Chapter 14
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Rebel Arena, Freedom
D’Angelo
I must escape…my mind, skin, my fucking self.
I stagger down the long, white corridor and into the empty locker room.
I slam shut the door behind me.
…All to escape what happened after that day your brother came home and found you kissing a boy…
“Shut up.” I smack my hand against my forehead like I can drive Olivia’s voice out of my brain. “Shut up. Shut up.”
I’m trembling.
My chest is rising and falling. I struggle to drag in deep breaths. All I can hear is the beat, beat, beat of the pulse in my ears.
I pull at my hair, before smoothing it down again three times.
One. Two. Three.
Then I tug at it again.
One. Two. Three.
Smooth it down again.
Tug. Smooth.
My head throbs.
Everything is my fault. I’ve been bad again. If I don’t wash off the evil, then I’ll infect everyone.
Kill them.
I shake my head.
That’s wrong. I’m wrong. Wait, the thought is wrong.
Where am I?
I blearily glance around myself.
My vision is blurred. I can barely make out the familiar sight of walls lined with stalls above arctic blue padded benches. The players’ equipment is hung up on each stall: pads, helmets, skates, and jerseys.
The chemical stench of rubber mixed with sweat, along with the mildew stench of hockey equipment, washes over me.
It’s the scent of safety.
It should be.
Yet everything feels off kilter.
Wrong.
I’m wrong.
Bad, bad, bad.
I can’t let the other players see me like this. I’d fuck up any chance of us winning the next game if they discover me spiraling like this in the locker room.
Shay mustn’t see me out of control like this.
He needs me to stay strong.
I clench my jaw, stumbling around the mat in the middle of floor with the team logo printed on it, dragging off my tie with jerky motions.
I’m too hot.
I must cool down and pull myself out of this.
…Hiding behind drink, partying, and BDSM…
“Shut the fuck up.” I hurl down my tie onto a padded stall.
Then I shrug off my jacket and kick off my shoes.
Suddenly, I’m desperate not to be wearing clothes. Is this how Shay feels? My skin is too sensitive, as if my nerves are raw and exposed. I can’t bear to have anything touching them.
I rip off my shirt, busting the buttons.
I don’t care.
Frantically, I undo my belt, scrabbling out of my trousers and underwear.
Panting, I stare at the crumpled pile of clothes on the floor.
I’ve made another mess.
I’m going to be punished.
Panicking, I snatch up my clothes and start to fold them with shaking hands.
I fold them once.
Not neat enough.
“That’s one day in solitary, D’Angelo,” I mutter to myself.
Sweat drips down my naked back.
I fight to steady my hands, all my focus on the task, as I refold the clothes. The shirt is skewed. Frustrated, I hiss out a breath.
“Stupid,” I mutter. “I haven’t done the arms right. That’s a cold shower.”
I automatically refold the clothes for a third time. Then I march through the archway that leads to the showers.
I push through into a small shower stall.
My mind is hazy. I’m lost and overwhelmed.
I slump against the cold wall, hiding my face on my forearm.
If I can’t see, then maybe, I can disappear.
I wished that so many times when I was locked in the Discipline School.
Normally, I use these times spent in the showers with Shay as a reward for him, as motivation on the ice, or just a way for us to have fun.
As I way for me to show how much I fucking love him.
Does Shay know that my favorite times haven’t been when he’s on his knees looking up at me with those beautiful gray eyes of his, while he’s been sucking me off, as I’ve been biting and marking him as mine, or even when I’ve bent him against the wall and pounded into his tight ass?
Instead, my favorite times have been when I’ve gently massaged his hair with shampoo and soaped his gorgeous body, helping to make him feel better after an exhausting practice. Then when he fucking melts, as I towel him dry afterwards.
Shay never expects that softness from me. He believes that I only show it to Robyn.
Yet I’m not treating him like he’s Robyn in those moments. I’m showing him how much I love him.
