7. Ice King
Ice King
Asher
I wake to the faintest click of a door opening.
For one suspended second, I freeze, not remembering where I am. Taking in the smell of an open fire, the feel of soft, flannel sheets, and the cozy suite, it all comes crashing back in a single moment of dark-fueled adrenaline.
“Get up.” King’s voice is low. I don’t move, unsure of what time it is. I try to locate my phone and watch before remembering that they’ve been taken away. “Now, Harrison.”
“What the hell is this?” I mutter, dragging on a sweater and pants as King tosses my jacket at me.
He doesn’t answer—he’s already out the door.
Of course he is.
I slip into my boots and pull my jacket on before following him out into the early morning.
Ten minutes later, I’m waist-deep in a frozen lake, wondering if hypothermia counts as a workplace injury.
If there was ever a more effective torture method than plunging into a frozen lake, I haven’t met it.
Everything hurts. My skin burns like acid the second the frozen water touches my skin, even through the thick wet suit I found waiting for me at the edge of the lake.
My body shudders violently as I plunge down to my neck, and I suddenly can’t breathe.
It feels like a million tiny daggers pierce my skin simultaneously.
I’m going to die—here, on a frozen lake, as King plunges into the hole next to me without even a grimace.
Fucking sadist.
“You get used to it,” King says, chuckling with Walter and Jacques, who drop into their own nearby hole a second later. Several others around us follow suit, each couple getting their own area, but I’m hardly paying attention.
I might not have been awake fifteen minutes ago, but now I sure as hell am.
“The goal is one minute, but if you need to get out sooner, that’s fine. This is supposed to be invigorating, not life-threatening,” the Altura employee says, wearing a thick fleece coat and white beanie over his long hair. He walks between each hole approvingly, carrying a wooden walking stick.
“Yeah, ok-kay,” I mutter under my breath. “Pretty sure I’m going to d-die before the minute is u-up,” I add.
King snaps his eyes to mine, but he doesn’t say anything.
It feels like icicles are stabbing me in the chest, and with each inhale, it gets worse. I can’t feel my fingers and toes, and I certainly don’t feel the fucking endorphins and clarity we’re meant to get out of this.
One of the other couples makes a splash as they get out, audibly complaining. A few people use this as their cue to do the same, but I stay put.
“Feeling good?” King asks me, looking over at me. There’s something in his expression that I can’t quite make out.
I stare at him as my teeth chatter so hard I’m worried I’ll break one of them. “Yep. N-never b-been b-etter,” I tell him. It hurts to talk—to move. I idly tread water despite not being able to feel my arms or legs now.
Two more people get out, leaving just Walter, Jacques, King, and me in the lake. I close my eyes and imagine I’m sitting in a warm bath instead of a frozen lake, but I’ve never been good at meditation or visualization.
“One minute,” the employee says.
“Which one of us will make it longer, do you think?” King asks.
There’s a slight hitch in his voice. When I look over at him, I see him treading water with flared nostrils, taking short, quick breaths.
“Have you d-d-done this b-before?” I ask.
He smirks. “I have an ice bath at home. Helps with recovery time from working out.”
I roll my eyes. “Figures. H-how many m-minutes do you d-do?”
“Ten, usually.”
“Then I’m d-doing t-t-ten,” I tell him, biting the inside of my cheek as I clench my teeth together to keep them from chattering.
“Harrison,” King warns. “I’m used to this. I’ve worked up to ten minutes over the last couple of years. You haven’t. You’ll get hypothermia.”
I huff a breath, panting now. “I’ll b-be f-fine.”
King swims over, his movements steady and controlled. I glare at him when he stops just in front of me, eyes flicking between mine. In the pink, early morning light, his eyes look almost golden—softened somehow. But the way he studies me? It’s not soft at all.
It’s concerned.
“Walter and Jacques are watching us,” he murmurs, just loud enough for me to hear.
