Chapter 20
CHAPTER TWENTY
Rebel Arena, Freedom
S hay
I clench my jaw, skating as fast as I can on the ice. I grip my stick harder, until my knuckles become white.
I ignore the pain in my sprained ankle.
I’ve rested it since last night. My brother hasn’t allowed me to take a single step, pressing regular ice packs to it. Robyn made a fun game of serving me meals and drinks. D’Angelo has carried me over his shoulder from room to room.
I enjoyed all of that, including the manhandling. In fact, especially the manhandling.
Yet nobody is stopping me from playing against the Winnipeg Jets.
This is my decision.
I’m the idiot who fell down the ladder.
I break everything that I bloody touch, even myself. Perhaps, it’s because I’m already broken.
But I won’t break my idol’s career. Especially not after what D’Angelo was brave enough to share in the tense drive back from Merchant’s Inn yesterday.
To my surprise, D’Angelo called for one of the chauffeur driven security cars to pick us up.
I blinked.
Calling security?
He must really be scared about the bloke who ordered the champagne.
Robyn and I didn’t speak, casting concerned glances at D’Angelo.
D’Angelo was pressed against the window, staring unseeingly out of the window. He looked lost somewhere bad in the past. He twisted his cuff links compulsively.
When D’Angelo started to scratch the back of his hand like he didn’t know that he was doing it, I couldn’t stand it anymore.
I made sure that the partition was closed. The security driver wouldn’t be able to overhear us.
Then I leaned across and stilled D’Angelo’s hand. “We’re out of there. Safe. You can talk to us about shit. Whoever is doing this to you, they’ll have to come through Eden and me first. Robyn and you have shown me that being loved means that you can show someone the worst sides of yourself, as well as the best. Also, that loving them means you no longer see the best or worst, only them.”
Robyn smiled. “You’re right.”
“Whatever you tell us, darlin’,” I add, “there’s no shame, right?”
D’Angelo blinked down at where our hands were joined like he was slowly waking back into the present. “You don’t know that. This is my fault. Plus, I ruined your birthday, principessa.”
“You didn’t,” Robyn said, firmly. “Charles Heine did.”
“Heine?” I couldn’t keep the disgust out of my voice. “The fucking imp ? You called him handsome .”
To my relief, a ghost of a smile flashed across D’Angelo’s face. “Jealous, hmm? I thought you said that I shouldn’t have any shame?”
Disgruntled, I lifted my hand away. “Unless you’re about to tell me that the slimy billionaire CEO, who has no idea of boundaries, was once your sub…” I trailed off at the cornered look in D’Angelo’s eyes. “Shit, he did sub for you.”
D’Angelo tapped his watch three times. “I may have a type.”
“Brats?” I asked, nervously.
“Blonds.”
Noah, Heine, and me .
Yeah, D’Angelo did.
Why was my stomach tied in knots? Was all of this Heine’s twisted attempts to win D’Angelo back?
Expensive cuff links from D’Angelo’s favorite store and a Rolex, clothes for a party, and champagne…
No wonder Heine knew D’Angelo so well.
What was their history? Heine was a bloody billionaire. I hated to admit that the bloke was gorgeous.
How could I compete against a man like him?
Yet why was Heine treating a dom like this? Unless Heine was into financial domination.
Satisfaction curled through me that Heine only knew D’Angelo on a surface, materialistic level. He thought that he could buy him.
But I knew my dom on a soul deep level.
D’Angelo wouldn’t abandon me for an upgrade.
Right?
Robyn looked startled. “I don’t understand. Heine owns our club. He’s trying to get you kicked out.”
“He’s playing a game,” D’Angelo replied. “He wants to control me. He always has. I won’t let him.”
“ Control? ” I tilted my head. “Isn’t he a sub?”
