Chapter 9
Chapter Nine
Dominic
That little fucking Omega is going down the right path to get her perfect round ass slapped.
I don’t know what the fuck Coach Gilmore was thinking in throwing someone that looks like her to a pack full of starving hockey players, but I thank the old bastard for it anyway. Because that ass in those slacks?
Fuck. Me. Dead.
My knot has been a constant, painful distraction since the moment she arrived to work this morning.
And every moment before then if I’m honest. Lennon’s always got her head held high and her nose pointed North where the players are concerned, but she’s not fooling anyone with the dark rings circling beneath her eyes.
Perhaps she’s a little sleep deprived.
Good.
That only means our messages are landing exactly where we want them to.
Who am I kidding? I already know they are, because I’ve been watching her fall apart this entire time.
Every chance I get, I’m hidden, watching from the shadows, my fist wrapped around my cock while she buckles beneath the weight of fear.
Fear my pack and I are responsible for. The sight of our new coach holding back tears sends me way over the damn edge, leaving me to sit with the kind of violence that should disgust me, but it doesn’t.
I’m a sick motherfucker, and I wear that badge proudly.
Her reactions have carved something ugly into me, twisting the darkness inside my head in a way I never saw coming.
Breaking our little bird has quickly turned into my new favorite game.
Well…second to watching my guys abide by her orders.
That garners a whole other reaction from me, not that I’ll say anything about it.
Don’t want to poke the bear, or anything.
My place during training is usually down below, keeping the boys’ equipment in check.
Today, on the other hand, I’m in the stands.
I couldn’t stay away even if I wanted to.
The team needs me. But they aren’t the only reason I’ve found myself a little more present than usual.
I can’t stay away from her. It’s like a need at this point.
To be close enough to watch the way she moves when she isn’t paying attention to the world around her.
I won’t lie, it’s almost painful, though I’m nothing if not a glutton for punishment.
Especially when the reward looks so fucking sweet.
Lennon’s already on the ice. Her skates are laced up like she was born to wear the damn things.
They aren’t pink like I had expected for an Omega like her.
They are the same pairs the other players wear.
A pair I personally sharpened a little over a week ago.
I had no idea that they were in preparation for her.
If I knew that, maybe I wouldn’t have sharpened them so well.
I might have made them blunt. Enough that she would have had a reason to come and see me.
To step into my workshop, walk straight into my domain where I rule, and she’s nothing more than prey delivered to me on a silver platter for me to consume.
A mistake I sure as fuck won’t make twice.
Three at a time, the players practice high speed puck control, all while Lennon calls out critiques and words of encouragement.
I can’t say I’m a fan of watching the way the players preen under her praise.
The way their eyes travel over her body, giving her appreciative glances that they don’t deserve to have. They need to know that she is ours.
Mine.
“Well done!” Lennon shouts, giving the three men on the ice congratulations, and I don’t like it.
“Next, I want Woods, Volkov, and…” She pauses, looking down at the roster, and I notice the moment she realizes there’s no one else for her to add to the set of three.
Shrugging her shoulders, she skates over to the bench, grabbing a stick from one of the players who holds it out to her with a dumbfounded look on his face.
Turning, Lennon skates back to where Sasha and Holden are, sharing a confused look, as Lennon takes the third person's place. “And me, I guess.”
I forget all about the design sketches I had been working on for next season's hoodies. Something I do reluctantly, thanks to Holden’s eagerness to nominate me, though it felt more like throwing me under the bus. Apparently, I’m the only artist here.
Walking down the stands, I jump into the box and work my way in between Carver and Tyson. Leaning on the ledge, I secure my front row seat, refusing to be close to watch whatever happens next.
Sasha and Holden are stars for a reason.
To say they are quick on the ice would be an understatement.
The second they’re out there, the pair become a force to be reckoned with, the kind of players who get shit done before the opposition even realizes what’s happening.
Between Sasha’s ruthless precision and Holden’s ability to create opportunities out of literally nothing, it’s no wonder the media can’t get enough of them.