Then suddenly—his arm slides around my waist, pulling me in, chest to chest. I gasp, but it dies in my throat the moment our skin touches. He’s warm. Or maybe I’m just that fucking cold.
“W-what are y-you?—”
“Trust me,” he breathes. “And go with it.”
And then he leans in.
His breath brushes mine, and it’s not the freezing water that makes me dizzy. It’s him. His mouth is an inch away from mine, and my brain short-circuits. Everything else disappears. The lake. The people. The cold. I forget how to breathe.
His lips hover there—so close I can taste the warmth of them. I freeze, unable to move. Not from the water this time, but from something else. From heat, or panic. Or perhaps from the fact that if he kisses me, I don’t know what I’ll do.
I’m shivering too hard to move.
He doesn’t close the distance—he doesn’t have to.
He’s still holding me, watching my reaction. Like I’m already telling him everything without saying a word. I don’t have it in me to fake anything, so I’m sure my expression gives away the confusion, the ache, the fear of wanting this.
Then he tilts his head, almost amused. Almost fond.
But he doesn’t kiss me.
I should shove him away or say something biting. Make a joke… something. But I don’t. My breath just hitches in my throat, eyes flicking between his and that mouth still so goddamn close to mine.
And then he pulls back just a fraction. Not a lot—just enough to feel the space between us again. Cold water seeps into my chest, causing me to become breathless again, crashing back into my body like a slap.
I glance over his shoulder, pulse thudding in my ears.
Jacques is watching us.
At some point, he and Walter must’ve gotten out, and they’re both wearing the long, heated coats we’re all supposed to wear when this is over.
His arms are crossed over his chest, that sharp little crease between his brows forming as his eyes narrow.
Not confused—calculating.
Like he just witnessed everything along with King and me.
Like he can see right through our facade.
Jacques turns to speak to Walter, murmuring something I can’t hear.
“You’re flushed,” King murmurs, voice low and velvety. “Embarrassed? Or just cold?”
I stiffen, blinking hard and pushing against his chest. “Get off m-me.”
He doesn’t. Not fully. His hand is still at my waist, and now he’s looking at me like he’s found something interesting in my reaction.
“I almost kissed you,” he says, soft but dangerous. “And you would have let me.”
My throat tightens. I glance past him again—Jacques is still angled toward us, maybe listening, maybe not. I can’t tell. I can’t think.
“S-shut up,” I hiss, low and raw.
He grins. “Make me.” My hands clench under the water. I’m shivering so hard now my bones ache. “You still don’t trust me.”
It’s not a question. Something in his voice changes—just slightly. It’s less sharp now.
Like he thought maybe, maybe for a second I did. And now he knows I don’t.
Good.
“I’ll n-never trust you. Not after the s-shit you p-pulled with Trent.”
I expect him to laugh again, or throw something snide back in my face, but he doesn’t.
Instead, he lets me go and swims away, not looking back.
What the hell just happened?
“Lovers’ spat?” Jacques asks, his voice loud from a few feet away.
Walter chuckles as he leads them away, but when Jacques looks over his shoulder, he winks at me.
And I know in an instant that I’m not selling this relationship with King as well as I’d hoped.
That needs to change. Walter Davenport as a client would be invaluable. If I don’t secure him as a client, then this whole thing will be for nothing.
The sound of King getting out of his plunge stirs me out of whatever cold-water haze I’m in, and before I know it, large, strong hands are pulling me out.
“Stubborn asshole,” he mutters, pulling me onto the ice. “Your lips are blue.”
“I-I’m f-f-fine,” I stutter, barely able to speak. Or move. “S-s-so h-hot out-t,” I add, warm air rushing over my skin.
“It’s not warm. It’s freezing. But compared to the lake, it feels like a furnace. You’re going to freeze to death. Put this on.”
He grabs a jacket and holds it out for me. It’s something similar to what I used to wear when I was a swimmer in high school—waterproof on the outside, thick, with fleece inside. It has some sort of heated technology in it to warm up from inside.
