Orlando

Evelyna’s POV

I spun around in place to see my new hockey player friend and recently named boyfriend struggling in the hold of the one man I could not stand. If I couldn’t stand Brooks Orpik, Chris Pronger, Max Pacioretty, or PK Subban….this guy was WORSE! It was the leader of the League of Anti-Sports People or LOASP.

“Brock, let him go. We don’t want any trouble.”

“Oh, but you’re getting trouble.”

“Please, don’t egg me on like this, man. I’m so not in the mood to kick the LOASP’s ass...again!”

“That won’t be necessary, Evelyna Knight. You see, I came prepared this time.”

I didn’t like his tone or what he was hinting at. I raised the hockey stick up, as a weapon only to get a laugh from Brock. The miscreant shoved Val to the side, into the awaiting arms of Rick and the creepy chick who had been at the scene earlier. They grabbed his arms and held him between them.

“EVELYNA!! HELP!!”

I felt myself gulp with nervousness as I gazed over at the horror shining in the poor Dallas player’s eyes. I wanted to help him, but something disturbed me about Brock’s creepy and sketchiness and he wore a smile that only a villain had. I clutched Val’s second hockey stick and knew I had to do something. I lifted it up ready to strike him, but suddenly I saw him give a signal. The next thing I knew I felt my arms being yanked to the sides and the stick clatter on the ground. I yanked at the holds of Brock’s remaining two friends, as they forced me to remain still between them.

Brock paced between us, eyeing us both with a clever look. “Well, what do you think, Evelyna? How about this for being prepared?”

“You’re a monster, Brock Mason!” I spat at him, continuing to yank and jerk at the grips that held me in place.

“That’s sweet, darling. But let’s have some fun, shall we?”

“No! Brock, what are you going to do? Brock!” I screamed, jerking with a greater fierceness. I had a feeling what he was going to do and I really didn’t like it. “Brock, please, he’s not going to hurt anybody!”

The villain ignored me as he walked over to Val. He lunged forward and grabbed the terrified Russian by the chin. The hockey player’s arms were held behind him now by the two helpers. Brock lifted Val’s chin upward, so that he forced the man to gaze into his cold, dead eyes.

“How have you been, Valeri, my precious Dallas Star?”

I heard Val give a grunt of distress, as he shook himself, trying to get free from the holds on him. Now I watched as the LOASP leader pinched his cheek and finally let go of his face.

“Tie him up!” the villain order, spinning to face me and smirking as his two goons bound Val’s arms together at his wrists behind his back. I watched the poor guy try to put up a fight, but ultimately lose the battle, as rough manila ropes firmly held his arms in place, uselessly behind his back. The two helpers resumed grasping a hold of Val’s arms by his shoulders, just to hold him in place.

I gazed at him, staring into his frightened blue eyes. It broke my heart seeing him like this. But little did I know it was about to get a lot worse.

Brock was amused at our looks and he sized Val up. “Rick,” he began, purposely pausing in his thought to look at me. I shook my head, deducing what he was possibly thinking. “Gag him!”

“NO!!” I roared, mustering all of my energy and briefly managing to slip the hold of Brock’s accomplices, only to be grabbed once more and pulled backward.

I watched as Rick withdrew a foresty green colored hand towel and wrapped it around the innocent hockey player’s head, over his mouth. I saw the man who was only here on vacation, powerless and vulnerable. He whimpered and pleaded behind the material and I felt my heart break even more.

“Brock Lee Mason, I’m begging you, stop this madness. What you are doing is illegal? Why do you hate Dallas and hockey so much?” I was on the verge of tears. I really wanted to know. There had to be some sort of reason why this man loathed sports in general, but specifically hockey and the Dallas Stars.

Come to think of it, I remembered that a few Bruins and Blackhawks had visited Florida, but he never really went after them. In fact, there have been a few hockey players who have wandered onto the UCF campus over the past few years. Not NHL, but budding superstars at least.

Brock patted Val on the head, before he turned and glared at me. “You really wanna know the reason? Fine, I’ll tell you! A year ago, my father was killed in a crash. You may know him, since you’re so into hockey and the fucking NHL. His name was Steve Mason and he played goalie for the Philadelphia Flyers.”

I was a little stunned to learn that Brock Mason was the son of Steve Mason of the Flyers.

“I was completely behind the sport, until he went out with a few buddies over summer. One of those men was the driver and the murderer. He was a Dallas Star player and a Russian! I loved my father, but when the NHL gave two shits about his death and moved on I vowed revenge on the league. I found some friends here who hated the sport as well. It’s nothing but violence and dicks who dive and whine!”

