“You’re a fucking pig.”
Before I knew what I was doing, my gloves and stick were sliding across the ice while I took the first punch.
My fist connected directly to his nose, blood immediately pouring out of both nostrils.
He gazed up at me in disbelief, appearing stunned.
I had a split-second advantage.
And I took it.
My right fist hit him under the jaw, sending him reeling back so hard, he couldn’t stay on his feet. “That was for Trey,” I screamed as I jumped on him and kept hitting his ugly face. “And that’s for his sister, you asshole. How’s it feel to have someone take advantage of you?”
The rest of the facility had disappeared.
It was only me and this putrid excuse for a human being on this ice right now.
I kept swinging at him.
And it felt good.
No, it felt fucking great.
“Moreau, stop, for fuck sakes, stop,” Edwards said, pulling my arms behind me and yanking me off Rozovsky.
“Let me go!” I hollered, not quite finished rearranging Rozovsky’s bleeding, battered face.
“It’s over. It’s over,” Edwards shook me as he kept repeating those words.
Yeah, it sure was.
I could tell by the way the officials skated over to me.
It was definitely over.