When King helps me stand on shaking legs, I breathe a sigh of relief as he wraps the jacket around my shoulders. With two hands, he grabs my shoulders and looks right into my eyes.
“Don’t die.”
Turning, he grabs his jacket and zips himself into it as I thaw out. My skin tingles, and as the seconds tick by, I find myself breathing easier—like I just did a hard workout. The throbbing headache I’d had after being abruptly woken up is gone.
Everyone is already walking back, and King is speaking to the employee who was overseeing this exercise. I look around the white tundra and take a deep breath. It feels like the first deep breath I’ve taken in months. Years. Maybe even decades.
Snow is falling softly—an almost-muted cushioning sound. The air still feels warm, but slowly, I can feel the bite of cold air nipping at my frozen skin. The tingling feeling gives way to an awareness of my body that I haven’t felt in a long time.
I feel… new. Refreshed. Like if I did this every day, I’d be a new and better version of myself.
“It’s nice, huh?”
I don’t turn to face him. Instead, I take another deep breath, and it feels like some integral part of my soul feels revived.
“Yeah.”
“You know, people all over the world do this every day for their mental and physical health. Little risk, big reward. There’s something to be said for a few minutes of torture when you feel this good after, wouldn’t you say?”
This time, I turn to face him. I can’t tell if he’s being sarcastic or if he’s serious.
“It depends on who you ask,” I retort, my lips curling into a smile.
King doesn’t smile back. When I look past him, I see that we’re all alone standing on this frozen lake.
“I need a long, hot shower,” I say by way of breaking the tension. King laughs, shaking his head as he looks away. “What’s so funny?”
“You really need to work on your acting.”
I stare at him. “What does that mean?”
King looks over at me, looking amused. “Before, when I was trying to put on a show.”
“You mean when you almost kissed me?”
“You looked like you hated every minute of it. Real convincing, Harrison,” he adds, his voice mocking.
I scoff, tilting my head just slightly. “It’s funny… I know what’s in it for me. But what’s in it for you?” I ask, my voice caustic and cruel.
King grins, and it pisses me the hell off, flaring some long-forgotten aversion to people with teasing attitudes. “I get to boss you around for a week. What’s not in it for me?”
My hand automatically goes to my neck, where the collar had been before I took it off last night to sleep. I didn’t have time to grab it when he abruptly woke me up this morning.
His eyes flick to my throat briefly, as if he can read my mind.
“We need to make this believable. Jacques is watching us like a hawk.”
“Yeah. I noticed that.”
King shrugs. “He’s just protective of Walter. He can see right through people’s motivations, so you have to play this perfectly for this to work.”
I narrow my eyes. “You’re very invested in something that has nothing to do with you.” Suddenly, it occurs to me that there’s probably a very obvious reason King is at this retreat. “Wait, are you trying to acquire Walter as a client?”
King’s mirthful expression drops, turning serious. “You really don’t trust me, do you?” Sighing, he pulls something from my pocket and tosses it at me.
Black silk.
My blindfold.
“Come with me.”
I stare down at the silk, heart pounding. “What? Why?”
“I want to try something.”
“Is this a scheduled activity?”
“No.”
“Then why?—”
“I don’t want your mouth right now, Asher. I want your trust.”
The words hit harder than I expected them to.
It’s not the demand. It’s the audacity of it. That he says it like he knows he’s going to own it—like he knows I’ll give it to him.
Maybe I have, even a tiny bit. Because the truth is, I let him touch me earlier.
And I would’ve let him kiss me, too.
I pick up the blindfold. It shouldn’t feel like surrender, but it does. After quickly stepping into my boots, I tie it in place, and the darkness is total. I hear movement. The soft scrape of his boots on the ice. The jangle of keys. Then, his voice—a low, sensual purr.
“Come here.”
I walk over to where I think he is, knowing full well he could push me into the freezing water again if he wanted to.
He could drown me and leave me for dead—no one is around.
But he doesn’t touch me.
Instead, he speaks, barely above a whisper. “Left foot forward.”
I obey.