“That’s not true!” I shouted. “Patrick Kane, Jonathan Toews, Patrice Bergeron, Jamie Benn, Nathan MacKinnon, none of them dive or whine!”

“Really? Patrick Kane beat a cab driver up and got so drunk he caused many disturbance, real gentleman. Jonathan Toews...he’s so serious, it’s offputting...dude needs to smile!”

“He does smile! It’s his personality!”

“Nathan MacKinnon and Jamie Benn? Pussies.”

“How?”

“MacKinnon’s Sidney’s bi-product. That Pittsburgh baby is tutoring the Avalanche guy to be just like him. It’s Cindy and Cindy 2.0! And Benn, he’s a Star!”

“Just because your father was killed by a Dallas Star, doesn’t mean all of them are like that. I mean, Tyler Seguin’s obnoxious, but he’d never kill anyone. And Jamie’s a sweetheart, he was named captain of the Dallas team for a reason. Little Valeri here, he’s the sweetest of them all. He’s adorably innocent.”

“He’s a Russian!”

“HE’S INNOCENT!!”

“He must die!”

“I won’t let you do that!”

“Try and stop me then! I’m going to pull the blade of a sharp dagged across his precious throat and kill him slowly, making him bleed out to his death here in this park!” Brock sneered, curling his lips back as he withdrew a murderous weapon from his coat.

I had enough. I musted every single ounce of strength I had and ripped free of the helpers. I’m not really sure how I did it, but I spun around in a full 180 and kicked the two helpers in the head with my feet, sending them to the ground in agony. Then I whipped back around and tackled Brock, knocked the weapon from his hands.

I looked up to see Rick and the girl pulled Val away, as he struggled and muffled cries into the towel. I slammed Brock’s head into the pavement of the path and leapt to my feet darting after them. I punched the girl first, sending her to the ground and then I kneed and punched Rick, sending him to the ground.

I rapidly grabbed Val, the puck and somehow the two sticks and we managed to make it safely to the car, hopping in at once. I realized that poor Val was still tied up with the rope and gagged with the cloth, but I started the car at once and we launched off, away from the park and the scene of terror.

We soon stopped at a red light across from a Wawa. I reached over and removed the towel from his mouth, allowing it to drape around his neck. He smiled at me and thanked me for saving him again.

“It’s a pleasure, sweetie. Nichy, you don’t deserve to be the target of Brock Mason. He’s a bastard who has been scarred by an event and can’t see straight. But don’t worry, you are safe with me. We’ll stick to the apartment and I’ll be on alert.”

“Okay.”

The rest of the car ride was silent. we were still tense from what had just transpired at the park, but I was glad that Val was doing fine. I felt bad that I had to leave the rope on him and I saw him struggling to get comfortable in the passenger seat.

Eventually we pulled back into Northgate and climbed out of the car. I locked it and we quickly ascended the stairs to the apartment.

Inside, I locked the door and turned to help Val out. I saw my roommates sitting on the couch, wearing awkward expressions. I froze in place, seeing their eyebrows raised and their mouths hanging open.

I shook my head, nervously laughing at what they were thinking. “It’s not what it looks like. I didn’t do this. It was Brock again.”

Kaitlyn got up and came over to help me out with the knot of the manila rope. The two of us finally managed to get it undone with teamwork and Val graciously rubbed his wrists, while he thanked us both. I reached up and removed the green towel from his neck. I threw the items on the counter.

“Now we have another towel to use,” Kaitlyn joked.

I laughed, grabbing Val’s hand and leading him over to the table. We sat down, as Kaitlyn took her seat once more.

“So what happened?” Melissa looked at us with a concerned expression on her face.

“We were minding our own business, trying to have some fun in the park and I was learning hockey from Val. Then Brock showed up and attempted to hurt him again. He bound his wrists and gagged him with the towel.”

That earned a collective gasp from the audience.

“How horrible? What is wrong with him?”

“Apparently his father was the goalie for the Flyers and he was killed in a car crash I assume due to intoxication of the driver, who was a Dallas Star and a Russian-born player.” I noticed Val was looking down. He almost looked ashamed.

“What is it, Nichy?” I asked, putting a hand on his shoulder in comfort.

“That player...I know who he was?”

“Who? Steve Mason?”

“No, the Russian Dallas Star.”

I turned to him and cocked my head. “Who was it?”

He pouted his lip and shook his head. “It was Sergei Gonchar.”