D’Angelo snorted. “He claims to be but he isn’t really. I wish I’d known that before I played with him. He’s like many wealthy men who don’t submit. Instead, they’re entitled. They act as if their doms are paid professionals who are only there to play out their fantasies. He treats doms like kink service dispensers. Subs like him are dangerous.”
“Why did you play with him then?” Robyn demanded.
“I didn’t know.” D’Angelo was pale and shaky. “Charles is banned or blacklisted from most BDSM events and clubs in America now. He becomes fixated on doms like he is with me. We’re talking about four years ago, however, when I was newer on the scene. I allowed my protective instincts to sway me.”
“Protective?”
“Charles’ Dad abused him. Probably still does. I’d see Charles in clubs, looking young and beautiful. Yet his cornflower blue eyes would be swollen shut, while his arms would be mottled with bruises. I thought that he had a shitty dom and was determined to help him. Eventually, I found out that it was actually his dad who was hurting him. His dad is a monster. I didn’t understand at the time how much of a monster Charles was as well. He used my need to protect him to manipulate me.”
I was wrong. D’Angelo didn’t want Heine.
Heine wasn’t a rival. He was an abuser, just as Blythe was to me.
I shook, reaching to entangle my fingers with D’Angelo’s. Robyn nudged her thigh to touch mine like she knew that I needed the grounding.
Doms could be abused by a sub. Except, people didn’t talk about that side of things.
“I’ve said red a number of times in my life,” D’Angelo’s voice was strained, “for different reasons. Each of those times, however, I was in control. I wasn’t hurt. I didn’t safe word because…”
I was horrified that when D’Angelo broke off, there were tears trembling on his eyelashes.
“You don’t have to talk about this,” Robyn said, gently. “But if it’ll help, we’ll always listen. Then we’ll destroy Heine together.”
“Charles had been begging me for months to become my personal sub. I always said no. I made it clear that I never spent more than a couple of nights with any sub, but he wanted more than that. I wasn’t willing to give him what he was demanding. I was still in love with Robyn. I didn’t want a relationship with anyone. I could only offer to be his friend.” D’Angelo tightened his hold on my hand.
What D’Angelo wasn’t saying was that he did choose me as his first personal sub.
He spent years alone because of his love for Robyn but now that he was united with her, they’d both accepted me as well.
My heart warmed.
“He wouldn’t accept that, I’m guessing.” Robyn wrapped her arms around herself.
D’Angelo shook his head. “When I hosted a Halloween fetish party, Charles said that he was too anxious to go by himself to a kink event as a lone sub. He suggested that we could go together and put on a performance: Lucifer and the tamed angel . He bought incredible outfits. I shouldn’t have agreed but I felt sorry for him. Principessa, you saw my outfit in the 1001 Fantasies. Charles was naked apart from beautiful white wings and matching collar and leash. He acted the part of the broken angel at the feet of the mighty Lucifer to perfection the entire evening. The demonstration with Charles tied to the Saint Andrew’s cross was the highlight of the evening. I bullwhipped his ass and thighs, while his wings appeared to flap at each hit. There was nothing sexual.”
“What went wrong?” My heart was beating too fast.
I could imagine it.
Heine writhing in agonized pleasure, pretending to be broken by his enemy and demonic Prince of Darkness.
Suffering to try to win his new dom.
D’Angelo ran a shaky hand over his face. “Charles doesn’t know his own limits. I could see that he’d reached them, but he wouldn’t even say yellow . Instead, he tried to brat me into hitting him harder. We had an audience, and I wasn’t accepting that behavior from any sub. Before I could call a stop to the demonstration, however, Charles suddenly started to sob. He broke and called out: Dad, don’t, please, you’re hurting me Daddy… I froze. I felt like a monster. Did he think that I was like his Dad? Had I triggered him? I called red and untied him.”
“Shit.” My eyes widened. I hadn’t expected to feel bad for the bastard. “Was he okay?”
