Chapter 18 #2
The speedometer climbed. Seventy. Eighty. The engine growled beneath me—expensive German engineering designed for exactly this kind of reckless velocity.
Her voice kept threading through my skull on repeat.
"Why are you being nice to me?"
Soft. Confused. Genuinely baffled that cruelty could share space with tenderness.
I shouldn't have answered. Shouldn't have admitted I didn't know why. Shouldn't have let her see anything beyond dominance and control and the cold transactional nature of what we'd agreed to.
But I had.
Fed her. Bathed her. Held her like she mattered beyond the contract binding her to my bed.
And this—this—was what happened when you showed weakness.
When you gave ground.
When you let someone see you cared.
They took it as permission. License to push. To test. To see exactly how far they could stretch before you snapped them back.
Belle thought last night earned her leniency. Thought gentleness meant the rules no longer applied. Thought she could skip my game, refuse my jersey, deny me the one simple thing I'd asked without consequence.
Wrong.
I slammed my palm against the steering wheel hard enough the horn blared briefly into the night.
"Not a fucking chance, Belle."
The words came out harsh. Guttural. Directed at no one but somehow still a promise.
She didn't get to do this. Didn't get to make me care and then disappear. Didn't get to play house one night and ghost me the next.
Didn't get to decide which version of me she preferred and only show up for that one.
The bookstore appeared ahead—dark except for a single light burning in the back office.
Still there.
Still defiant.
Still mine whether she admitted it or not.
I pulled into the lot too hard, tires screeching, gravel spraying. Cut the engine. Sat in sudden silence with my hands gripping the steering wheel until my knuckles went white.
Breathing hard.
Heart pounding.
Fury and hurt and need all tangled so tight I couldn't separate them anymore.
She was in there. Close enough to touch. Close enough to punish. Close enough to make understand exactly what ignoring me cost.
I got out of the car. Slammed the door. Crossed the parking lot with purpose that felt dangerously close to violence.
The bookstore door was locked.
So, she went home.
I did too.
The house was dark when I pulled into the driveway.
Most of it.
One light glowed from the living room—soft, warm, mocking in its casual domesticity.
Like nothing was wrong. Like she hadn't just humiliated me in front of thousands.
I killed the engine. Sat for three seconds in pure, crystalline silence while my pulse hammered against my skull.
Then I moved.
The front door slammed open hard enough to rattle the frame. I didn't bother closing it. Didn't care about locks or security or anything beyond the woman somewhere inside these walls who thought she could ignore me without consequence.
I didn't call her name. Didn't ask where she was. Didn't give her the courtesy of a warning.
I found her.
Living room. Curled on the couch with a book in her lap and reading lamp casting shadows across her face. Hair pulled back. Bare feet tucked beneath her. Looking peaceful. Comfortable.
Safe.
Her eyes snapped up when I filled the doorway. Widened. Fear flickered across her features—sharp, immediate, exactly what she should feel.
She knew. Knew she'd crossed a line tonight that couldn't be uncrossed.
I stalked toward her without a word. Each step deliberate. Measured. The kind of approach that gave prey just enough time to understand they'd already been caught.
She tried to stand—book tumbling from her lap, hands braced against the couch cushions.
No chance.
I grabbed her before she got upright. One arm around her waist, lifting, repositioning her weight with brutal efficiency. She gasped as I threw her over my shoulder like she weighed nothing.
Because she didn't.
Not to me.
Not compared to the fury currently lighting every nerve ending on fire.
"Put me down!"
Her fists pounded against my back—ineffective, desperate, the kind of resistance that only proved how powerless she actually was.
I didn't answer. Didn't slow. Just carried her toward the stairs with long strides that ate up distance while she squirmed and cursed and demanded things she had no right to demand anymore.
She'd made her choice tonight. Stayed away when I told her to come.
Hidden when I told her to be seen. Defied me when the only acceptable response was obedience.
Now she'd learn exactly what that cost.
My hand came down on her ass—sharp, sudden, a promise of worse to come.
She yelped.
I kept walking.
I kicked the bedroom door open hard enough the wood cracked against the wall. Dropped her onto the bed so hard the mattress bounced.
She pushed herself up immediately—breathless, hair wild, eyes blazing with the kind of fury that would've been impressive if she had any actual power here.
She didn't.
I stood over her, chest heaving, sweat from the game still clinging to my skin beneath clothes I hadn't bothered changing. My pulse hammered. Vision narrowed to just her—defiant, beautiful, mine.
Every muscle coiled tight with rage I could barely contain. "You didn't come."
The words came out rough. Accusatory. Stripped of any pretense that this was about hockey or appearances or anything beyond the fundamental betrayal of her absence.
Belle glared up at me, chin lifted despite being sprawled on her back.
"I don't belong to you."
Something dark flashed behind my eyes. Something dangerous that had been building all night—through every empty seat, every unanswered text, every second she made me look like a fool.
"You signed a contract." I leaned forward, bracing my hands on either side of her body, caging her in. "You follow my rules."
Her chest rose and fell rapidly beneath me. Trapped but still fighting. "That doesn't make me your property."
Wrong answer.
So fucking wrong.
I lowered myself closer—not touching her yet, just letting my weight, my presence, my barely controlled fury fill every inch of space between us.
"Every decision you make has consequences, Belle." My voice dropped lower. Colder. "And tonight? You made the wrong one."
Her breath faltered.
Not in fear—
In anticipation.
I saw it flicker across her face. The way her pupils dilated. The way her lips parted just slightly. The way her body tensed in preparation for something she wouldn't admit she wanted.
She hated herself for it.
I could see that too.
The self-loathing warring with arousal. The pride battling need. The defiance crumbling under the weight of whatever twisted thing existed between us now.
She hated me more.
Good.
Hate was honest.
Hate meant she felt something.
My voice dropped to a growl.
"You want to test me?" I let the question hang there. Let her see exactly how close to the edge I was. How little control I had left. "Fine."
Her breathing quickened.
"But don't you dare be surprised when I show you what happens when you disobey."