CHAPTER ONE
NAPOLEON
Highway noise didn’t usually bother me, but then, I never experienced it from the inside of a trunk. Road noise roared in my ears. My head swam as I inhaled more carbon monoxide than a body could cope with, and I swore I experienced roadkill first hand every time the unfortunate victim splattered the tires.
The car bumped along beneath my cheek, jolting and jarring me in every direction. Man, would the bruises form a pretty pattern come tomorrow. If I was there to see it. Exhaust became my constant companion. Whoever decided to bind me with duct tape had also been sweet enough to leave the trunk ajar. For breathing purposes? I wanted to take hope, but the distinct lack of movement and constant headache left me with one option:
Kill those motherfuckers the moment I freed myself.
Assuming I got free.
Who the fuck kidnaps the captain of a varsity ice hockey team? Especially one like the Rippton Hails. The answer to that was twofold: today’s game, and my father’s occasionally questionable business deals.
Light streamed through the small gap wedged open with something that poked me in the cheek. I sucked in enough air to clear my head, discarding that previous thought. I settled on the first option, mainly because it didn’t end with me dismembered and discarded in a body bag.
Someone wanted to claim the dubious honor of kidnapping Napoleon ‘Crush’ Lancaster on game day.
I woke up stuffed into the small compartment and pondered that thought too many times over the last few hours, though it could have been minutes—my sense of time was all screwed up. That they–whoever the hell they were–considered my need to breathe oxygen, albeit air laced with toxic exhaust fumes, gave me hope that I wouldn’t be dumped off the edge of a cliff somewhere.
It took more than one man to lift the center and captain of the Rippton Hails Ice Hockey team as a dead weight.
Not because I’d been drunk at the time; hell, I had a game to play, but because the sick fuckers knocked me out to carry out their little trick.
Reason the nth why my head aches like a mother.
Shafts of light slipped through the tiny gap I sealed my mouth around to claim free air. The sun rose at some point during my little joy ride, slanting light through the breach, and I was in a world of hurt for more than one reason.
We were early in the season, and I needed to get my ass back to Rippton U before I got kicked off the team, taking my dreams of a professional career with it. Like every student on campus, I had enough money in my personal bank account that a hockey career wasn’t about the dollar signs or the need to see my face on a commercial selling overpriced water to kids with too much disposable income.
No, my love for the game was my passion. Had been my passion since I was six years old and got slapped in the face with a puck that sailed through the air and brought me my first loose tooth. But I scored my first goal that day too while I bled like an extra on a slasher flick and fucking loved it.
I thrashed about in the small space and managed to tenderize myself further. Taking stock for the first time, the tender spots outnumbered my ability to think clearly beyond the throbbing that pounded a staccato beat between my ears. I gritted my teeth and pushed up on my duct taped hands. Arching my back, I shoved them against the roof of my cage, yelling my frustration when it didn’t budge.
Enough was enough, and I gave myself permission to lose my shit when some asshole kidnapped me and stuffed me in a small space.
It was a damn good thing that I had no claustrophobic tendencies. I just wouldn’t have a career if I didn’t get my ass back to Rippton soon.
I wouldn’t have a career.
Fuck me.
“You assholes stop the car! I’ll rip you a new one if we don’t stop this fucking charade now!” My voice cracked at the end of my roar, ending in a cough that consumed me. I’d do more than rip whoever I had to a new one when I got free. It made me feel better not to be a passive participant in my own abduction, though.
To my total and utter surprise, the car slowed. I slid to the back of the trunk then the other direction, my head thumping against the small wall that separated the hatch of the car and the back seat, and back toward the car’s exterior.
And we stopped.
Every inch of me needed to rant, to throw myself at the trunk lid, but I saved that unfurling energy for the fight coming my way. Flexing my fingers and toes, I urged as much circulation into my limbs as I possibly could. Pins and needles stung me, but I’d experienced worse pain, and besides, I could use it.
The lid of the trunk popped open. Light streamed in, obliterating my vision worse than the arena lights on game night. I blinked watering eyes that I couldn’t shield.
Hands grabbed at me. I thrashed frantically, one sense already useless. With my hands and feet restricted by the duct tape, I had little hope of actually doing significant damage.
What I wouldn’t give for a hockey stick and the freedom to swing it right now.
Disembodied hands hauled me out of the car and before my eyes could adjust to the indescribably cheery brightness that flared my vision out, some bastard punched me in the face.
I hit the dirt beneath my bare feet, grit scraping my cheek.
Well, that wasn’t very nice at all. I never fully appreciated the flat surface of a highway until now.
I pushed up from the ground, blinking at sandy particles that blurred as a puff of hot exhaust hit my cheek at far too close quarters. Gravel showered me as the car pulled away. I raised my bound hands over my face in a belated effort to protect myself and sucked in a breath filled with carbon monoxide.
Adding hacking my lungs out on the side of the highway to my list of injuries, I sat absolutely still, taking in my surroundings.
Desert spread to one side of me, a constant stream of cars flowing in the other direction. I patted my jean pockets awkwardly with both hands but came up empty. Had I been dumped in the middle of Death Valley? My stomach turned over at the thought. That was an hour drive back to the game, depending on how much time they wasted in disorienting me and how far out they left me. But the highway had too much traffic to be completely out in the desert. I hoped.