A tear trailed down D’Angelo’s cheek. “Okay enough to push me away furiously. He’d wanted to play out a consensual non-consent scene. It was role play to him. He hadn’t told me, and no way had I agreed to that. I wouldn’t have, ever . You know how I feel about scenes that include parents.”
I felt like I might hurl because I did know.
D’Angelo had his own trauma around his parents just like I did.
He’d never bring either parents or abuse into his play or his bed. He hadn’t consented to that in his negotiations.
“The fucking asshole.” Robyn’s eyes were blazing.
“I tried to give him aftercare. I needed it as much as he did,” D’Angelo said, quietly. “I was in a daze, shocked. But Charles spat that I was weak and not a real dom . I don’t remember much after that. The night is a blur. But I crashed into the worst dom drop I’ve suffered. For weeks, I had to struggle through hockey games, while feeling burned out, agitated, and depressed. I didn’t play with other subs for months because I couldn’t stop those words looping through my head: not a real dom .”
I gripped D’Angelo’s chin, forcing him to meet my gaze. “Listen to me, Sir, you’re a real dom . I know because I used to be with a fake one. You’re also my Dom , and that’s what bloody matters. It’s Heine who’s not a real sub. He broke your trust, when he didn’t respect your hard limit. He’s intimidating and threatening you now because he still hasn’t learned about boundaries. We’re going to teach him that you can’t be controlled, yeah?”
“Why don’t we go to the cops?” Robyn demanded.
“And say what? That a billionaire from our own club bought you a drink on your birthday?” D’Angelo arched his brow.
“He has a point,” I admitted, reluctantly.
“Plus,” D’Angelo added, “Charles has access to where I live. He could give a reasonable excuse for why he sent the team’s captain gifts and an outfit for an official event. He could end all our careers. If we turn this into a scandal, we’re finished. Your dad too. This man is powerful. He was back then. I often wondered if the reason the press went for me so hard had something to do with Charles’ connections.”
“Garcia and Eden will research and find some leverage against him.” Robyn’s gaze becomes steely. “I won’t let anyone bully my men. If Heine thinks that he can make his point even at my birthday party that he’s in control, then we need to dig up more information about him to take it back.”
“We’re winning against the Jets tomorrow.” Fierce determination blazes through me. “If this is a game to Heine, then we’re winning.”
Now, I glance through the glass at the VIP area of the arena.
Heine is standing in the middle of his bully gang of board members.
My gaze hardens.
D’Angelo is on fire tonight, and it’s ignited the rest of the team.
I’m going to fucking stick it to the bastard CEO.
Possessiveness entwined with protectiveness surges through me.
D’Angelo is mine.
Except, it’s his name that’s written on my cock and not the other way around.
I blush, remembering the feel of D’Angelo’s fingers as he coaxed me to hardness before we left for the game but with a cool efficiency, never breaking eye contact.
Then he took a permanent marker, writing JUDE down my cock.
I almost fucking came all over his hand.
I’d never seen his eyes look so dark and hungry.
Then he yanked me toward him by my balls and murmured into my ear, “One day, you’ll beg me to tattoo my name here. I’m never letting you go, cucciolo. You’re my sub, and I’ll never want anyone else. It doesn’t matter what Charles thinks. Do you understand? He can watch but he doesn’t know that while you play the game today, you’ll have my name on your cock underneath your uniform. The audience in the arena and the millions watching at home won’t know the secret about the captain and the star. But we’ll both know it, won’t we? I’ll always be with you. And that’s all that should matter to you.”
D’Angelo’s words settled deep into my soul.
D’Angelo will always be with me, possessing me in a way that never hurts…
Eden wouldn’t understand. But this is everything that I’ve been searching for.
“Yes, Sir.” I blinked the tears from my eyes and kissed D’Angelo because I didn’t have the words to express how much it meant to me.
Yet I could on the ice by winning this game.
Fuck my bad ankle.
One game.
I can do this.
It’s only pain.
I glance to the side through the bright lights at D’Angelo. He’s got the puck and is heading with cold, focused determination toward the goal.
