Chapter 17
Damien
The box had more than the finger inside it. Underneath the blood-soaked tissue paper and the note was a burner phone with only one contact saved in it.
Sebastian.
I stare at the phone for almost an hour after Atlas leaves before I finally press call.
He answers immediately. “Sweetness.”
The nickname makes my stomach turn so violently I almost hang up. “What do you want?”
Sebastian hums softly, like he’s pleased to hear my voice. “That’s no way to greet me after all this time.”
My hand tightens around the phone. “You cut off my father’s finger and sent it to me in a fucking box. How did you expect me to greet you?”
“He owes me more money,” he says almost absentmindedly, like he needs to jot it down on a to-do list.
Ice slides down my spine. “What do you want?”
“I’d like to see you.”
“No.”
Sebastian laughs quietly. “You still think you get choices with me. That’s cute.”
Rage burns hot behind my ribs.
I hate him.
God, I hate him.
But underneath the hatred is something uglier.
Fear.
Because Sebastian would never reach out unless he already had a plan.
“Meet me at Velvet Room,” he says casually. “Noon tomorrow.”
The line goes dead.
I don’t sleep after that. I spend the entire night pacing my apartment while panic slowly hollows me out from the inside.
I skip practice again the next morning. The guilt eats at me for hours.
Coach is probably furious.
Atlas is definitely furious.
But none of that matters right now.
Not compared to Sebastian.
The Velvet Room sits on the south side of the city, between a pawn shop and a liquor store. From the outside, it looks almost classy, if you squint hard enough. Inside, it smells like cheap perfume, stale smoke, and sweat. It’s barely noon on a Wednesday, so the club is mostly empty.
A few businessmen sit scattered near the stage, nursing drinks while half-awake dancers move slowly beneath purple lights.
Pretty girls.
Young girls.
Too young.
My chest tightens hard enough to hurt.
Then I see Sebastian. He’s sitting in the front row, perfectly relaxed, like he owns the entire building. Hell, he probably does.
A girl with black hair who can’t be older than twenty sits in his lap while he watches the stage with bored amusement. She laughs at something he says and leans against his chest. She looks so much like me at eighteen that it nearly makes me dizzy.
Same sharp cheekbones.
Same dark eyes.
Same nervous smile of someone who’s trying too hard to please.
Sebastian spots me immediately and smiles coolly.
The devil himself.
“Well,” he drawls softly. “Look at you.”
The girl turns to glance at me curiously.
Sebastian pats her thigh lazily. “Go take five.”
She pouts slightly. “But?—”
“Go.” His tone stays soft.
Which somehow makes it more threatening.
The girl slides off his lap obediently. Sebastian slaps her ass as she leaves, making her laugh nervously before she disappears into the dressing rooms.
My stomach churns. I sit beside Sebastian because standing makes me feel too vulnerable. The music pounds softly through the room while another girl takes the stage under dim pink lights. I force my eyes toward her instead of Sebastian.
Looking at Sebastian too long feels dangerous.
“How’ve you been?” he asks casually.
I laugh once, under my breath. “Can we skip the fake pleasantries?”
Sebastian smiles slightly. “Oh, my boy still bites.”
I go cold immediately.
I’m not your boy anymore, I want to say, but instead I stay quiet.
Sebastian leans back in his chair. “I never cared much for hockey,” he says. “Especially not a shit team like the Market City Tigers.”
My jaw tightens.
“But suddenly you’re all over social media.” He glances at me slowly. “And I realized you turned out even prettier than I expected.”
Revulsion crawls down my spine. I stare straight ahead at the dancer. She spins around the pole while my pulse pounds unevenly in my ears.
“What does my father owe you?”
Sebastian swirls whiskey slowly in his glass. “Henry never learned his lesson about gambling.”
I close my eyes briefly. Of course he didn’t.
“He borrowed again,” Sebastian continues. “And again. Then he started borrowing from people connected to me.”
“That’s not my problem anymore.”
Sebastian glances at me knowingly. “That’s what I assumed.”
I finally look at him.
He smiles.
Cold.
Cruel.
Beautiful in the same terrifying way he always was.
“I figured you wouldn’t sacrifice yourself for Henry again,” he says. “The finger was just to get your attention.”
My stomach twists violently. “You’re insane.”
“Oh, certainly.” He says it casually.
I grip my knees hard beneath the table to stop my hands from shaking.
Sebastian studies me for another long moment. Then his smile changes slightly. “You’re different.”
I don’t answer.
“You look softer.”
That makes my skin crawl.
Sebastian leans closer. “I noticed it in interviews first,” he murmurs. “The way you look at Atlas Connors.”
