Page 20

Chapter twenty

Ryann

I’ve missed this so much. I’m sitting in the stands with my hair uncovered, no disguise. Kit’s got one of my hands, and Callan’s on the other side, pressed so close we’re touching thigh-to-thigh. The lights are bright; the stadium is packed, but the roar of the crowd is exhilarating.

Most of the crowd are wearing Python purple and are waving flags and other Python souvenirs.

But there is a crowd of green Demons, too. We’re not alone here. The chants in the crowds start before the game, and I get the shivers, listening to their joyous cheers.

I watch the Greene Demons storm onto the ice, sticks raised, and I scream wildly. They look amazing, and they’re going to win. I know they are.

They skate in circles on the ice and warm up. I obsessively watch Raider and Wren. The commentators yell things, but I ignore it all, content to bask in the feel of being here again. My uncle comes out and steps into the team’s bench.

Memories flash through my mind. He looks like his brother, my dad. This is what he would have looked like if he’d have lived.

My chest aches, and I rub the spot.

Kit clenches my hand tighter. He leans in and presses his lips to my ear. “Are you all right?”

I force a smile and nod. “Yes. I just miss my dad.”

Kit lifts my hand to his mouth and kisses my knuckles.

“Dad used to bring me to games. He and Uncle and I would come, and they’d laugh and joke and explain the game to me. Mum said it was far too aggressive, but I loved it. ”

“Me, too! My dads come see Raider’s games when they can.”

“Dad said we had hockey in the blood. I know he was right.”

I’m so distracted by my memories that I almost miss the start of the game.

Wren steals the puck and zips across the ice. All the years spent hearing about his hockey talent has me staring in awe at the skills Wren has. I watch avidly as he takes a shot at goal and sends the puck gliding at bullet speed into the net! I jump up from my seat, screaming as loud as I can.

Raider slams into their forward, crushing him to the boards. I stand up to get a better view as he pushes off and chases after a Python’s player who steals the puck. It’s stolen by Waraski and sent back to Evans, but it quickly changes hands and comes back up again.

The line works like magic skating backwards. I can see how intent they are, and when the Python’s forward makes his move, I know he’s got no hope.

Raider goes back as Waraski goes forward. Their partnership is incredible to watch. They seem to have a special kind of communication and know exactly where to be. Waraski leads their forward into a critical error, and when he passes the puck, Raider jolts into action. Stealing it mid-pass and sending it back over the blueline to the waiting center, and that’s when Wren flies.

But my gaze goes back to Raider, who throws a punch at the Python’s forward. They grab each other’s sweaters and shove back and forth, exchanging blows.

It’s heated but over quickly. Raider is sent to the penalty box where he sits back and glowers at the ice.

The game continues. I’m riveted on the play. Hockey is and has always been home for me. I cheer until I’m hoarse. I feel more alive than I have in a long time. The smell of the ice, of the people. All at once it’s over, and we’ve won. I bounce up and down, and Callan laughs and swings me around.

I kiss him hard, pulling at his hair. When he breaks free, laughing, I spin back to the ice just in time to see the players glide out; they skate to Bruce and bump helmets with him until, finally, Ramirez hugs him.

Wren and Raider lift their sticks, and the others follow suit, skating in a circle. I duck out of our row of seats and dance down to the boards and bang on the perspex.

Raider spots me and grins. He skates over to me and puts his hand up. I put my hand on his, beaming at him.

Wren skids to a stop beside him, flicking ice in our direction.

“For you!” he shouts.

I put my free hand over my heart, but I can’t look away from them.

“Come on, let’s go meet them,” Kit says with a chuckle and takes my hand .

I look back several times, but the crowd has folded in, blocking my view of the ice. I can’t see anything.

I miss being out there. I miss playing, watching, and talking about it.

We go outside and wait, the adrenalin ebbs. Raider and Wren appear after an hour. Their eyes light up when they see us. I rush to them and throw myself into Wren’s arms.

“Congratulations!”

Wren grips my cheeks and kisses me hard. “I’d stay here and do this all day, but we have to go. The team is right behind us, along with coach.”

Wren grips my hand and drags me towards where our hired car is waiting. We pile in and get back to the hotel in record time.

I twirl and spin, but Raider ends up picking me up and throwing me over his shoulder with a sharp smack to my ass.

“Who is she sleeping with?” Wren asks.

“Us!” Raider says. “She’s staying with us.”

I let out a giggle, but Raider slaps my ass harder this time.

Callan and Kit shrug. “We’re on the second floor.”

“We’ll stay until the team gets back, and then we’ll come to you,” Raider says and grabs Callan’s head and kisses him.

They turn and open a hotel room door and bring me inside.

“Now, you’re going to get naked and wait here for us. We’ll be half an hour tops,” Wren murmurs and kisses me again.

He smells delicious.

