Body Checked (Center Ice Book 1) by Katherine Stark Read Free Book Online

my messages, switch to a Russian keyboard, and take a deep breath.
     
    You’re on for Wednesday night. Can’t wait.  
     
     

 
     
     
    “Jael, you will not believe the crazy shit that went down at Red Star after you left.” Beth flops onto the couch beside me and turns down the volume on the pre-game show for the Washington-Winnipeg game. We’re sprawled out in Monique’s penthouse condo in downtown DC, overlooking the National Archives and the Washington Monument. Since Beth still lives in the dorms and my television doubles as a nightstand in my cramped basement studio, it’s the best place to watch the away games.
    “What happened?” I ask carefully. I haven’t told them yet about Sergei and me. I’m just waiting for the right time, honestly. Plus, I’m not sure how or if I should explain the whole “spying on him for the FBI” business. No, it’s probably best not to mention that. Right? But I hate lying to my best friends.
    I hate lying to anyone . But now I have to lie to Sergei. The thought puts my stomach in knots.
    “So you remember the Russian dude with the aviators who danced with us when we first got there?” Beth asks.
    “Sure,” I say. “Oh. Wait. You didn’t—”
    “Ew, no! He was just a little too Eurotrash creepy,” Beth says. “Anyway, Drakonov went missing shortly after you said you were gonna go, and the aviators guy got really agitated. He was, like, looking everywhere for him, muttering in Russian to himself, ended up arguing with some of Sergei’s groupie girls.”
    “Oh.” I feel oddly detached from myself as I say it.
    “Then this other guy shows up, also wearing sunglasses, but his hands are completely covered with these hardcore Russian prison tattoos, right? He takes off his blazer, and he’s got a fucking gun holster on. Two handguns—one under each armpit. And he and the first sunglasses guy start arguing. I couldn’t quite follow what they were saying—their accents were super thick and they were using a lot of slang—but I guarantee it was about Sergei.”
    Sergei’s brother, or one of his lieutenants. It has to be. Bile rises in the back of my throat. What the hell have I gotten myself mixed up in? I think back to the SUV I swore was following me on my way to the Metro from Sergei’s townhouse. Surely it was just a coincidence.
    But if I’m dating Sergei, and the Bratva is all in Sergei’s business, will it really take that long for them to start stalking me, too?
    “All right, ladies, three orders of the finest carryout ramen Chinatown has to offer!” Monique bustles in her front door, arms loaded with takeout bags. “Let’s play some hockey.”
    Beth and Monique dive into their bowls of ramen, but I can’t bring myself to do more than poke at it. I try one bite of the sliced pork, then let it fall back into the bowl. Even the thought of Sergei mixed up with those mobster goons is making me sick. I am so not cut out for undercover work.
    “Hey, look, it’s your boyfriend.” Monique turns up the volume on the television.
    I drop my chopsticks, splashing ramen broth everywhere. “I’m not—” I sputter. “He isn’t—”
    Beth and Monique both turn toward me. “There something we should know, Jael?” Monique asks coolly.
    The pre-game show is playing an interview with Sergei. “Is just hurt in practice,” Sergei tells the reporter, gesturing to his lower lip—which is swollen and split open. “Happens lots. I play tonight fine.”
    I sigh and sink back into the leather couch. “So I might have . . . slept with Sergei Drakonov the other night.”
    I can already see the note in my FBI file: Folds under questioning.  
    “Thank god! ” Beth cries, as Monique squeals and kicks her legs. “Oh, Jesus, I thought you were going to be hung up on Todd Beckwith for ever !”
    “Drakonov. Holy shit, girl. I wanna hear everything. No, no, wait—it’s better if I imagine it.”
    My face is burning up. “It’s really not a big deal—and