Page 81 of Ice Devil

“Here are a few questions you can ask Beck.” Hearing Jesse’s whispered voice wouldn’t ordinarily be troubling. After all, we were in an interview, so questions were the key.

What immediately had my hackles raised was the comment itself. We’d gone through if there were any preplanned questions already.

I barely glanced at the words typed and emboldened on a sheet of crisp white paper, but all I needed were the few seconds to understand why I was here. The bastards were using me to destroy Beck’s career with a horrible accusation. The cameras had likely noticed the hard snap of my head in the reporter’s direction even if it was apparent Beck had been sucked into the instant slice of fame.

“You fucking son of a bitch,” I hissed.

Jesse leaned even closer, grinning as if I was part of the conspiracy. “Ask the questions, Sloane. You’re an excellent reporter. Wasn’t this your angle all along? We’ve read your earlier work. You know what the bastards are capable of.”

My earlier work.

Words that had been paraphrased and used against me years before, the entire situation something I’d thought buried.

With a slight lift of my gaze toward Kyle, I could easily tell he was in on the ruse by the smirk he was wearing.

I glanced down at the questions again, as close to being horrified as a woman in this profession could be.

“You’re fucking out of your mind. Not a chance in hell.”

“Is this because you’re involved with Beck romantically? Or because you don’t want to expose his past? Pretty damning but his fans need to know the truth, especially after almost killing a man years before. Now tonight. Pictures tell no lies.”

He shoved his phone under my nose, the picture taken obviously doctored. I’d been standing feet away from the fight, including when Bronco had been hit and gone down, stomped on by the force of the crowd of players. Not by Beck. But someone had taken the time to make it look as if Beck had partially shifted.

My guess was Bronco’s injuries were going to be hyped as life threatening. My God.

“You fucking bastard.”

“I think our guest host anchor has a few questions,” Kyle said in a booming voice.

“No, Beck⁠—”

“We don’t normally handle our interviews this way, but let’s see what Sloane has to say.” Jesse’s interruption of the warning I’d tried to issue had been handled masterfully, Jesse even acting shocked at questions I’d supposedly written down.

Beck had fallen into trusting the assholes, neither of us able to catch the eye of the other and I bet that was on purpose.

“Sloane is right. You were pretty rough on Bronco out there. He has a concussion.” Jesse’s tone was as if he was truly concerned.

Which he wasn’t.

Before I could jump in, Kyle did. “Yeah, he’s pretty banged up. Didn’t I hear something about you doing that to a player a few years ago in Cincinnati?”

Beck was flustered. I could hear a glitch in his voice. “That was entirely different. I walked away from Bronco. He simply got caught in a fight.”

“Hold on,” I threw out.

My objection was overridden immediately.

“Not according to the picture Sloane sent us. Take a look for yourself.” Kyle slid the same doctored picture I’d been shown across the table. “You’re looking rough there, buddy. As if your wolf was ready to break through bones and muscle.”

“After Sloane mentioned what happened in Cincinnati, I couldn’t believe it and searched for the incident. It appears someone bought off the player’s silence so you wouldn’t be charged. Is that even true?”

“If it is, then maybe there is reason to be concerned about shifters playing in such a violent sport. Right, Sloane?”

“Stop the interview,” I demanded, jerking to a standing position. “I will not tolerate inaccurate information and trying to railroad this interview.”

“Is that what’s really happening here?” Beck asked, also standing. “Or is this all about ratings?”

The two men remained seated and were suddenly very quiet.