Page 3

CHAPTER 2

I wash my hands and look up at my reflection, my honey brown eyes staring back at me. Dragging the tip of my peach-colored, almond-shaped nail down the center of my hairline, I set my middle part just right. My wavy curls fall, framing my face, and I smack my glossy lips together.

Maybe if I take my time in here, I won’t have to talk to Callan at all. I adjust my jeans and fluff my shirt, just keeping busy before staring at myself again, trying not to think about my purpose in life. It’s depressing to feel like I’m going nowhere, but part of me isn’t ready to let go of my past.

Shaking that thought off, I carefully reconstruct my smile and head out in search of the opposing team's locker room. Now that I think about it, I have no idea where it is.

I scan the space, searching for another glowing sign like the one above the restrooms. This place is massive. Too massive . Every hallway looks the same, stretching endlessly in every direction.

Before I know it, I’ve covered at least a quarter mile, and the damn locker room is still nowhere in sight.

Just as frustration takes root, it vanishes when I spot a group of guys in Lords jerseys stepping out of a door to the left. About damn time.

I scour the area, searching for Brogan, but I don’t see her anywhere. With a sigh, I pull my phone out of my purse, hoping for a message from her. The screen lights up, but the only notification is a two-day-old text message from my dad.

I round the corner, pacing down the hall as my mind runs through possibilities. Maybe she already left. Maybe she’s in the locker room.

I check my phone again. Still nothing.

She has to be inside.

A thought strikes me as I backtrack to the locker room entrance—what if the guys are naked in there?

Oooh—what if the guys are naked in there?

Well, aside from Callan. Been there, fucked that.

Okay, fine. Seeing Callan naked wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world. The guy is a menace; his ego could use a good beating, and his attitude makes me want to throw punches, but damn he’s hot.

That dark brown hair, always unkempt like he just rolled out of bed and let the wind style it. Those green—almost teal—eyes, eerily close to the Lords’ team colors. Not that I’ve noticed. And I sure as hell wouldn’t admit it. He’d take the compliments and twist them into something he can use as a weapon against me.

Throwing caution to the wind, I crack open the door and peek inside.

A narrow, dimly lit hall stretches ahead, leading to a brick wall that curves around an open entryway.

My gut twists with nerves as I ease the door shut behind me, careful not to make a sound. Moving like a mouse, I creep toward the brick entryway, pressing my back against the wall before peeking around the corner.

“Brogan,” I whisper-yell. “Are you in there?”

Silence.

Frowning, I pull out my phone and call her. Straight to voicemail. Great . Either her signal is shit, or she’s ignoring me.

I slip my phone back into my purse, my mind spinning. Do I wait? Do I leave? Or do I take my chances and go in?

Distant voices ring in my ears, which I take to be a good sign. At least, that's what I tell myself as I step farther inside, hoping to hear Brogan.

Dammit. Why couldn’t she just wait and call Callan when we got to the bar? A blackberry mojito sounds a hell of a lot better than sneaking around a locker room full of our rival team’s players.

After every home game, the team heads to Legends, a local sports bar. Since Brogan’s dating one of the star players, she and I usually tag along, blending into the crowd of puck bunnies who fight for the players’ attention.

I move in closer, tuning in to the voices drifting through the space. There's a mix of gruff, but low murmurs. None of which belong to Brogan.

Regardless, I need to find Callan and figure out where Brogan is. I’m exhausted, starving, and more than ready to leave this damn arena. He’s the last person I want to deal with, but it seems I don’t have a choice.

I round the next corner, but immediately step back, pressing myself against the wall. Four guys stand in a tight circle, their voices hushed but stern. Tension crackles between them and whatever they’re discussing seems serious.

They’re probably giving each other shit over a bad play. You’d think they’d be a little more cheerful after their big win.

But damnnnn. The Lords look good.

One is sweat-slicked, still in uniform.Another stands in nothing but black briefs that cling to his scrumptious thighs. I’m forced to press mine together just from looking at him. The last two are fully dressed with their backs to me. All of them are the full package with broad shoulders and raw strength.

They huddle close and the air around them is heavy with something I can’t quite place. Then, I see him.

Callan.

For a split second, relief washes over me. That is until I notice his hard, serious expression. I’ve been acquainted with that look more times than I can count. At least this time it’s not directed at me.

I tuck back around the wall a little bit, hiding my body while keeping my gaze set on him.

“I want out,” I hear the guy in uniform say in a low, but gravelly tone. “I didn’t sign up for murder.”

A sharp gasp escapes me before I can stop it, and I slap a hand over my mouth. Murder? No. I must have misheard. This is a college hockey team, not the damn mafia.

“Fuck the pledge,” the guy mutters, his voice tight with panic. “I’ll quit the team. I’ll give up my seat as an Ice Lord.”

Seat? What seat? And since when did players have to pledge?

“That’s not an option,” the sexy underwear guy, with jet-black hair and the bluest eyes I have ever seen in my life, says sternly. I’m ashamed of myself for even noticing how mysteriously gorgeous he is at a time like this.