Also, how much I fucking need him as much as he needs me.
Except, he’s not here now and neither is Robyn.
I’m alone.
When I turn on the shower, a jet of freezing water hits me.
I gasp.
Shocked, I violently shiver. It feels like being sliced by knives.
My heart races.
I slam my fist against the wall, as my mind clears.
What the fuck did Olivia do to me? Why did I allow her to do it?
I am going to destroy her.
Yet it feels like she has already destroyed me.
Angry tears burn my eyes and roll down my cheeks, hidden by the icy water that is still streaming around me. It is like a thousand needles raining against my skin.
I made Shay promise not to hurt himself. I must be fair and keep the same rule.
I reach to turn off the shower.
To my shock, however, before I can turn around, I am slammed face-first into the wall.
I yell out in shock, as my forehead cracks against the wall. Pain flares. My ears ring.
Blood dribbles down my temple.
Terror spikes through me.
Instinctively, I raise my hands to brace myself on the wall, while my feet scrabble to keep my balance on the wet tiles.
With startling lucidity, I am aware that I am naked in the showers, vulnerable without any gear to protect myself.
Disorientated, I cough, as water drips into my mouth.
I ignored the buddy system to attend my unexpected appointment with Olivia.
I am stupid.
Someone is pressing their hand between my shoulder blades, keeping me pressed against the wall.
Olivia thinks that my former mental skills coach and therapist weren’t effective.
She’s wrong.
It’s because of them that I can stay calm now, steadying my breathing, and hold onto my self-control in the face of the pain.
“Get off me,” I growl.
For a moment, the pressure is lifted.
Who the hell is it? Who’d dare to…?
I start to turn, as rage sweeps through me. Then I’m punched in the kidneys.
The unexpected, sickening pain makes me drop to my knees.
The laughter above me reddens my cheeks with humiliation. Yet my heart races because there is more than one person.
My players would never do this, right? They’re my brothers.
But brothers can turn on you. I know that.
I still trust them.
Where the hell is security? Wouldn’t they have stopped strangers from entering the locker room?
I am trapped in the small space. I can’t get out without going through my attackers.
Water drips from my hair into my eyes.
I struggle to push my curls out of the way, before I lift my head.
Only to find myself staring into the sneering face of Wilder.
From my position on the floor, he looks like a stylishly dressed dark Thor. He is flanked by two of his Penguin teammates. I recognize them as the ones who were particularly violent in their attacks on Shay in the first games.
My jaw clenches.
Fuck.
“I see that you are as brave as you always were, attacking me from behind.” I clench my hands. “Touch me again and see what happens, Talon.”
“Thanks for the invitation.” Wilder reaches down, attempting to grab me by the arm.
But this time I am ready for him.
I kick out, catching him hard on the shins.
“You little shit.” Wilder hops back, gritting his teeth in pain. His expression twists with a rage that I remember from the many times he hazed me in college. “When will you learn that it’s worse when you fight back?”
“And when will you learn that we’re not in college anymore?
You lost, asshole,” I reply, frostily. “I’m not the scholarship kid that you can treat like your punching bag because of your own performance issues.
You were investigated and fined because of your own fucking behavior.
You should be kicked out of the sport. Your wife divorced you because you’re a cheating abuser. It’s all on you.”
“Don’t talk about my little Birdie.”
“Hit a nerve, have I? Robyn never belonged to you. Stay the fuck away from her. If you try something like this with her, then I won’t stop until you’re in jail or buried.
” My gaze slides to the men on either side of Wilder, who are now shuffling their feet, nervously.
“I don’t know how much you’re paying your teammates, or whether you have blackmail material on them to force them to help you, but you don’t deserve anyone’s loyalty.
If they walk away now, then I won’t report them alongside you to your coach. ”
“You won’t report anyone.” Wilder nods at his teammates.
They surge forward grabbing me by each arm.
