Chapter 3
Mina
I leaned against the cold, gray wall outside the visitor’s locker room, arms crossed tight like I could physically hold my nerves in place. My phone buzzed earlier with “We need to talk.” Classic Mikel. Dramatic, vague, and two games too late.
I shouldn’t have come. I knew I shouldn’t have. But curiosity and something that felt dangerously like concern had dragged me here.
The door swung open hard, and Mikel stepped out.
I sucked in a breath.
He looked wrecked—lip split, fresh bruises coloring his face, his hair a mess like he’d fought a war and lost. But what hit me hardest wasn’t the blood.
It was the rage. I could feel it radiating off him like heat.
“Mina,” he snapped the second he saw me. His eyes narrowed, wild. “What are you doing here?”
I tried to sound calm. Rational. Like this wasn’t a disaster unraveling at light speed. “You texted me. You said you wanted to talk.”
He shoved his hand through his hair and scoffed like that was some ridiculous detail I’d made up. “This is all your fault.”
I blinked. “Excuse me?”
He waved his hand like the air was somehow to blame. “That stupid bet. You—smiling at Volkov. Laughing with him. You made it easy for him to get in my head.”
That snapped something in me. “I made it easy?” I pushed off the wall, heart hammering. “You’re the one who made the damn bet, Mikel. You turned me into a punchline.”
He glared, jaw clenched, fists balling at his sides. “You don’t get it. None of that matters now. What matters is you’re not backing me up.”
My mouth dropped open. “Backing you up?” I laughed—loud and incredulous. “You literally bet me. Like a puppy. Or a car. You humiliated me.”
“Oh, come on,” he spat. “You think this league is built on respect? It’s all just bravado and noise.”
“So you figured you’d just toss me in like extra noise?” My voice cracked as the anger swelled up behind my ribs. “I didn’t ask for this. I didn’t agree to be part of your little ego contest.”
He stepped closer. Too close.
That familiar heat in his eyes used to pull me in. Now it felt like pressure on my throat.
“You think I wanted this?” he hissed. “You think I wanted to get knocked out because of you?”
I shook my head, stunned. “Because of me? No, Mikel. You got punched because of you. You made this mess, not me.”
The air between us pulsed—hot and tight and horrible. He didn’t move. Just stared like he didn’t recognize the girl standing in front of him anymore.
Maybe he didn’t.
Maybe I didn’t either.
I narrowed my eyes at him, fists clenched at my sides, frustration bubbling just under my skin. “Too friendly? You mean friendly like a normal person? Maybe if you weren’t so busy betting me like I’m a souvenir from a vending machine, you’d realize how insane you sound right now.”
He flinched—not physically, just in his expression. That twist in his jaw, that flicker in his eyes. It wasn’t guilt. It was rage.
“You’re enjoying it,” he said, voice hard and venomous. “Volkov doesn’t give just anyone that kind of attention. You think it’s a game?”
I stared at him, stunned. “Enjoying it? You think I like being passed around in your pathetic man-baby wager? What kind of boyfriend puts his girlfriend up like a bet on a box score?” My voice was rising, breaking in all the wrong places.
“You’re treating me like a trophy, and you don’t even see it. ”
His nostrils flared. He stepped closer.
Too close.
“You could’ve said no,” he growled. “But you were smiling, Mina. Laughing. That’s what got under my skin.”
My stomach twisted. “Laughing? I was trying to lighten the mood! Because God forbid anyone has a normal conversation with your rival without you spiraling into an insecure mess.”
He snapped. I saw it happen in his eyes before his body moved. He grabbed a water bottle from the bench and hurled it against the wall.
Crack. Plastic burst. Water sprayed across the tile like blood in a war zone.
I jumped.
My heart skidded sideways in my chest. My breath caught.
And then—he stepped toward me. Fast. A flicker of motion.
His hand raised.
Just for a second.
That was all it took.
My stomach dropped straight through the floor. Adrenaline surged like lightning through my veins.
“Don’t,” I said, voice shaking but firm as I lifted my hands between us, palms up. A useless shield, but it was all I had. “You’re better than this.”
“Am I?” he shot back, his voice dripping with something cruel and unfamiliar.
My pulse was thundering in my ears. But I didn’t back down. Not now. Not with this line drawn and him standing right on top of it.
