Sin Bin Read online

  Contents

  Praise for Maureen Smith

  Dedication

  The Score

  Epigraph

  Pregame

  Prologue

  First Period

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Second Period

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Third Period

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Chapter 48

  Chapter 49

  Overtime

  Epilogue

  Author Note

  Sin Bin Playlist

  Spanish Glossary

  About the Author

  Also By Maureen Smith

  Praise for Maureen Smith

  “Smith is a master crafter of sensually robust, endearing, and page-turning romantic fiction” — USA Today on Inferno

  * * *

  “Maureen Smith has a special gift with words” — Brenda Jackson, New York Times and USA Today bestselling author

  * * *

  “A highly entertaining story with elements of comedy, cooking, intense sexual chemistry and hot romance” — Romantic Times on Recipe for Temptation, Top Pick

  * * *

  “…a light, funny romance that has you cheering for the hero and heroine to be together…a must read!” — Urban Reviews on Recipe for Temptation

  * * *

  “…once you’ve dived in with both feet, falling in love with this couple and watching them on their journey back to each other is riveting, endearing, and addictive” — USA Today on Seducing the Wolf

  * * *

  “…a spicy Chicago entrée with erotic seasoning” — Library Journal on Whatever You Like

  * * *

  “…a spicy boy-meets-girl tale that will keep you turning the pages…Make sure you wear flame-proof gloves!” — Romantic Times on Whatever You Like

  * * *

  “…reintroduces a family that is as enticing and raucous as it gets” — Romantic Times on Any Way You Want It

  * * *

  “The sex scenes are steamy and primal, and readers will want to read them again and again” — Romantic Times on Tempt Me at Midnight

  * * *

  “…one of those books that does everything right. The characters are likable, the story moves at a brisk pace, and the chemistry between the hero and heroine is red hot” — Romance Reviews Today on A Guilty Affair

  * * *

  “Smith does a masterful job bringing Warrick and Raina from sworn enemies to lovers, and the trip is so intriguing the story is hard to put down!” — Romantic Times on Touch of Heaven, Top Pick

  SIN BIN

  * * *

  Copyright © 2019 by Maureen Smith

  * * *

  Published by Wordsmith Enterprises

  * * *

  Cover Design: The Killion Group

  * * *

  First Electronic Edition: 2019

  * * *

  All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including xerography, photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, is forbidden without the written permission of the author.

  * * *

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  * * *

  For questions and comments about this book, please contact Maureen Smith at [email protected]. Visit her official website at www.maureen-smith.com.

  Created with Vellum

  Dedicated to all the survivors and overcomers

  The Score

  The Denver Rebels have a date with destiny. After a heartbreaking loss knocked them out of the NHL final last season, they’re on a mission to win at all costs and be immortalized on the Stanley Cup. Loaded with talent and drive, the Rebels are the team

  to beat this year.

  * * *

  For Reid, Viggo, Logan, and Hunter, the road to glory will be paved with challenges on and off the ice. Romance awaits them through sizzling chance encounters and a blast from the past.

  * * *

  Will these hockey hotties win the Cup without losing their hearts?

  * * *

  Let the games begin in five, four, three, two….

  Prologue

  Logan

  Fifteen years earlier

  Las Vegas, Nevada

  * * *

  “Fight, fight, fight!”

  The rowdy chants of the crowd filled Logan Brassard’s ears as he slowly circled his opponent. Fisher was older, taller, bigger and stronger. But Logan wasn’t scared. After years of getting the snot beat out of him by grown men, not much scared him anymore.

  “You little shit,” Fisher jeered, his voice tinged with laughter. “You really think you can take me?”

  “I know I can,” Logan snarled.

  Fisher spat into the grass and shook his head at Logan, circling him menacingly. “I’m gonna demolish you, kid. Gonna send you running back home to mommy. Oh, wait. You don’t have a mommy, do you? You don’t have a mommy or a home. Poor wittle baby.”

  Logan put up his fists. “We talkin’ or fightin’, asshole?”

  Fisher laughed scornfully as the crowd’s chants grew even louder and more demanding.

  “Fight, fight, fight, fight!”

  Fisher made the first move, lunging forward and swinging at Logan.

  He ducked the blow and threw a punch of his own, smashing his fist into Fisher’s acne-scarred cheek.

