20. Sydney
twenty
sydney
“What the fuck ?”
I catch sight of the driver storming in with someone else hot on his heels. Everything is blurring. But the driver doesn’t just stop —he lunges at the clown-masked man and rips him away from me.
The rope around my neck loosens.
I suck in a deep breath immediately, my lungs filling and the burning subsiding. I inhale so hard I cough. But it soon turns into hyperventilating. I roll into a fetal position and press my forehead to the concrete.
My gasping breaths sound loud in my ears.
“Sit up.” Hands grasp at me, and I’m dragged back against a warm chest. “Hang on, just try to take slow inhales and exhales. Like me.”
I can’t think about breathing until this rope is off my neck. He makes quick work of unwinding it from my torso and hands, finally lifting it up and over my head. My quick inhales and exhales are too shallow, and I try to calm down. The spots in my vision are back, and even Penn’s steadiness at my back doesn’t help much.
My attention is pulled away from me, though, to the driver. He has the clown-masked asshole against one of the mechanic’s lifts. His hand is around the bigger guy’s throat, and while he’s weakly clawing at his arm… he’s not trying to dislodge the driver.
When he releases him and steps back, the big guy sags against the lift.
It’s not enough.
He almost raped me.
“He wouldn’t have.” Penn. In my ear, like always. The little voice of fucking reason.
I shove off him and pull up my damn pants. The button is gone, but the zipper isn’t.
I have always been an underdog, and I know it has a lot to do with money.
Until college, my mom and I were the definition of white trash. Someone who lives in a trailer and doesn’t have a car and walks to school because the bus doesn’t pick up there. And bikes? Bikes cost money. The last time I had a bike was at my dad’s house, and I was seven. It had pink streamers coming from the handles.
When I outgrew it, I didn’t ask for another.
To some, a lack of money means a lack of strength. It’s easy to take advantage of a poor person. It’s easy to dangle something impossible in front of them, just to watch them dance.
And how many times has Mom disappeared with boyfriends for the promise of money? How long did it take me to decide to use some of my savings for a car to get to college?
So maybe people look at me and they see where I came from, but I know I’m worth more.
I’m worth more than this .
Oliver is the driver. His mask is on, but Penn is here… And where would Penn go that Oliver wouldn’t?
Oliver is the one who orchestrated me to be grabbed off the sidewalk and shoved in a trunk.
Oliver is the one who wanted to scare me.
Oliver left me alone with this monster.
Before either can stop me, I march forward and grip the top of the clown mask. My skin crawls being this close to him, but I have to fucking know. I rip it off.
Bear .
I should’ve guessed. He seems to have hated me from day one, right? Even when Oliver was appraising and Penn curious…
He looks at me with such loathing, even now, that I have no doubt he would’ve done it. He might’ve apologized for it later—to Oliver, not to me—but he enjoyed the quick moments of torture.
Oliver slides in front of me, blocking my view of Bear. He’s still wearing the bloody, grinning skull mask. Maybe he even thinks the ruse is still going.
“I believe in karma.” My throat burns with every word, but I keep forcing them out. “I believe you’re going to get what’s coming to you, Oliver Ruiz. Your NHL team will see you for who you are. And when your life starts spiraling, I’m going to be there. I’ll fucking delight in your fall.”
He jerks, the words hitting their target.
After a long moment, he removes the mask from his head. His gaze is hot enough to set me on fire. He seems to catalog my neck, face, and lower. Like he can still see me flat on my back with my pants around my ankles and Bear between them.
“Ollie.” Penn stops beside me, his fingers finding my hip. “This is where you fight. This isn’t where you intimidate girls.”
Fight?
I glance from Oliver to Penn and try to resist the urge to lean into Penn’s hand. To sidle even closer and let him comfort me. It’s an insane thought, because we’re not on that level.
We’re on the level of using each other. Nothing more.
“You are all insane,” I breathe. “You, Oliver, for thinking I’d make the same mistake as last year.”
His eyes flash. “Once a snitch, always a snitch.”
I knock Penn’s hand around. “And you? Why did you show up out of the blue?”
Penn goes around Oliver and shoves his other teammate. “Get the fuck out of here, Bear. And if you ever so much as look at Sydney wrong, I’ll fucking cut your balls off.”
The huge man glares at the goalie as he picks himself up. He absently rubs at his throat, and I scowl. He looks like he’s twenty-seven, not college aged. That’s creepier than his mask, and not to mention questionable. He tosses the mask into the car. While he climbs in, Penn opens the garage door for him.
Bear backs it out, and we all wait in silence until he’s turned onto the street and out of view. Penn yanks the garage door back down and slides the bolt to lock it.
He returns to us and meets my gaze. “I showed up here because I saw someone grab you, and no one was fucking returning my calls.”
Oliver scowls.
“And you decided to recruit Bear. He was really bringing down the mood.” I aim for something more lighthearted, although it doesn’t quite hit. Everything hurts, and I’m sure I’m a snotty, tear-soaked mess, but I can fake it with the best of them.