“You really want to play the victim here?” I snapped, words sharp enough to cut. “You think breaking things or towering over me makes you a man? You put me up for grabs like I’m some damn used car, Mikel. You should be ashamed.”
He froze.
Just for a moment.
The tension between us stretched thin—razor wire between hearts that used to know how to beat in rhythm.
I stared him down, even as every instinct screamed run. Even as fear curled cold and tight around my spine.
I wasn’t going to flinch first.
Not this time.
The air was thick—thick enough to drown in. My pulse thundered in my ears, drowning out logic, drowning out fear. Mikel still stood too close, chest heaving, rage radiating off him like a fever.
And then—
“I heard shouting.”
His voice cut through the room like a blade.
I turned.
Nikolai stood in the doorway.
Shadowed by the harsh fluorescent lights behind him, he looked unreal. Calm. Composed. But something dark simmered just beneath the surface—coiled like smoke in a bottle, waiting to be uncorked.
My stomach twisted.
He didn’t look at Mikel. He didn’t look at the dented water bottle or the tension dripping from the walls like sweat. He looked at me.
“Let’s go,” he said, voice low. Simple. Steady.
My heart stopped. Just for a second.
He said it like he wasn’t offering. Like it was just a fact of nature. The sun rises. Water falls. Mina goes with Nikolai.
Mikel stiffened beside me, fists curling again.
“What are you doing here?” he spat, his voice cracking on the edge of fury. “You following her now?”
Nikolai didn’t even blink.
He kept his eyes on me. Quiet. Waiting. Like I was the only one who existed in the room.
“Freckles,” he said again. Soft, but firm. A thread of control wrapped in steel.
I opened my mouth, but nothing came out. I couldn’t speak. Couldn’t breathe.
My brain screamed don’t make this worse. But my soul whispered get out.
Mikel stepped forward, puffed up like a wolf baring its teeth. “She’s not going with you.”
Nikolai moved, just a shift in his weight—but it sent a ripple through the room. Something cold and feral flashed in his eyes. He still looked relaxed. But it was the kind of relaxed that came right before violence.
“Not yet,” he said.
My breath hitched.
The words dropped into the silence like stones in still water, sending everything rippling outward.
I didn’t even look at Mikel. I didn’t want to see his face contorting into whatever toxic cocktail he was about to unleash next.
I looked at Nikolai. Really looked at him.
His lip was still split. Bruising bloomed across his jaw like violets under skin. He hadn’t come here to gloat. He’d come here because he heard me yelling and walked in anyway.
Into this.
“What do you want?” I asked him. My voice was too steady. Too calm for the war raging inside me.
His gaze didn’t waver.
“You.”
That single word knocked the breath out of me more than any punch could have.
Not “you’re coming with me.”
Not “I won.”
Just you.
I hesitated for one last heartbeat.
Then I stepped past Mikel—chin high, throat tight—and walked straight to Nikolai’s side.
And I didn’t look back.
“Mina’s not going anywhere with you!”
Mikel’s voice cracked through the air like a whip, raw and loud and way too close. Rage poured off him in waves, his chest heaving like he couldn’t catch his breath—like he didn’t want to.
The whole room felt like it was holding its breath with him.
Nikolai stepped forward then, slow and deliberate, his body language calm in that terrifying way—like someone who never needs to shout to be dangerous. His jacket creaked with the movement, and I hated that I noticed the smell of leather and cold air still clinging to him.
They squared off. Fists clenched. Jaws tight. Two storms facing each other across a room that suddenly felt way too small.
And I was in the middle.
My stomach twisted so violently I thought I might throw up. It felt like watching a car crash happen in slow motion. I knew what was coming. Knew no matter who “won,” something in this room would break—and it might be me.
Mikel whipped his gaze back toward me. “You’re not serious about this, are you?”
I didn’t answer. I couldn’t. My throat had sealed itself shut.
I stared back at him, but everything felt far away—like I was underwater, the sound muted and warped. My silence said more than words ever could.
Nikolai smirked beside me. Of course he did. He lived in moments like this.
“She’s making her own choices now,” he said, voice slick with sarcasm and that smug coolness that always drove Mikel mad.
And yep—there it was. Mikel turned crimson.