  Fisher stumbled backward as cheers erupted from the crowd.

  Logan swung again, hitting him in the stomach. When Fisher doubled over, Logan tackled him around the waist and slammed him to the ground.

  “Oof!” Fisher grunted as the wind was knocked out of him. Before he could catch his breath, Logan began pummeling him in the face and ribs.

  The crowd roared with approval. “Bruiser, Bruiser, Bruiser!”

  Fisher shouted curses and swung wildly until his fist connected with Logan’s jaw.

  The blow stung, but in the heat of battle Logan barely even noticed. Gritting his teeth, he repeatedly landed vicious jabs as blood squirted from Fisher’s mouth and nose. The crowd egged him on, cheering and hollering as Fisher tried to block his hits.

  Logan kept punching in a fury until he was stopped by Wyatt, the sixteen-year-old juvie who ran the weekly fights. He pulled Logan to his feet and raised
his right arm in the air.

  “We have a new champ!”

  The crowd went berserk, half cheering and half groaning as high fives were slapped and money changed hands.

  Fisher stumbled to his feet, holding his bloody nose. “I want a rematch!”

  Wyatt grinned, counting a wad of cash. “Sure thing, Fish—”

  “LOGAN!” an angry voice cut through the air like a boom of thunder.

  Shit, Logan thought as a burly, light-skinned Dominican man came shoving his way through the crowd. He worked at the group home where Logan lived. His name was Santino Joaquin Peña Tavárez, but that was a friggin’ mouthful so everyone just called him Mr. T.

  Wyatt and the other boys took one look at Mr. T and scattered like junkies fleeing the cops.

  “Hey!” Logan called to their retreating backs. “Where’s my money?”

  Before he could take off running after them, a massive hand seized his arm and jerked him around. Suddenly he found himself staring up into Mr. T’s scowling face.

  “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

  “I gotta get my money!” Logan exclaimed.

  “I don’t think so.”

  “But I won the fight!”

  “Congratulations, slugger. Let’s go.” Mr. T grabbed Logan by the arm and began dragging him across the grassy soccer field toward a white van parked along the curb. “You must have lost your damn mind, sneaking out of the house to meet up with those hoodlums. You know you have hockey practice—”

  “I don’t wanna play hockey,” Logan protested.

  “Tough shit, carajito. You’re playing.”

  “You can’t make me!”

  Mr. T stopped suddenly and turned to face Logan. His gray eyes were hard, his expression stern. “Look here, boy. Coach Fulcher runs one of the few youth hockey leagues in Nevada. I had to pull strings to get you a spot on the squirt team—”

  “Who asked you to?” Logan shot back. “I never said I wanted to play stupid hockey!”

  “Yeah? What else you got going on?” Mr. T jabbed his thumb in the direction of the field. “That little fight club is only gonna land you in jail or the morgue. Is that what you want?”

  Logan glared defiantly at the big man.

  “Well? Is it?”

  Logan glared another moment before dropping his gaze to the front of his sweatshirt. It was splattered with Fisher’s blood. This was the second shirt he’d ruined in less than two weeks, and he knew he was gonna catch hell for it. But he didn’t care. He didn’t care about much of anything.

  Shaking his head, Mr. T pulled out a handkerchief, grabbed Logan’s hands and started cleaning his bloody knuckles. “You like fighting so much? Hockey’s the perfect sport for you.”

  “Hockey’s dumb,” Logan grumbled resentfully. “And nobody plays hockey in Vegas.”

  “Maybe not now. But someday we could get a pro hockey team and you could play for them.”

  Logan screwed up his face as Mr. T hauled him over to the white van. Instead of opening the sliding back door, he unlocked the passenger door and barked, “Get in.”

  Logan clambered up into the front seat and stubbornly folded his arms across his chest.

  Mr. T climbed behind the wheel and slammed the door. “Put your seat belt on.”

  Logan grudgingly obeyed.

  When Mr. T started the engine, a bouncy bachata song poured out of the speakers. Bachata was his favorite kind of music because it reminded him of the islands. Logan couldn’t understand all of the words, but he liked the rhythm. Mr. T said it was because he had a quarter Latin blood.

  Mr. T lowered the volume and glanced at Logan. “We have to swing by the house so you can change for practice and grab your gear. I called Coach Fulcher to let him know we’re on our way. He isn’t too happy about you being late to the second practice of the season, but he’s willing to let it slide this time.”