“You knew the stakes,” he grinds out. “You’re one of us now. But this is not the time or the place. A meeting will be arranged later today in The Chamber.”

The Chamber? Jesus. The NHA doesn’t mess around when it comes to securing players.

I’ve heard enough. I need to get the hell out of here. Now !

“Go lock the door,” Underwear Guy snaps.

My heart plummets straight to my gut.

Think fast, Avery.

My gaze darts around the room, searching for somewhere to hide. My only option is a locker within arm’s reach. No door, so it’s not ideal, but it’s better than standing here in plain sight.

As the footsteps close in, I lunge forward, taking two long strides before diving into the locker. My head smacks against a coat hook with a dull thud and I bite back a curse.

Crouching, I press myself into the shadows. my breaths are shallow, and my pulse is racing so hard I can hear it echoing in my ears. I rub the sore spot on my head, but the sting is a small sacrifice I’m willing to make, considering I’m trapped in a room with four men much larger than me who are talking about murder. It really isn't on my bingo card to die this year.

My mind races as I struggle to process what I just overheard. Maybe they’re talking about a video game. Yeah, right. Who am I kidding thinking I'm lucky enough to not be in deep shit right now?

I have a bad feeling that the Lords’ hockey team is up to something…something dark. And to my absolute horror, I think I’ve just stumbled upon information I was never meant to know.

Callan steps into view, and I drop my chin, squeezing my eyes shut. I can’t bear to see the look on his face when he realizes I’m here.

Seconds seem like an eternity. Then, footsteps move past me.

I crack my eyes open just enough to catch the faintest blur of his silhouette disappearing from view. A slow, measured breath slips from my lips, my chest finally deflating. I think I’m safe.

“I can’t do it,” I hear the fearful, timid guy say. “I won’t do it.” His tone is firm, but the quiver beneath his words betrays him. He’s fucking terrified. And that same terror races through my veins knowing I'm stuck here.

What could they possibly be forcing him into? And why do the other three hold so much power over him?

My entire body trembles, every nerve on edge as I inch forward, just enough to peek around the corner. The guys stand, oblivious to my presence, their attention locked on their prey. I know I’m playing a dangerous game, but I can’t look away. I have to know what they’re making him do.

Underwear Guy leans in, his jaw tight, fingers twisting into the fabric of the other guy’s jersey as he yanks him close. His voice is almost lethal. “You can, and you will. Need I remind you of the consequences for failure? If Evan Sanders comes to, it’s all of our asses on the line. You will take care of him.”

A chill slithers down my spine. My stomach churns. Did I hear that right? Are they responsible for Evan’s fall from the mountain?

I’ve heard enough. I should’ve run the second murder entered the conversation. This isn’t just a power play. It’s a cover-up. And if they ever find out I was here, that I heard this. No! I won’t even think about what might happen.

Suddenly, the room goes dead silent. I swallow hard and it's as if the sound echoes across the room, making my fear triple and my adrenaline sky rocket. It feels like I can't breathe. My mind races, but every escape route feels like a gamble.

These are the kinds of conversations no one wants to overhear because once they do, there’s no undoing it.

Just step out of this locker, tiptoe to the door, unlock it, and run like hell.

This never happened. You heard nothing.

But I did.

I heard Brogan’s brother talking about murder, and a chamber. Callan changed after his father forced him into rehab. He pulled away from everyone except Brogan, but this? This is something worse. Even for him.

I don’t know who those words were meant for, but it doesn’t matter. Someone on the Lords' team is responsible for what happened to Evan. I’m certain of it.

My pulse pounds out a frantic tempo, loud enough that I swear they’ll hear it if I don’t get out of here.

Run. Move. Do something.

But I’m frozen—replaying their conversation like a scene ripped straight from a horror movie.

Then, my phone buzzes.

Oh shit.

It’s on vibrate, but wedged against the wall inside this coffin of a locker, the sound might as well be a gunshot.

Panic surges through me as I fumble with my purse, hands trembling so violently I can’t grasp the zipper.

The next thing I know, Callan’s eyes are meeting mine. My heart slams into my throat. Wide-eyed, I shake my head with a firm finger pressed against my lips.

For a split second, I think Callan might let this slide. Then he crushes that hope beneath his boot. With a small lazy nod, he nudges Underwear Guy and jerks his chin in my direction.

Shit.

I cower deeper into the locker like it’ll somehow swallow me whole and make me disappear. But it’s useless. I can’t run. And now, I can’t even hide.

“Get him out of here. We’ll deal with him later.” Underwear Guy barks the order at one of his teammates. A tall, muscular-framed guy with sandy brown hair grabs hold of the one they were arguing with and drags him down a row of lockers until they disappear from sight.

Underwear Guy crosses the room in three long strides, his hand latching onto my arm in a bruising grip. With one yank, I’m out of the locker like a discarded rag doll.

"Who the fuck are you?" His voice is sharp, edged with suspicion.

“I…I, um—” My mouth is dry, words scrambling over themselves. I shoot my thumb toward the door. “I was just leaving.”