Penn scoffs.
I grab my phone from the floor where Bear threw it and face Oliver. The crack from the taping incident was luckily just to the screen protector, and it was good as new as soon as I replaced it. Not that I need another reminder of Oliver’s cruelty. Indirect or otherwise.
“Did I pass your test?”
His expression is stoic. Like talking to a fucking brick wall. So I’m going to take that as a yes , and he just doesn’t want to admit it.
To Penn, I ask, “You still going to break into my apartment tonight?”
The goalie forces a grin. His brows stay lowered, though. Concerned. “Why would I do that when I have you now?”
“Because right now I want to throttle both of you. Mainly him, though.” I wait a beat. “I’m glad you stopped him.” I can’t quite muster a thank you, though.
Oliver nods once, but a flush creeps up his neck. He turns away from us abruptly and strides over to the shelving on the wall, swiping his arms across the surface. Tools and items go crashing to the floor.
Penn threads his fingers through mine, and I really want to hate him.
Except… I don’t think I do.
“He put me in the trunk.” I touch my throat. “You knew that, though. You said you saw it.”
His gaze hardens. “Yeah, princess. I got here as fast as I could.”
“And I want to know more about this fighting thing,” I add. Since I seem to be pushing my luck getting any sort of admission from them, I may as well ask about this, too.
“No,” Oliver barks.
Penn considers it.
I keep eye contact with him, sucking my lower lip between my teeth. I didn’t bother putting my hair up after class, and he reaches for a lock automatically. He twirls it in his fingers, thinking something through.
“Is that where you got that black eye from before? No goalie gets a black eye in a game unless they’re asking for it. And even then…”
“Walker,” Oliver warns.
“Yes,” Penn says. “We do fight nights after a home game loss. Everyone knows to come here.” He steps into my personal space, his chest and mine nearly brushing.
“Everyone,” I repeat. I have to tip my head back to meet his gaze.
“Everyone who matters.”
“Everyone who pays,” Oliver corrects. “No snitches allowed.”
“First rule of fight club, don’t talk about fight club,” I say.
“Exactly.” Penn snaps his fingers. “But since you now know both the where and the when, you’re welcome to come. In fact, you should be here to root me on.”
“How are you so— normal ?” Oliver interrupts. “What the fuck is going on in your head, doll? Anything but air?”
“Of course you’re going to be nasty after your teammate tries to strangle and rape me,” I snap. My voice cracks, though, which kind of ruins my anger. Besides, the best way to get over something is to pretend it didn’t happen.
Penn touches my neck, and I cringe.
“You didn’t feel it,” he says to Oliver. “It was really fucking tight.”
They glare at each other.
I blink back tears, trying to keep to my pretend this didn’t just happen mantra. But it’s really hard when my throat hurts, and my body is still zipping with adrenaline, and I have the urge to break something.
“She’s going to bruise,” Penn adds.
I lean into his side, suddenly done with tonight. He steers me out the door they came through and puts me in his car. He disappears back inside, presumably to get Oliver’s version of events. But it’s pretty cut and dry—they grabbed me. They threatened me.
Then Bear took it further.
My skin crawls. He touched me, and I couldn’t do anything about it.
I check my phone and stare at the texts from L.
L.
Who is it?? Where are they taking you?
Damn it, Sydney. Where are you?
Penn returns, setting my backpack in the footwell behind his chair and sliding into the driver’s seat. He looks at me, his brows furrowing.
“What’s wrong?”
A tear rolls down my cheek before I realize I’m at that point. My vision goes blurry. I blink rapidly, swiping at my face. I don’t want to keep crying or reliving the last hour of my life. I just want to keep pretending that I’m fucking fine .
“I’m fine.”
I just thought L. would be able to help me. But how on earth would he do that?
My phone lights up with Carter’s name. I glance over at Penn, who’s still watching me—not my phone. But his gaze does drop to it, and he scowls.
He snatches my phone and answers the call.
“You’re too late,” he says.
I can’t make out Carter’s words from here. I reach, but Penn dodges my hands.
“You had the chance to rescue the princess, asshole, but apparently you screen your calls.” Penn gazes at me, listening. Then, “She’s fine now. Don’t worry—I plan on comforting her all night long.”
I look away.
He tosses my phone in the cup holder.
I wipe at another fucking tear. Crying is stupid . It’s all stupid.
“Talk to me.”
I just?—
I unbuckle and get out of the car. I’m too hot. I have too much energy. It’s all pent up and useless, and I fucking hate it.
“I’ve got just the thing,” Oliver says. He leans in the doorway of the mechanic’s warehouse, the light behind him silhouetting his body and hiding his expression. “If you can stomach me for an hour or so.”
“What is it?”
He lifts one shoulder. “Come find out. But I can guarantee you I’m not going to baby you. Not now, not ever.”
“Okay,” I agree. I hold out my arms. “Lead the way.”