Slash Me Savagely (The Blackwater Reaper Hockey #1)

2. Matt

Chapter 2

Matt

I stood at center ice; the arena buzzing around me, lights blaring down like spotlights on a stage. The scent of sweat and fresh ice filled the air. As the puck dropped, adrenaline surged through my veins.

I pushed off hard, gliding forward, my skates carving into the ice with precision. My eyes scanned the rink, assessing the opposition's movements. I spotted a defender closing in on me. With a flick of my wrist, I sent the puck flying past him—quick and unexpected.

“Fuck, Sokolov!” shouted a teammate as he took off down the left wing.

I chased after him, weaving through players like a needle through thread. The crowd erupted with each successful pass. Every time I touched the puck, it felt electric. I had to keep moving, keep creating space.

With one swift motion, I picked up speed, my skates digging into the surface beneath me as I approached the goal line. A defender shadowed me closely; his breath fogged in the cold air. I feigned left and darted right, slipping past him like he was stuck in molasses.

The goalie crouched low in anticipation. I barreled towards him. Time slowed as I positioned myself for a shot—just me and him now.

“Come on!” someone yelled from the stands.

I pulled back my stick and released a snap shot that sliced through the air like lightning. The puck soared towards its target but clanged off the crossbar with an echoing thud that sent fury spiraling through my gut.

“Get it back!” someone shouted from behind me.

I didn’t hesitate; instincts kicked in. I sprinted after the rebound as it bounced into open ice. My teammates scrambled to regain possession, voices rising in urgency around me.

“Over here!” I called out.

The chaos felt alive as players collided and sticks clashed. Finally, one of my linemates scooped up the loose puck and passed it to me with precision.

With a quick glance at my options, I made a decision. Instead of shooting again, I feinted another shot to draw out the goalie before sliding a perfect pass across to Peter Wolfe stationed at the far post.

He didn’t miss his mark; his blade connected solidly with the puck as he sent it flying into the net with a satisfying swish that echoed triumphantly through our home arena.

“Yeah!” The roar of our team erupted around me while cheers rang out from every corner of the stands.

The roar of the crowd faded as I turned to find her. She stood a few rows up, just beyond the glass, caught in a moment of celebration. Long blonde hair cascaded over her shoulders, catching the arena lights in a way that made it shimmer like polished wood. Her eyes sparkled with excitement—deep green, bright as emeralds, alive with the energy of the game.

She wore a fitted shirt, one that hugged her frame just right, and every time she laughed or cheered, it sent an unexpected jolt through me. She hadn't seem eager to be here, but she was getting into it.

There was something about her, something different that pulled me in. I couldn't quite put my finger on it; maybe it was the way she seemed genuinely invested in every play or how her smile lit up even the dullest moments.

I leaned against the boards, momentarily distracted from the celebration around me. My heart raced—not from the thrill of the game but from an overwhelming urge to approach her. To consume her. To see if those eyes would hold mine for more than a fleeting glance.

Then he appeared—her boyfriend—a broad-shouldered guy who pulled her close and planted a kiss on her lips to celebrate Wolfe's goal. The sight hit me like a punch to the gut. He grinned like he owned the world, and for a second, I wished I could wipe that smug look off his face.

I would wipe the smug look off of his face.

I clenched my fists at my sides as jealousy coursed through me. How dare he? She was mine.

She didn't fucking know it yet, but she was mine.

And I didn't fucking share.

The game continued behind me; cheers erupted sporadically as our team took control again. But all I could focus on was her—how she shined even brighter than any victory we could claim on that ice.

“Let’s go!” one of my teammates shouted beside me, pulling me back into reality.

But my gaze lingered on her just a heartbeat longer before turning back to focus on the ice.

The game picked up speed after our goal, and the energy surged through the arena like an electric current. I felt alive, every muscle in my body pulsing with the rhythm of the game.

But then I noticed something shift in the atmosphere. The Reapers were known for their dirty play, and it didn’t take long before that reputation reared its ugly head. A hard check sent one of our guys sprawling into the boards, his body crumpling like a rag doll.

“Get up, man!” I shouted as he groaned on the ice.

The crowd roared with excitement, but there was an edge to it—a sharp anticipation that sliced through the usual cheers. It wasn’t long before fists started flying. A scuffle broke out near the blue line, two players locked in a tight embrace, swinging wildly at each other like they were trapped in a storm.

The Reapers thrived on chaos; we lived for it. Rumors swirled around us—whispers of curses and demons lurking within our ranks. Each time we faced anyone, we wanted them to feel like they were stepping into a dark abyss where nothing was off-limits.

I shook my head. I’d do anything for my team. They were my brothers—the ones who fought beside me every night on that ice. If anyone threatened them, hell would have to freeze over before I let it happen.

As bodies collided and shouts erupted around me, I caught sight of Wolfe squaring off against one of their forwards—some asshole with a face you just wanted to fucking crosscheck. Wolfe had always been more of a talker, but he didn’t back down from anyone.

“C’mon, Wolfe!” I yelled as he landed a solid punch.

His opponent retaliated, but he kept coming—driven by pure adrenaline and determination.

“Let’s show these bastards what we’re made of!” someone bellowed from the bench.

I leaned forward against the boards, heart racing as if I were in that fight myself. My fists clenched tight; I could feel the anger bubbling beneath my skin. We didn’t just want to win—we wanted to break them.

I scanned the ice again, watching as more players piled into the fray. There was no hesitation on my part—I’d jump into that brawl if needed because every last one of those guys mattered to me more than anything else in this world.

Then another figure caught my eye—the girl from earlier—her wide eyes fixed on the chaos unfolding before her. Fear danced across her face as she leaned forward in her seat, almost willing herself to intervene.

But something else was in those eyes.

Something that made me smirk.

As scared as she was, there was curiosity in that gaze. Curiosity and desire.