. “You’re gonna stay right here until we get this ironed out. We’ll see if you change your mind about cooperating, given a little persuasion.”
    I’m going to die.
    The man advanced on him, raising his arm, his teeth bared in a menacing grin.
    Gonna die.
    Ethan moved, trying desperately to get away. Out of the corner of his eye he spotted a bunch of hockey sticks leaning against the breakfast bar. He’d brought them home to sign as part of the team’s annual holiday auction. Before Ethan could even form another thought, his field of vision narrowed and he’d grabbed one of the sticks, swinging at the man. It connected with his temple, making a sickening thud, and the guy swayed for a minute then fell, his now-unseeing eyes still open.
    The second guy looked down, his mouth agape, and then grabbed the handgun before quickly backing toward the door. “If I didn’t have orders to leave you alive, I’d kill your ass. You better enjoy what short life you’ll have after this, kid.” Then he pivoted and ran out the door to a car idling front of the house that Ethan, his entire body still in hyper focus mode, could see out his large living room picture window.
    Ethan looked down at the bloody stick, still held in both of his hands, and then dropped it as if it was a poisonous snake, backing himself against the wall again. Less than a minute had passed from the time those guys had shown up until…
    I killed him.
    A small pool of blood had formed around the man’s head and Ethan choked on the bile rising in his throat as the coppery smell distinctive to blood assaulted him. He recognized the smell. Every professional athlete did, but it usually wasn’t after they’d just bludgeoned a guy to death.
    What am I gonna do now? That second guy’ll go back to whoever this Mr. Delacourte is and tell him about this. The man was right. I’m a dead man.
    He debated calling the