CHAPTER THREE #2
I huff because that wouldn’t have happened if my mind wasn’t otherwise occupied by the memory of pretty hazel eyes. If Blair is really back on campus, she owes me an explanation.
I’ve spent every single day searching for her in some way.
Not just on campus, either. I exhausted every resource my family name could buy, called in favors, chased leads that went nowhere.
I even reached out to Caiden Grey—the one man with a reputation for finding anyone and anything, no matter how hard they’ve tried to disappear.
Now I owe him a favor, which I’m sure is going to be a pain in the ass when he comes around to collect.
A whistle shrieks, bringing me out of my thoughts that only one girl could ever consume.
The puck has changed possession somewhere behind me.
Coach is going to lose his mind if he notices how checked out I am.
Noah falls into step beside me just as Bradford heads our way, circling like the little vulture he is.
“We almost made it an entire game without somebody acting like a complete psycho, but the way Harris is eyeing us right now, I don’t see that lasting much longer,” Noah says, and he’s almost giddy.
Dad always said Noah only plays hockey for the fights, and that’s probably the only thing the two of us will ever agree on.
“You know, Blair will make a good Chosen One. Whoever The Society pairs her with is a lucky bastard,” Bradford says smugly, clearly having as much interest in this game as I do. “She’s a smart girl, isn’t she? But she knows her place. Did you teach her anything? Or will I have to do that myself?”
I nearly take his head off when I swing on him, but Ben seems to appear out of nowhere and catches the back of my jersey before I can make Bradford bleed.
“I’ll fucking murder you if you ever speak about her again,” I grunt out the words, but Bradford just laughs. I know he’s just trying to get under my skin, but I don’t give a shit. I want to feel his bones breaking in my hands before I combust in anger.
“Aw, Benny, let him throw his little tantrum. His girl is in the stands; let him put on a show for her,” Bradford taunts, and I fucking fall for it. I’d do anything for a glimpse of her. Even if he’s lying just to wind me up.
I slowly glance over my shoulder, scanning the stands as the hockey game goes on around us.
Noah skates off, taking the puck from someone on the other team, but Ben stays close by.
I don’t see Blair. I’d recognize that long, wavy brown hair and those hazel eyes anywhere—instantly. I see them every time I close my eyes.
“Thought you would’ve gotten all that aggression out over the summer.” Bradford has one of those faces that always looks punchable, but tonight he’s putting in extra effort.
Benjamin lets his head fall back toward the rafters for a second because he doesn’t feel like trying to keep me from murdering Bradford right now.
I hear him utter the words, “For fuck’s sake.
” I’m more focused on Bradford and what he said about this past summer specifically than I’m worried about my brother having an existential crisis.
What does this motherfucker know about last summer?
We all made a pact. Every single person who was there that night has something to lose if what we did becomes public knowledge.
None of us would have been dumb enough to tell anyone, so how does he know something happened?
The problem is that he’s never going to blurt it out. Not willingly. Not with half the school packed into the arena watching us. He’s enjoying this too much, enjoying the way my patience is wearing thinner by the second, like he’s waiting to see exactly how far he can push me before I finally snap.
“You really don’t know where Blair has been?” Bradford asks, widening his eyes with fake innocence.
My jaw clenches. "Spit it out."
He grins. “I heard Blair’s been seen at Onyx Dominion.”
Ben immediately groans, “That’s stupid, Elijah. Saints don’t fuck with Dominion, and you know it. Bradford’s just making shit up to rile you up.”
Bradford ignores him, but continues egging me on.
“Some Saints don’t fraternize with Dominion, but the ones who want The Society to go back to the original rules do.
They just don’t openly admit it. I’ve heard your daddy spends some time meeting with the Elders of Dominion, isn’t that a funny little fact?
The Moretti patriarch believes in the old-school ways being used on the Chosen Ones. ”
Every muscle in my body goes rigid. Onyx Dominion is the underground sect of The Black Crown Society. They’re brutal; we don’t claim them, and if they so much as laid a finger on Blair, I’ll kill every single one of them.