My heart stutters. “Leave him out of this.”
Sebastian ignores me. “It’s interesting.” His voice stays soft. “You never looked at me like that.”
Ice floods my veins.
“You love him,” Sebastian says simply. “I can tell.”
The words land like a punch directly to my chest, because he’s right. Hearing Sebastian say them out loud makes me feel exposed in a way I can barely survive.
“Atlas has nothing to do with this,” I say quietly. “Leave him alone.”
Sebastian studies me carefully, then laughs under his breath. “I don’t want beef with some two-hundred-fifty-pound famous hockey player. That sounds exhausting.”
Relief flickers weakly through me.
“But,” Sebastian continues casually, “I did hear about a little girl named Grace Connors.”
Everything stops.
Sebastian watches the realization hit my face.
“You stay the fuck away from her.” My voice comes out shaking.
Sebastian takes another sip of whiskey.
“She’s just a kid,” I continue.
Sebastian tilts his head slightly. “So were you.”
The words hit like a slap.
I stare at him in horror and suddenly understand something terrible:
Sebastian doesn’t feel guilty about what he did to me.
Not even a little.
He never has.
“What do you want?” I ask quietly.
“There’s a big game Friday.”
My stomach drops. “No.”
“You don’t even know what I’m asking yet.”
Sebastian smiles faintly. “I need you to throw a few games over the next couple of weeks.”
The world tilts beneath me.
“It’s easy money.”
“I said no.”
Sebastian sighs softly, like I’m disappointing him, and then he leans closer. “So I guess little Grace Connors won’t survive after all.”
Cold terror floods every inch of my body. “What?”
“The leukemia finally got to her.” Sebastian shrugs. “Tragic.”
My chest caves inward, because I understand immediately.
He isn’t talking about cancer.
He’s talking about murder.
And he’s saying it casually enough to make me feel sick.
“You touch her and I’ll kill you.”
Sebastian smiles, but there’s no warmth in it at all. “There he is,” he murmurs softly. “That’s the boy I remember.”
I feel trapped inside my own skin.
I sit there quietly, because moving feels impossible.
Sebastian watches the dancer like he didn’t just threaten a sick thirteen-year-old girl. He looks relaxed, almost bored, while my entire life collapses around me. Then his hand lands on my thigh.
My body reacts before I can control it. I jerk away sharply, but Sebastian catches me and drags my leg back toward him with enough force to make my stomach turn.
“Don’t start acting shy now,” he says softly.
I go still.
Sebastian’s fingers press into my thigh like a warning. “Throw the games,” he says, his voice quiet enough that no one else can hear, “or your boyfriend’s little sister dies.”
My vision blurs.
I hate him.
I hate him so much I can barely breathe through it.
But all I can see is Grace in that hospital bed, pale and tired, smiling around all that pain while asking me about shading techniques.
She’s just a kid.
She’s Atlas’s whole heart.
And Atlas…
God.
Atlas would never survive losing her.
My throat tightens until it hurts. “Okay,” I whisper.
Sebastian’s smile spreads slowly. “What was that?”
I blink hard, but the tears come anyway. “I’ll do it.”
Sebastian reaches up and grabs my chin, forcing me to face him. His touch makes my skin crawl.
He studies the tears in my eyes with cruel satisfaction, like my fear is something he missed.
“Still such a pretty crier,” he murmurs.
Something inside me breaks in silence. I jerk out of his grip and stand. Sebastian lets me go.
That might be the worst part—he already knows he won. I leave without looking back.
The noon sunlight feels violent after the dark pink haze of the club. I make it to my car on shaking legs, unlock the door, and get inside before my body gives out.
Then I break. I sob so hard I can’t breathe. My forehead drops against the steering wheel while my hands clutch uselessly at nothing, and all I can think is that I escaped Sebastian once.
But now he’s found the one thing I love more than my own freedom.
Atlas.
And I know exactly what I have to do to keep him safe.
I check the burner phone three times before the game starts. It feels radioactive every time I touch it.
The phone buzzes when I’m halfway dressed in the locker room. I grab it from the bottom of my duffel bag before anyone else notices and check the message.
play horribly, sweetness.
I stare at the text until the words blur.
Then I lock the screen and shove the phone back into my bag hard enough that the zipper rattles. My hands are shaking. I curl them into fists immediately.
Get it together.
The locker room is loud around me. Music blasts from the speakers while guys yell back and forth across the room, the usual game day chaos humming through the air. Normally, it quiets my mind. Today I feel like I’m walking toward my own execution.
I pull my shoulder pads on mechanically and avoid looking toward Atlas’s side of the locker room. He hasn’t spoken to me since he left my apartment.