2. Riven
RIVEN
T he puck drops, and I launch off the line like I’ve got a jet burning under me. My skates slice through the ice, and for a second, the noise in my head fades. I don’t hear the crowd. Don’t feel the cold. That quickly, a plan starts forming, and I know every move I need to make to get Lakynn in a safe place.
With me. She’s only safe with me.
Castlebrook’s offense clicks into place around me. Hayden’s fast and reckless as he skates, passing the puck to Callum. I suppose their little squabble earlier has been long forgotten, because they move in tandem, like they can read each other’s minds. Tristan’s a stone wall in front of the net, ready to keep the other team from getting even one point.
I don’t give a fuck about this game. I’m here to make someone bleed.
I track the puck, swipe it from a forward who’s not paying attention, and pass it to one of the freshmen who nearly fumbles the damn thing. My vision goes red. Not because of the game. Because of him . The ref.
He’s standing too close to the glass, pretending he doesn’t recognize me. But I know him. Scar under his chin, same dead eyes. He runs “errands” as my father would say. Enforced debts. Put people in the ground. He’s here to watch me and report back to my father.
Money will get you anything you want in this world, and it looks like he’s shelled out some of his coins to place his workers to watch what I’m doing. It crosses my mind that it would have been easier for him to just try to kill me once my hits were completed. The fact that no one has tried tells me that they’re not finished with me. They have more for me to do, and they’re trying to keep me distracted until she’s gone.
Seeing this fucker is like tasting smoke in your mouth and knowing the fire’s about to find you.
I shift my weight and glare at him. He may have never even been in the same room as Lakynn, but it doesn’t matter to me. He’s fucking dead for even being a part of any of this.
When I make my move, it’s not even planned. It’s instinct. The moment one of the other team’s players checks me and the ref raises his whistle to penalize me , I fucking lose it.
Gloves drop. Stick clatters across the ice.
I ignore the player and launch myself at the ref.
My fist collides with his face, and he reels back, blood blooming instantly and coloring the scraped up ice. He tries to backpedal, but I’m on him. I slam him into the boards, and there’s just hit after hit after hit. The asshole can’t even cover his face to defend himself. I don’t feel my knuckles split. All I feel is rage.
And her.
Lakynn in a fucking wedding dress.
My girl wearing another man’s ring.
My fucking future wife being promised to someone who isn’t me .
I growl and drive my elbow into the ref’s chest. He slumps. Someone's yelling behind me, but it’s distant. The arena's screaming, and still, it’s quiet in my head.
Because all I hear is Lakynn’s sweet voice.
All I see are her lips.
Her mouth taking vows with someone who could never deserve her.
I’d kill for her.
I have killed for her.
So this? This pathetic stooge of my father’s? This is nothing.
They’re trying to pull me off of him, and when I’m satisfied, I allow them.
I stand over the ref’s bloody body, chest heaving, and wait for the fallout.
The head official skates up with wide eyes, screams something about suspension, ejection. I don’t flinch. I’m not worried that the police will be called or anything will happen to me. Colleges like this one do not like to involve the law because there are too many secrets to uncover. Even if they do, I’ll be long gone before they could ever find me.
I calmly bend down, pick up my stick, and skate off the ice like I didn’t just destroy someone’s face. My strides are slow. Fluid. Like I’ve got nowhere better to be. Like I didn’t just put a very violent plan into motion.
I hear the buzzer go off signaling that the game is commencing despite the beat down I just gave the ref publicly. The locker room is quiet when I step inside. The kind of quiet that doesn’t soothe. The kind that echoes. The kind that wraps around your skull and tightens. I need to get cleaned up before I head back to Castlebrook. I haven’t given it much thought, but I know I’m going to steal a vehicle in the parking lot because I sure as fuck am not waiting around and riding on the bus with the rest of the team.
I strip off my gear without thinking, fingers moving in a mechanical rhythm. Pads hit the bench. Jersey tossed aside. I shove my compression shorts down, letting them fall around my ankles as I head for the showers.
The tile is freezing under my feet. The water overhead hisses to life with a rusty groan, spraying hot against my skin. Steam curls up around me, blanketing the room in a haze. I lean my head against the wall, breath heaving.
I should feel better.
I don’t because nothing takes away the ache of being without her.
Beating the shit out of that ref was only the beginning. The blood on the ice barely took the edge off. All I can think about is her.
My fucking girl.
She’s the only thing that calms me. The only person who ever has. The only fucking reason I’ve made it this far without burning that whole town to the ground.
My hand drags down my wet chest, across the hard lines of my abdomen. Every muscle in me aches, tight with rage and need. My cock is already hard for her. It has been since the second I let myself think about her. The fact that she’s wearing another man’s ring and being told who she belongs to like she’s some fucking prize to be handed off makes me want to claim her.
She’s not theirs.
She never was.
She’s mine.
Always has been.
My palm slides lower, fingers curling around the base of my cock. I pump once, slow and tight. My head falls back against the tile.
Fuck.
I think about her hands. The delicate way her fingers would curl around my cock if she was here. I think about the soft little gasp that would escape her full lips when I push inside her for the first time. And it will be the first time. I haven’t touched anyone else. I never fucking wanted to.
I don’t want anyone but her.
And I never fucking will.
I stroke harder, my grip twisting slightly at the tip. Water runs down my back in hot streams. My jaw clenches. My thighs twitch. Her name is already on my tongue, and I haven’t even gotten close to coming yet.
God, I miss her.
The sound of her voice. The way she’d say my name when she was half-asleep, reaching for me like she knew I was already watching her. The smell of her vanilla shampoo. The way she’d curl into my side like she thought she didn’t belong anywhere else.
Because she didn’t.
She still doesn’t.
My strokes get faster, more desperate. I imagine her in the wedding dress, standing in front of a mirror with tears in her eyes. I picture tearing it off her with my teeth. Laying her out on the floor and claiming her in a way no one ever has.
The thought of her fiancé touching her makes my vision blur.
If he’s so much as looked at her the wrong way…
I grunt, the sound guttural.
If he’s touched what belongs to me, I’ll rip his fucking hands off.
And if he hasn’t?
I’m going to kill him anyway.
A dark laugh slips past my lips, and I pump harder, faster, my balls tightening as the heat builds and builds.
Mine.
Mine.
She’s fucking mine.
My climax hits like a goddamn freight train. My body locks up, muscles seizing as I explode against the tile, Lakynn’s name in my throat, her face the only thing I can see right now.
I keep my hand moving through it, riding out every last second of the high.
When it fades, I let the water scald me. Let it burn away the shame of leaving her in this situation.
The fury.
The guilt.
I need to make things right for her, and that’s exactly what I intend on doing.