When I don’t say anything, Bradford adds, "Just what I heard." Bradford shrugs, feigning like he isn’t playing some kind of game with me. “I hear a lot of things, you know.”
Bullshit.
He knows more than he’s saying; I can see it all over his face, in the way he’s looking at me like he’s waiting for me to crack and start begging for answers.
But that’s not going to happen, because Bradford needs to understand one thing: you can’t blackmail somebody who doesn’t give a fuck.
You definitely can’t blackmail somebody who’s already spent months watching everything important in his life fall apart.
Before anyone else can react, I’m moving.
One second Bradford is standing there with that smug look on his face, and the next I’m crossing the distance between us. My fist slams into his jaw, and the impact sends him sprawling backward, and both of us crash onto the ice. I can hear the gasps from the crowd.
Good.
Let them watch this fucker take his last breath.
I’m not even looking because I’m too infuriated to care if I’m punching this scumbag or the ice, so I just start throwing punches. Bradford tries to fight back, but he’s completely outmatched. He doesn’t have the size, the strength, or the stamina to keep up with me.
Months of frustration pour out through my fists. Every unanswered question and every sleepless night are now Bradford’s problem.
Every second Blair has been gone is equivalent to how many times I want to punch his face until he’s unrecognizable. My knuckles slam into his nose again, and blood splatters across the ice.
Whistles shriek from every direction as the refs rush toward us, trying to halt the game and, I guess, keep me from committing a homicide during a school-sanctioned event.
Bradford curls up and covers his head, which I have to say is the smartest thing he’s done since he’s been in my presence. Benjamin finally decides I’ve had enough fun, so he lets me get a few more shots in before grabbing the back of my jersey and hauling me off Bradford’s battered body.
“If I’ve gotta have a fucking lecture from the old man because of this, I’m gonna fuck you up.” Ben groans, but I’m not paying attention to anything he’s saying. Movement beyond the glass catches my eye.
Paris is walking along the walkway around the rink, her light blonde hair pulled into a messy ponytail with that stupid pink bow she wears all the time. But that’s not what has my full attention. She’s leaning in and talking gently to someone beside her as they make their way toward the corridor.
Blair.
The air leaves my lungs violently, and Bradford’s blood drips from my knuckles onto the ice.
She looks different than the last time I saw her.
It feels like a lifetime, but realistically I know it hasn’t been long enough for her to be thinner through the face and shoulders.
Her skin carries a pale cast that makes it impossible not to wonder what happened to her when I wasn’t there to protect her.
The warm color that used to live in her cheeks is almost completely gone, replaced by a sickly exhaustion that makes my stomach twist. Even from here, I can see the shadows beneath her stunning eyes.
The way her shoulders slump beneath her school sweater makes me want to scoop her up in my arms and haul her against my chest. She moves like she’s carrying something unbearably heavy, and I’m going to figure out what that is even if she doesn’t want me to.
When she disappears from my line of vision, my eyes shift, narrowing on my unworthy opponent.
Bradford grins at me through the blood smeared across his face.
"I wasn’t bluffing about anything, Moretti.
I can promise you that Blair will be my Chosen One, and all your dirty little secrets will come to light. "
I don’t lunge at him. I don’t throw another punch.
Instead, I turn and skate willingly toward the edge of the rink, leaving the game on my own much to the refs’ relief.
I mean, my brothers and I are the reason there are four refs on standby at every St. Augustine hockey game, after all.
I reach the boards and stop to look back at Bradford.
He’s on his feet now, fighting off one of the refs and Coach as they try to drag him off the ice, probably to get his bloody nose checked.
He’s still smiling at me, but it fades when I meet his eyes from across the rink. "Blair is my Chosen One," I say loud enough so every fucking person around us can hear. “That’s the only option. Unless you want a campus-wide bloodbath.”