“You think you can just swoop in and take her?” He seethed. “You’re not some knight in shining armor, Volkov. This isn’t some fairy tale.”
Nikolai didn’t even blink. He leaned against the wall with infuriating ease, and it made something twist in my stomach—shame and something dangerously close to intrigue.
“Doesn’t matter,” he said, flicking invisible lint off his sleeve. “You already turned her into a prize.”
My body moved before my brain could catch up.
“I’m not some prize!” I snapped.
Their heads snapped toward me like synchronized robots.
Nikolai raised an eyebrow, his voice amused. “See? She gets it.”
“Don’t put words in her mouth!” Mikel snapped, stepping forward, heat radiating off him like a wildfire. “You think she wants this?” he demanded. “You think she’d choose you over me?”
Nikolai’s shrug was infuriatingly casual. “She wouldn’t have to choose if you hadn’t turned it into a game.”
The tension in the air pulsed like a heartbeat.
“You don’t know anything about her,” Mikel growled, fists still clenched like he was seconds away from swinging again.
Nikolai’s voice dropped, low and dangerous, as he took one step forward—just enough to send warning bells screaming in my skull. “Then tell me what makes you worthy of her,” he said. “Because all I see is a little boy who bets his girlfriend like she’s a poker chip.”
That was it.
Mikel stepped forward—so close to Nikolai now they could’ve shared a breath. His hands twitched at his sides. The line between words and violence was razor-thin.
I could feel the moment before it broke. I felt it in my bones.
And still—I stood there, frozen, caught between the man who humiliated me and the one who walked in just to stand between me and that humiliation.
Caught between fire and ice.
And I didn’t know which one would burn me worse.
“I’m going,” I said.
My voice didn’t shake.
It cut.
Cold. Sharp. Final.
The words hung between us like a blade suspended in midair, and for a second, no one moved. That was what made it worse for Mikel—that I didn’t yell. That I didn’t cry. I just… decided.
And once I did, there was no undoing it.
I didn’t say it to be dramatic. I said it because I meant it. Because I wouldn’t let him turn me into some object he could bet, rage over, and then try to win back with a half-sincere apology and blood on his jersey.
Part of me just wanted out of that locker room. Out of the air, out of the noise, out of the way his eyes made me feel like a possession with a pulse.
But another part of me—one I hated just a little—wanted him to see me go. Wanted him to lose. Even if it was petty. Even if it made me like him for a second.
Mostly, though, I just didn’t want the cleaning crew walking in on this disaster.
So I brushed past him.
Head high.
Back straight.
No pause. No second glance.
I felt the tension snap behind me like a rubber band stretched too far.
Nikolai didn’t say a word—he just moved with me, falling into step like we’d rehearsed it. Like he’d been waiting for me to decide.
His presence beside me was unnerving. And steadying. And a little bit terrifying. Like walking next to a loaded gun I wasn’t sure would protect me or explode in my hand.
Then—Mikel’s voice.
“No."
It sliced through the air behind us like a blade aimed straight at my spine.
And then—his hand.
His fingers wrapped around my wrist, sudden and tight.
Too tight.
I stopped breathing for half a second. Panic shot through my chest like a flare. Not because he hurt me—but because he could.
Nikolai stopped too.
Just one breath behind me.
He turned, slow and deliberate, his whole body still—but charged like a fuse waiting for a spark. “Don’t touch her.”
His voice was low. Controlled. But I felt the temperature of the room drop ten degrees.
Mikel hesitated. His face flickered—shock, confusion, like he couldn’t believe Nikolai didn’t need to shout to be threatening.
But Nikolai didn’t blink. His eyes were steel. Still. Waiting.
“Let her go,” he said again.
Not louder. Just deadlier.
He didn’t posture. He didn’t puff up. He just was. And suddenly Mikel’s grip didn’t feel so certain anymore.
I felt his hand falter just enough.
I pulled back, twisting free with a single motion. Simple. Clean.
But not painless.
Not when I caught the look in Mikel’s eyes—the storm, the betrayal, the fury.
It hit something in me I hadn’t braced for.
But I didn’t let it stop me.
I stepped toward Nikolai.
And when he shifted slightly, almost like he was moving in front of me—shielding me without asking—I let him.
I let myself breathe.
One breath. Then another.
I didn’t look back.