6. RYAN #2
I’m tempted to point out that divorce is a thing, but something tells me that wouldn’t go over well.
My first instinct is hell fucking no. If I thought joining a hockey league more brutal than regular hockey was the worst idea out there, the universe has proven me wrong.
Marrying Tate is worse than playing murder hockey.
Tate is the literal devil. Trading one monster for another cannot be my only option.
And there’s something else. All my senses are tingling.
An army in my head waving thousands of red flags.
Tate has no intention of letting me go, no matter what my answer is, does he?
I’m in his web. He’s about to immobilize me with his spider venom.
Maybe he already has, and the venom is affecting my brain—I’m not desperate to escape.
“A deal like that requires more than money. I’d need protection.” Negotiate. I’ll negotiate. At the least, it’ll buy me time. If I’m lucky, he’ll give up on the idea.
Psychopaths lose interest in their obsession when they’re annoying—that’s got to be a thing. Someone tell me it’s a thing.
“Done.”
“A home.”
“I have several, you can take your pick.”
“A life of luxury.”
“You’re making this easy. Look, whatever you want, it’s yours.”
“Anything?” My insides fucking relax—not what I want.
He’s luring me, anyone can fucking see that.
My brain knows it. But like Pavlov’s little dog, my body’s ready to follow him as if it can already embrace the relief.
My body’s a selfish bitch for wanting that relief.
This is about saving Griff. To fuck with what I want. I don’t get to want anything.
He pauses. There’s the fucking catch. Always is. “There’s only one thing I can’t give you. C’mere.” He sets his glass down. I gulp my bottle of water back, crushing the plastic and tossing it into the small recycling bin by the snack table.
The distance closes between us. His hand finds my face, thumb settling in that place under my bottom lip like it belongs there. His gray eyes stare into my soul.
“Freedom. You get everything you could ever want, but you’re mine. You belong to me in every way. That’s the trade-off. There will be a few rules, but they’ll be a small price to pay for what you get in return.”
Got it. I trade one cage for another. God. Fuck. I don’t know. Maybe it’s time I accept that I’m going to be someone’s prisoner, at least I can choose my jailor. What a daunting reality. That can’t be all there is for me.
Not about you, Ryan. It’s about Griff. It’s a business negotiation—you for Griff. You don’t matter.
“Th-That’s some trade off.” A dangerous one. But I haven’t moved away from him. I like his hand right where it is. There shouldn’t be anything comforting about Tate, and yet there is.
Am I that much of a fool? Am I that pathetic?
“What if I agree to one and not the other?” I’m not saying I’m going to marry him, but that’s the only one that’s plausible. I can leave and play for Shadowridge with Tate’s help, but Father would never support the team.
He shakes his head. “I need to secure the Pacific Conference Commissioner position. Fundraising is part of how I plan to impress the current commissioner. Most of the board likes me, but they’ll want someone with more experience. I need his vote to sway them.”
My father’s on that board. That’s exactly how he’d vote.
“Why do you want to marry me?” There’s gotta be something motivating this. Guys like Tate don’t wake up and decide to marry random strangers.
He presses my nose as if I’m something adorable, asking cute questions. “Unless you want to make this a tell-all, why don’t we skip those questions? I’ll leave you to your business, and you leave me to mine.”
“That sounds like a great marriage—no communication, no sex.”
“Who said there wouldn’t be sex?”
“You said …” Fuck, I can’t even say it.
“That I wouldn’t fuck you till you begged me? I won’t. But you will beg me, dollface.”
A gigantic burst of heat sets my insides on fire.
God fucking damn him and his infallible confidence.
Is he always like this? His lips press to my neck.
He’s deliberate, finding my spider tattoo again.
He has some kind of weird fascination with it, like he does with me, but my brain goes offline when he fucking sucks on me like that. I slowly lose the will to care.
“Maybe I should fuck you right here, show everyone, including you, how mine you are? Hmmm?” he murmurs in my ear.
Okay, fine, he’s right. I want that. Him.
God, do I want him, but I can’t. It’s not as simple as he’s making it.
And what’s that stupid saying? Can’t give away the whole cow?
No matter how much I want him to fuck me, I can’t let him until it’s for something I want.
I’ll use any negotiating capital I have.
“Why me?” I push. He can tell me that without revealing whatever the fuck he wants to keep to himself.
He tilts his head, staring, as if he’s trying to figure it out himself. “It makes sense. I need to get married. You already know about my underground life, which makes things a lot easier. It’s a mutually beneficial situation.”
“I can’t be the only one who knows about your underground life, Tate.”
Tate pauses for a brief moment, as if maybe that hadn’t actually dawned on him. He quickly resumes feasting on my collarbone. “None of them tastes as good as you do,” he murmurs, getting distracted again.
“Tate.” I’m careful not to put my hands anywhere they can’t be, but he said his torso was okay earlier. Is that still okay? Slowly, I put my fingers against his ribcage. He flinches. It’s exactly like dealing with an animal that doesn’t trust humans.
What happened to him? Why can’t he be touched?
“O-Okay?” I check.
“Okay,” he says, eyeing me as if I might suddenly pull out a knife.
I rest my palms against his torso. It’s a firm torso; it rises and falls with careful breaths. Not in the same way someone does when they’re scared, it’s more defensive, like he’s waiting for an attack.
He backs me into the wall, pulling my leg around him. But what it also does is give him higher ground. More control. God, the man really has to be in control in every way. I think my question rattled him, but it hasn’t seemed to change anything.
“Look, it’s no secret that I want you,” he says.
It’s on the tip of my tongue to challenge that. Now he’s making it sound like some lust-driven need—the one-night-stand equivalent of whatever the fuck this is—but I’ve had enough one-night stands to know that you don’t vow to claim the person in front of everyone.
This is something darker. Something dangerous.
I think I let a predator catch my scent.