No phone, and no fucking idea where I had been dumped. I hadn’t even had enough sense to memorize the licence plate before my assailants drove away.
A few horns honked, but their drivers didn't slow. I offered them a one-fingered salute behind my back as I worked at the tape wrapped around my ankles, but with bound fingers, all I achieved was to add more bruises to my plight as I brought myself to my knees.
No signs lined the blacktop to tell me which damn highway I knelt on the side of like a Sunday hooker on a Monday morning. The beeping around me increased. I ignored them, sawing uselessly at my wrists. Before I could free myself, a hatchback pulled up beside me.
Desiccated roadkill and smog assailed me a second time as the car overshot my position.
It came to a stop eventually and reversed with caution. The car pulled up, pointed in the opposite direction to the cars passing me on my side of the highway. The driver must have crossed four lanes of highway traffic to pull across to me.
Did that make the newcomer my friend or my enemy? I clenched my teeth and tried to push up to my feet, but I only succeeded in making a greater ass of myself as I toppled sideways.
The door opened as I righted myself. Expecting the worst, I raised my chin and waited. What other fuckery was headed my way this morning?
A pair of slim, toned legs encased in smooth black pants swung out from the driver’s seat. I blinked. They looked sprayed on from the ankles up. My cock decided now was a good time to function, having not gotten its morning wood out of the way, and reminded me sharply of my desperate urge to pee that I had blessedly forgotten in my rush from my dorm to my current situation.
The fuckers stole me direct from my dorm .
Nothing like being knocked out and stuffed in the back of a car after a pre-dawn run, especially when they were considerate enough to let me down over a gallon of water in the aftermath of my light workout on game day before kidnapping me.
The need to relieve myself warred with my desire to inflict serious damage on the assholes who had manhandled me, but when the driver stepped out of the car, I forgot everything, even my name.
Until she said it.
“Napoleon Lancaster? The Emperor?”
Hearing my nickname got my attention. I squinted into the brightness, still headachy and adjusting after so long in a cramped space, but I didn’t recognize her.
Dressed in those spray on plastic or leather looking pants, black high heels topped with a blue sweatshirt that gave her a sexy-comfy vibe, I instantly liked what I saw. Her straightened blonde hair shimmered down her back. She looked like she’d stepped right out of a damn magazine.
As captain of the college ice hockey team I had my fair share of puck bunnies, but this girl blew them all away.
“Yeah?” I managed to croak while my eyeballs bugged from my head.
She stopped a few feet from me, her hands planted on those gorgeous fucking hips with curves that went for miles, her heels shoulder-width apart.
I knelt at her feet and worshipped her.
A faint smile played on lush, soft pink lips. “Would you like some help? Frat prank gone wrong? I thought you’d be the one pulling a stunt like that.”
“I wish,” I grunted. “And thanks for the vote of confidence. Wait, where do you know me from?”
The smile brightened. “Rippton U. Couldn’t leave one of our precious athletes in distress.”
She turned to display the Hails Ice Phoenix mascot printed across the back of her sweatshirt. The team slogan, Reborn, Rise, Conquer slashed across its extended wings in bold print. The entire image was wreathed in icy blue flame. She looked at me over her shoulder, and I realized her ice blue gaze matched the phoenix.
“That’s stunning.” Was I talking about her or the sweatshirt? “I don’t remember anything that amazing coming from merchandising.”
I should know, I had a closet full of the stuff that got sent out to us whenever they added new items to the list. Which seemed to be every second month.
“Thanks. My roommate designed it. She’s a digital game design major but she does logos and all sorts of amazing stuff.”
“She’s got talent. What’s your name?”
“Wrenlee Cheshire. Like the fucking cat. No jokes,” she warned as my eyes lit up.
“Sure, kitten.”
The way her mouth popped out in a pink moue, her eyes blazing as they narrowed was worth it, even if she never spoke to me again.
“Fuckboy.”
“Probably.” I grinned and raised my wrists. “Help a player out?”
Her smile turned wicked as she withdrew a slim blade from her back pocket. “Not a problem.”
My mouth went dry. “Ah, that’s not what I?—”
I broke off as she slipped the sharp edge straight through the tape at my wrists and had done my ankles by the time I picked the tape from my arms. The tattered pieces held far too many of my hairs as their trophies, but I couldn’t argue with being free.
Plus, I had a game to play.
“Thank you. Is there a chance of getting back to Rippton in a hurry? I don’t even know where we are.”
“They did a job on you, didn’t they? What did you do? Never mind, don’t answer that.” She held up a hand to halt a protest that died a short death on my lips. “It’s forty minutes back from here. Hop in.” She gestured to her car.
I wouldn’t last that long. The memory of the water I’d drunk at the gym tweaked the rising pressure. “Uh…” I received a raised eyebrow for my efforts. “It’s been a while,” I waved vaguely at the area in front of my crotch. “I need to—” I gave her a pained smile, turning my back to the passing traffic.
My options were to either sit in pain for the next near hour or choose a foot high desert bush to pee on.
“Oh!” Her face flaming, she spun around in my peripherals. A moment later the car door slammed behind her.
I hoped she wouldn’t drive off on me while I relieved myself.