I moan and nod as they back away and leave me alone in the hotel room.

I go into the bathroom and take my time showering and using all the cute little shampoos and conditioners. Even though I want to touch myself, I resist, knowing it will only be better if I wait. I come out with just a towel wrapped around me, feeling a hundred times better. I look at myself in the mirror and smirk. Tonight, I’m going to have a good time with my alphas and just forget everything.

I’m humming and towel drying my hair when I hear the doorknob turn.

Yes! They’re back.

With a smile, I let the towel drop to the floor and take a step before my instincts kick in, screaming at me to wait. I hesitate, staring intently, trying to figure out what’s wrong.

The hairs on the back of my neck stand up. I take a half a step back, my eyes focused on the door handle. It’s turning really slowly. It hits the lock, and then slowly turns again.

Over and over.

Oh, god. I don’t have the phone. Where is it? Where did I put it ?

My stomach twists and jumps. I’m frozen like a freaking deer in headlights, staring at the door handle go a quarter turn to the right and then a quarter back to the left.

Three breaths. Don’t scream.

I count them, and then I jerk down, snatching up the towel and wrapping it around me.

I feel so vulnerable without clothes. I continue watching in horrified fascination as the door handle continues to turn.

I know without question that the person on the other side of that door is not one of my guys. In fact, it’s most likely to be the one person I wish it wasn’t.

He found me again. That thought repeats louder and louder. With more terror in each pass. I hunch my shoulders and step back again, but I’m up against the wall.

I press a hand to my chest and wonder if it’s going to beat right out.

Am I going to die here?

Is he going to take me now?

I want to attack him, howl at him, begging and demanding he answer ‘why are you doing this? Why?’, and I want to scream that I hate him! All that sound is locked in my chest, refusing to come out even louder than a whisper of noise.

I hear a sound, a click, and the door handle stops moving. At first, it’s a relief, but, quickly, my fear grows even more intense. I tense, straining my ears, listening for any clue of what’s going to happen. I glance around, looking for a weapon, but there’s nothing.

The rough sounds of a humming tune reach me from beyond the door. My hand trembles, and my knuckles ache with how hard I grip the towel.

I lift my other hand and shove my fist into my mouth, biting hard to stop the scream that’s rising.

That’s the song my mother used to sing to me when it rains.

How does he know about that? How close was he?

I sink down to my butt on the floor, wrapping my arms around my knees while he continues to hum. Continues to torment me.

Why won’t he let me go?

He suddenly bangs on the door, tearing a scream from me. The door handle turns really fast, over and over. He bangs again, once, twice. He’s going to break in! I inhale and scream again, louder this time.

How does he know that song?

He found me!

I crawl across the floor to the bathroom, sobbing. My knee slips out, smacking the door frame hard, but I keep going. I slip on the wet tiles, but it doesn’t stop me as I slam the door shut and flick the lock. I get as far from the door as I can and huddle there .

In my mind, I hear my mother singing the song, and, for the first time, I can almost remember the words. He’s hummed the tune before, many times. How did I not remember that? Perhaps it’s because I’ve come home?

I can’t stay like this and let him win.

I explode up and drag on my dirty clothes. In the pocket of my jumper, I find the phone Kelly gave me. Do I call the guys or the cops? I hesitate over the button, unsure which one to choose.

There’s no sound coming from the other room. Nothing.

I carefully slide along the wall and put my ear to the door. I count to sixty, but I don’t hear a single thing.

I step back and carefully pull it open, ready to slam it closed again. A fleeting, desperate scan of the room reveals nothing. Not a single thing.

Just the bed.

The door is closed.

Did he leave? I approach the hotel door and listen hard. When I don’t hear anything, I pull the door open and look out. It’s just an empty carpeted hallway with the occasional plastic fern.

Where did he go? No, that’s not the right question. The question is, how did he know I would be here? How does he keep finding me?

I go back into the hotel room and start pacing. Is he going to hurt the guys? Should I be worried about that?

Is he going to hurt me? I just don’t know anything anymore. I sit on the bed and the joy I had before is long gone. Now I just feel defeated. I can’t escape him. That much is clear.

I just need to figure out how he gets this information. How is he tracking me? I got rid of all social media accounts years ago. I don’t have a phone. Hell, I even changed all my belongings and clothes just in case he had them bugged. I took my camera to a professional and had them check it over. There is nothing that can give me away.

Which means the only answer is that he’s so close he’s able to track me simply by following me.

I rub my chin, but when someone knocks on the door, I get up and cautiously walk to it.

It doesn’t occur to me that it would be anyone else but the guys or my stalker. I should have known better.

Instead, I open the door, and my stomach drops out. Panic and pain. This isn’t fair.

It’s just not fair.

My uncle’s mouth drops open, and his eyes widen. “So it is you? What the fuck are you doing here, Rhee?”