Enforcing Emory by Mickie B. Ashling

Author:Mickie B. Ashling [Ashling, Mickie B.]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Publisher: Dreamspinner Press
Published: 2015-05-13T23:00:00+00:00

IT WAS midafternoon by the time they made their way through the labyrinth of narrow streets toward Emory’s quarters in the Olympic Village. The area was relatively empty as most everyone was either eating or resting. Still, Tom didn’t let his guard down and continued to scan for potential troublemakers. He’d been particularly worried about the guys who’d thrown the eggs, and given Emory’s mood, he didn’t want a repeat. Now that the men’s single skate was over and Emory’s job was mainly done, there was no telling how he’d react if those goons decided to try another prank. Things might not be so peaceful this time, and Tom didn’t want more headlines, especially the bad kind.

Unfortunately, controversy and Emory usually went hand-in-hand. Tom hadn’t missed the trio of local thugs grimacing when Emory kissed his young fan earlier, and now these same jokers were watching them walk down the street. He could only imagine what they were plotting to do when they saw Emory without his fellow team members. He’d be an easy target. Kissing men in public, however innocent, might be okay anywhere else in Europe, but in Sochi, it would generate serious repercussions.

“Hey, poofter,” one of them said in a deadly voice. He’d stepped off the sidewalk with his companions and blocked their way. Tom shoved Emory behind his back to shield him. The leader was carrying some sort of club.

“Best be on your way,” Tom said. “We don’t want any trouble.”

“Your boy should have thought of that before making a spectacle of himself.”

“Fuck off,” Emory said, looking over Tom’s broad shoulders.

A fourth thug crept up silently and yanked Emory from behind. He was about to hit him in the face with a weapon that looked like a shortened baseball bat when Tom whirled around and stuck his arm out to ward off the blow. The crack of a broken bone was a distinct sound, horrifying when followed by an echoing guttural cry. Emory screamed for help as Tom fell to his knees, clutching his arm awkwardly. The troublemakers ran off before anyone could stop them. Within minutes, Tom and Emory were surrounded by athletes, coaches, and assorted tourists. Emory held Tom in his arms and continued to wail with anguish. He hadn’t cried after losing the gold or shown much emotion when questioned by the IOC, but tears were pouring down his cheeks while he yelled for help. Smartphones flashed from different sections of the crowd, and very quickly, dramatic pictures of Emory weeping over his father were all over the Internet.

“We need to get you to a hospital,” Emory said. “Someone call an ambulance.”

“Hell no,” Tom said grimly. “I’m not letting you out of my sight, and none of those pinko bastards are laying a hand on me.”

“Your arm is broken, Dad.”

“I’m well aware of that,” Tom snarled. He was gritting his teeth and cradling his arm against his chest. Beads of sweat had broken out on his forehead despite the cold weather, and all the color was draining from his face.

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