  “Why?” Logan grumbled. “’Cause he feels sorry for me? ’Cause I’m an orphan?”

  “No, because you’re a good skater and he agrees with me that you have potential. Don’t make him regret taking a chance on you.” Mr. T pulled away from the curb and merged into the afternoon traffic.

  Frowning, Logan turned his head to glare out the window. His jaw was throbbing from Fisher’s punch, but that’s not what was bothering him. What was bothering him was that he hadn’t gotten his prize money. He really needed that cash. He’d been saving up to buy a new telescope for Jupiter, a girl who lived at the group home. Her real name was Meadow, but he called her Jupiter because she loved astronomy and was always carrying around a telescope that her parents gave her when she was little.

  Last month when Logan got into a fight with another boy at the group home, Jupiter’s telescope got broken. It was an accident, but he’d felt pretty guilty about it—especially after he saw her crying in her room that night. He’d decided right then and there to buy her another telescope. It was the least he could do. Now he just had to find a way to sneak out again to get his money from Wyatt.

  Mr. T stopped at a red light and looked at Logan. “Listen, mijo. I know life has dealt you a crappy hand. You’ve been through more shit than most adults I know, and you definitely deserve a lucky break. That’s why I signed you up for hockey. You might not believe this, but playing hockey could be your ticket to a better life. If you work hard and prove yourself, you might even make it to the pros one day. Just imagine that, Logan. Imagine yourself playing in the NHL, making millions and winning championships. Wouldn’t that be amazing?”

  “I guess.” Logan stared down at his bruised knuckles, mulling over Mr. T’s words. “I don’t think I’ll be good at it.”

  “Of course you will,” Mr. T said with a grin. “You were born in Canada and your old man is Canadian. Hockey’s practically in your blood.”

  Logan wasn’t so sure of that. Frowning, he flexed his fingers and curled them into a fist. “The other boys on the team…” He trailed off, frowning harder.

  “What about the other boys?”

  They had moms who would take them to hockey practice and bake cookies to raise money for the team. They had dads who would come to their games and cheer for them. Who would Logan have?

  Nobody, that’s who.

  Mr. T sent him a sideways glance. “I rearranged my schedule so I can take you to practice every week and attend all of your games.” His expression softened at the surprised look Logan gave him. “I’m gonna be there for you, mijo. I’m gonna be sitting in the stands and rooting for you all the way. Te lo prometo. I promise.”

  Logan felt a lump rise in his throat. He choked it down, not wanting to look like a crybaby.

  Mr. T reached over and ruffled his black hair. “Damn, boy, you need a haircut. Out here looking like Mowgli from The Jungle Book.”

  Logan grinned, which made his jaw hurt worse.

  A few minutes later, they reached the group home. The plain stucco house sat on a quiet street shaded by big leafy trees. It was nothing special, but it was the closest thing he’d had to a home since he was five.

  As they pulled up to the house, the front door opened and a man and woman walked out. They were followed by a small girl.

  Jupiter.

  Logan leaned forward, staring alertly out the window.

  Jupiter was walking behind the couple with her head down. Her dark hair was neatly braided into two pigtails and she was wearing a frilly pink dress. Logan had never seen her in a dress before. He didn’t even know she had one.

  Mr. T pulled into the driveway. Logan barely waited for the van to come to a stop before he jumped out and called, “Jupiter!”

  She turned her head in his direction.

  They stared at each other across the large yard.

  When Jupiter stuck her tongue out at him, Logan grinned. Maybe she wasn’t mad at him anymore for breaking her telescope.

  The man and woman led Jupiter to a shiny black car parked in front of the house. As the man put Jupiter’s bag inside th
e trunk, Mr. T came around the van and stood beside Logan.

  “Where’s she going?” Logan asked a little anxiously.

  Mr. T smiled. “She’s been adopted, mijo. Her new parents must have gotten special permission to pick her up from here.”

  “So they’re taking her home?”

  “Yes, they’re taking her home.”

  Logan’s throat felt strangely tight as he watched Jupiter climb into the black car. Before the door could be shut, she suddenly darted out of the backseat and raced across the yard, her puffy pigtails bouncing as she ran straight toward Logan.