It has been a tough game. The pundits have been predicting the Bay Rebels to lose.
But we’re not.
Instead, it’s 5 — 4 to the Bay Rebels.
I scored four of those, and D’Angelo one.
I have never scored that many goals on a sprained ankle before.
I’m proud about that.
It’s a record for me.
I’ve promised D’Angelo that we’re winning to stick this to the sub who forced him to call red.
We have to win tonight.
When I glance through the glass, I notice Robyn and Eden, who are standing together beside the metal benches.
Robyn is grinning and bouncing up and down in excitement. She is wrapped up in a long coat, as well as Eden’s gray scarf and gloves. Eden is standing as close to her as he can get away with.
He catches my gaze, lifting his eyebrow. He’s asking me about my ankle.
I shrug.
We both know that it’s bad, but it doesn’t make any difference. I’m not leaving the ice.
How can I, after what I learned about Heine?
Eden’s expression tightens.
Adrenaline rushes through me. I pick up speed to support my captain.
D’Angelo raises his head just enough to notice I am now in a free space that he can pass to.
I take a quick glance at the goal.
Most players shoot at the net, which is their mistake, because I shoot to bloody score.
I speed up.
We’ve got this.
Suddenly, however, my ankle becomes unstable.
I gasp. My grip loosens on my stick. My arms flail.
My injured ankle wobbles, unstable.
Terrified to lose control at high speed, I veer to the side, desperately trying to regain control.
“Shit.” I crash into the boards, only just managing to swing my body around to hit hip first.
I cry out, slamming into the side hard enough to jar my bones and make my earlier bruises become tender again.
D’Angelo circles around on the ice in alarm at my wild crash.
The commentator is excitedly running through theories already for my loss of control. I grasp onto the side, catching my breath.
My hip throbs. I test my ankle. It aches but appears to be stable again.
This game is like playing Russian roulette. My foot could roll inwards, which would lead to a serious fall if I’m skating fast.
I straighten, setting my shoulders.
I’ll take those odds.
I won’t allow my boyfriend, and the man who has written his name on my cock, to be hurt again by a man like Heine. I won’t let Robyn’s new found family be threatened. I won’t allow Eden to lose his first real home.
Just one game to play.
I push myself away from the boards.
My ankle holds.
I gesture at D’Angelo to keep playing.
D’Angelo gives me a piercing look. Then he nods.
My hands are sweaty, slipping on my stick.
One more goal .
Then they won’t be able to catch us in time.
Unfortunately, my crash has given the Jets’ defensemen the opportunity to circle D’Angelo.
I turn quickly, making for the goal and working to get myself in a position where D’Angelo can pass to me.
D’Angelo immediately intuitively understands my play. Atlas backs me up, blocking the Jets’ center.
A thrill rushes through me, when I find open space close to the side.
I grin, glancing at the net. This is a brilliant position. I can shoot from here.
Fuck that. I can score from here.
My pulse is loud in my ears. My throat is dry. My eyes narrow.
I need to win this battle for D’Angelo, the Bay Rebels, and the man who I want to become… the man who can protect his dom .
My ankle hasn’t given out. I won’t fall again. I won’t let myself break.
D’Angelo skillfully raises his stick and passes the puck between the defenseman to me.
I scoop up the puck and release quickly, dropping my shoulder first to trick the goalie.
And I score.
The crowd explodes with joy. Atlas whoops in triumph.
I collapse to the ice, however, onto my knees, as my ankle finally gives out.
My gasp of pain is hidden by the cheering of the crowd. I lift my stick in triumph to make it look like my dramatic move was only a celebration.
When I glance over my shoulder, D’Angelo is skating toward me. I can tell that unlike the goalie, I haven’t tricked him.
Yet he’s smiling because he knows that we’ve won this game.
I’d fucking break my ankle to make this man smile.
I’d fucking die to beat Heine.