I struggle, trying to twist out of their grip. In the small space, however, I can’t.
My breathing sounds too loud, and I am horrifyingly aware that I am the only one who is naked.
The two players hold me flat against the back wall.
In the silence, Wilder simply studies me. “I have no idea what my Birdie sees in you.”
“Then you have no taste.” I tilt up my chin, defiantly. “You know that I don’t need to report you. You’ll have been caught on the security cameras entering our locker room.”
“Will I?” Wilder’s answer is too smug.
My blood chills.
Why hasn’t anyone already come in here to help me? How did the three players get past security?
Shivers race down my spine.
My teeth are chattering. “Who is helping you?”
Wilder laughs, leaning in the stall doorway. “You piss off a lot of people, Jude boy.”
“Don’t call me that,” I snap.
“It’s what our college team called you. Someone in the Bay Rebels thinks that you deserve reminding of your place as much as I do. You’re acting like you’re so much better than me now, huh? Everybody hates you. You’re a mouthy asshole. Did you forget that?”
Bad, bad, bad.
I shake my head, spraying the players with water who are holding my arms.
They tighten their grip, bruising me.
Wilder pushes himself closer, grabbing me by the chin to force me to look into his eyes.
I consider spitting on him, but he doesn’t deserve even my spit.
“Is this bringing back happy memories, Jude boy? It’s only a shame that I didn’t bring a wooden hanger. I was always creative with that and your balls. The rides on the team bus were fun when we had you—”
“To kick around because you lost? Because I was always the highest scorer. You were the fuck-up.”
Wilder stares at me like he can’t believe that I dared talk back. At college, I didn’t. He was the son of elites. I was the sole scholarship student who couldn’t risk his place on the team.
Wilder knew that, and he used it against me.
But he’s not going to do the same now.
“This is assault and battery,” I say. “Congratulations on destroying your own career. Enjoy jail.”
“It’s your word against the three of ours.”
“My word and the bruises as evidence.”
“I thought that you were tougher than this. You know coaches hate distractions. Make this a thing, and we’ll come for you harder.”
“Fuck. You.”
“You’ve forgotten that I know about your kinks, Jude boy.
I’d simply tell a court that those bruises came from your rough play with Shay.
You’re open about your relationship with him, right?
Don’t you reckon that a traditional judge would suspect your dynamic as being the cause?
Judge you? How do you think a pretty boy like Shay would cope in jail?
I’d say that you were framing me because of our history and in revenge because you’re now dating my ex-wife.
What type of scandal would that create? Do you want to drag them into this? ”
He refuses to look away, reading the answer in my eyes.
I can’t allow Robyn or Shay to go through that. I can’t risk either of them.
I want to call Wilder’s bluff. But I won’t endanger my lovers to do it.
I must protect my subs.
Satisfied, Wilder shrugs off his jacket, tossing it behind him.
“What’s happening right now is because you’re to blame for my suspension.
You broke the unspoken rule not to talk about what happens between teams. If you do that again, then I’ll go after that little star player of yours, both off and on the ice.
My team will make sure to break his head, just like his twin’s was. Prince will never play hockey again.”
Rage roars through me.
I howl, struggling to break free. My muscles bulge, and my feet slip on the wet floor.
Startled, Wilder cringes back. “Hold him.”
I wrench from side to side, but one of the players cruelly sink their fingers into my damp hair and twists my head to slam it into the wall again.
“You were always dramatic.” Wilder rolls up his sleeves. I try not to tense; being beaten hurts more that way. “This is just locker room shit. And what happens in the locker room…”
“Stays in the locker room,” the other players chorus.
Wilder pulls back his arm, and no matter how I try to relax my abdominals, it doesn’t stop the burning pain, as he punches me in the stomach.
The air is driven from me, and my legs collapse.
As I hang from the players’ arms, Wilder methodically punches me.
Again, again, and again.
One, two, three.