Page 87 of Brutal Obsession

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I can feel his intrigue from here. I bite my lip. I know immediately what I want to ask for, but I hesitate for a split second. My fingers hover over the screen. Should I? Shouldn’t I? I waver, then go for it.

Me

Get your hands bloody next time.

It’s a dare I shouldn’t make. I shouldn’t ask for his violence. But I look up and find him staring at me. Helmet off, hair a mess. It stands straight up, like he ran his fingers through it a few times. His expression is… wonder.

Or horror.

It’s hard to tell from this angle.

He didn’t expect this. And why would he? Why would he expect a level of bloodthirstiness from me? But I’m beginning to discover that I like the dark side of him. That it’s oddly attractive—but I want to see him pitted against someone else. I want to see how far he’ll go.

He leans over and says something to his coach, who waves him off.

I glance at the scoreboard, at the seconds ticking down to end the first period. The Knights are winning, one to zero. The buzzer sounds. The game stops.

I sit back. Will he take the challenge?

And the bigger question: will I give him my secrets if he does?

27

GREYSON

Coach taps my arm, and I hop up onto the wall dividing the rink from our bench. My replacement, a junior named Finch, skates toward me and practically dives over. A split second later, my blades touch the ice and I’m off.

I move into position, my muscles stretching and warming back up. I’ve had precious few breaks—all the starters have been rotated out, giving us a chance to breathe, but then we’re right back in. The other team is faring no better.

This game is testing us. The Knights haven’t been fighting fair, and I have the sneaking suspicion the refs aren’t on our side. Because of that, I’ve played the second period with my head screwed on right. Sweat soaks down my back.

Still, I love this sport. My blood sings, adrenaline pumps, and the roar of the crowd just makes me fight harder for it.

I catch a glimpse of Violet out of the corner of my eye. Her friends are all preoccupied, and she looks lost.

The right wing from the Knights skates past and pushes his stick in front of me. I don’t see it until I’m right on top of it, and it hooks around my ankle.

I go sprawling across the ice.

My anger flashes, boiling through me, and I push myself back up. Now’s my chance.

“HEY!” I yell, chasing after the guy who tripped me.

Normally, it would be a flag. A power play for us, a trip to the penalty box for the son of a bitch who did it. But the refs aren’t paying attention, even as I skate full-speed into the Knight. I crash into him and immediately grab the front of his jersey. I curl my fingers under the edge of his helmet and pull until it pops off his head.

He shoves back at me, a sneer curling his lips.

Fucking prick.

I’m not going to lie—I see red. I get in two hits to his face before the rest of our teams swarm us. I’m vaguely aware of Knox beside me, pushing at some asshole on the other team. Our limbs tangle. Pain shoots across my knuckles. I feel a crack, but I keep fucking going.

Finally, someone rips me off the guy.

I didn’t even realize he and I had fallen and I was on top of him.

Someone locks my arms up, their hands pressing to the back of my head.

“Chill the fuck out, Devereux.” It’s Coach in my ear. Coach dragging me away.


Tags: S. Massery Romance