They’re the faces splashed across highlight reels, the duo commentators rave about, and the names every sports journalist seems intent on keeping in the headlines.
I’m really fucking proud of how far they’ve come.
Even more so, knowing Sasha’s road has been far from fucking easy.
I find it hard to believe that the little Omega could keep up. It appears the players surrounding me also agree, their murmurs filling the stunned silence from moments ago.
I would never say Omegas don’t belong on the ice. I am many things that I won’t deny, but I’m not sexist. But this? This is making something in my chest rattle. Something uncomfortable washes over me that I can’t place.
Lennon looks over at the bench, her eyes widening for a moment as she spots me.
“Dominic, do me a favor and call start, will you? Make sure these two beside me don’t cheat,” she chuckles, her eyes filling with humor for the first time since we met.
It is inherently cruel for that look to be so comfortable on her face.
So fucking perfect. A look that threatens to break every single thing that I promised Sasha days ago when he asked us to help break her.
I give her a short nod, forcing myself to build back up the resolve that she threatened with nothing more than a look.
The Omega almost got me to bend, and she didn’t even know it.
Impressive but fucking pitiful on my behalf.
I watch Lennon, not giving a second of attention to my pack mates as the three get into position.
Knees are bent, sticks at the ready, with the puck tucked carefully into the bend.
I watch as the expressions on Holden and Sasha’s faces turn feral.
No one else would notice the subtle shift, but I sure as fuck do.
They almost look predatory. The calm before the storm, I’ve spent years getting to know.
To understand, and no other asshole here can see it coming.
I can’t stop whatever is about to go down from happening, especially from over here. The question is, do I even care?
I wait a few seconds, letting them take a breath before I whistle, the sound echoing through the arena.
At the same moment, the three of them launch off their back skate, their bodies propelling them down the ice.
Not for a second do I take my eye off Lennon. I’m glad I don’t. Because the look on her face is enough to bring me to my knees. It's the same look that I know is plastered all over Sasha and Holden’s faces. The one that sings to a freedom that you can only feel on the ice.
She is beautiful. In a soft way. A dangerous way.
I had thought the little thing would lag behind the two pros. But she doesn’t.
No, Lennon keeps pace with Holden and Sasha, even as they slide to a stop at the end of the ice, forcing them to manipulate not only their body positioning but also the stick and puck before taking off down the ice.
My back straightens as the three players zip past us, before each of their skates slides, coming to a stop at the invisible finish line.
The bench is completely silent. None of us knowing what to do or say. Tyson eventually rights himself, his hands coming together as he begins to clap.
“Fuck yes!” He yells, jumping over the boards. The rest of the team follows, their hoots and hollers reverberating around us, giving the space a toned down version of game night.
But I don’t move. I don’t think I can. Because Lennon Gilmore just shut down every single preconceived notion I had of her.
She isn’t fragile. She isn’t someone who’s going to break easily for us.
Holden and Sasha don’t join the huddle that the rest of the team has made around Lennon. Instead, they skate over to me, wearing similar disgruntled yet surprised expressions.
I glance over at Sasha, keeping my face blank and devoid of emotion. Can’t be too careful with him sometimes. You never know which way he’ll go regarding Lennon. “You didn’t let her win, did you?”
His brow furrows, the spot between his eyes deepening. “I’m offended that you’d think I would back off just because the bitch is an Omega.”
A single eyebrow raises at the catty tone in his voice.
He rolls his eyes, knowing I am not happy with a smartass answer like that.
Something stirs inside me at his insult.
I’m not sure where it comes from, but it’s not going to do me any favors, so I decide to let it pass.
I’m sure he can tell I’m less than pleased by the look I no doubt have on my face.
“No, I didn’t fucking let her win. In fact, I put more into that than I normally would.”
Holden comes to stand beside me, leaning against the boards.
“Same here,” he says, taking a gulp of water out of one of the bottles someone left behind. C’mon, Holden. Fuckin’ gross. “I know you’re going to hate me for saying this, Sasha, but the coach is actually fucking impressive.”
Sasha tips his head slightly, his best version of a nod, I’m guessing.
It’s an undeniable fact.