His eyes darken, his grip tightening. "Not so fast." He leans in, voice low but lethal. "How long have you been here?”

“Not…not long.”

Terror coils around my lungs, squeezing until I can’t breathe. Oh my God. I can’t fucking breathe.

Every inhale sticks to my throat, unable to make it to my lungs.

“ What did you hear?” he asks sharply.

He’s closer now. Closer than I can handle. The scent of sweat and cedar rolls off him, mingling with the heat of his body pressing against me like a second skin. I lift my chin, trapped by his angry gaze.

“Answer me!” he grits out. I flinch at the bite in his voice, instinctively jerking back, only for his fingers to snap around my wrist like a vise. “What. Did. You. Hear.” He says each word like it’s its own sentence, forcing me to process them one by one, even as my mind scrambles for an escape.

I whip my gaze to Callan, silently begging him. But he’s already sold me out. There’s no saving grace here. No lifeline.

Callan averts his gaze and I’m not surprised. A little disappointed, maybe, but not surprised.

Their other teammate returns, a bottle of water in his hand. He takes a seat on one of the benches, watching as the situation unfolds.

I suck in a breath, forcing the air deep into my lungs. I can’t let any of them see my fear. They’ll feed off it—twist it and use it against me, just like Callan would do when he knew he could hurt me.

These guys don’t know what I heard. For all they know, I just walked in.

So I steel my voice and meet Underwear Guy’s glare head-on. "Let. Me. Go."

His grip tightens, fingers biting into my arm as his hot breath fans my cheek. Then, I feel it. Something hard nudges my hip bone.

Oh, God. Is he turned on right now? Revulsion coils in my stomach as the realization slams into me.

He is!

His growing erection presses against me like this is some sort of sick game.

Even worse, a shiver runs through me. Not entirely from fear.

What the hell is wrong with me?

“Who sent you?” he grits out, completely ignoring the fact that he’s hard as a rock right now. “Why are you here?”

No matter what I say, I’m doomed. I stumbled onto a secret these guys would kill to keep buried. So, I do the only thing that makes sense. I throw the one person who could’ve protected me straight under the bus.

I jab a finger at Callan, a smirk curling my lips. “I came for him.”

Silence snaps through the room like a live wire. Every pair of eyes locks on to Callan. His face burns crimson, his mouth parting, but his words never make it past his lips.

“Come on, Callan,” I taunt, my voice dripping venom. “Tell them. Tell them I’m your sister’s best friend. Tell them you're the reason I walked in here.”

Callan lifts his head, squaring his shoulders like he’s preparing for a fight. “It’s true, Aidric,” he says, voice tight. “I know her, but she sure as fuck isn’t here for me. Can’t stand the girl.”

Underwear Guy has a name.

I snort, rolling my eyes. “Can’t stand you more.” The words slip out before I can stop them—petty, yet satisfying.

Aidric clicks his tongue, amusement flickering in his gaze. “Ahh,” he drawls, tilting his head. “So that’s it. You’re a Devils fan. Snooping for your boys, are you?”

I almost laugh at the absurdity, but Aidric’s grip tightens, his fingers digging into my arm like he’s trying to squeeze the truth right out of me.

I tilt my chin up, refusing to show weakness. “I don’t give a damn about your rivalry. I don’t even like hockey,” I snap. “I was looking for Callan’s sister who happens to be my best friend, and I walked into the wrong place at the wrong time. That’s it.”

Aidric’s lips curl into a smirk, but his eyes stay cold. “That so?”

“That is so,” I say with a bite of sarcasm.

Aidric doesn’t budge, his stance unwavering. “Well, regardless of what you came for, you’re a problem now.”

A slow, devious smirk tugs at his lips as his menacing blue eyes flick down at me, savoring the moment. “You walked into the wrong room, Little Devil.” His gaze sweeps lazily over the space, meeting the eyes of his teammates, who watch in eerie silence. Then, with a sinister grin spread across his face, he looks back at me. “In fact,” he muses, letting the words hang like a death sentence, “I think we’ll keep you.”

I sputter a laugh, downplaying the situation while hoping a sign of humor masks my fear. “Keep me?” I chuckle again. “You can’t keep me. I’m not an object.”

In a slow, deliberate motion, Aidric shifts his gaze to Callan. “I think we should leave that up to our boy, Callan. What do you think? Have a little fun with our new toy?”

“Callan,” I choke out, yanking against Aidric’s iron grip. “Tell him to let me go.”

Callan storms toward us with heavy, intentful steps. The moment I jerk back, Aidric’s hold slips, but my freedom is short-lived. Before I can bolt, Callan’s hand clamps around my arm, pulling me hard against his chest. His breath is hot against my ear, his voice a low, seething growl. “What the fuck are you doing?” His fingers tighten. “Have you lost your damn mind coming in here like this?”

“I really was looking for Brogan,” I murmur. “How the hell was I supposed to know your teammates are psychopaths?”

He doesn’t respond right away. Instead, he drags me aside, away from the others. His grip is firm, but not as rough as Aidric’s.

He leans in, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. “I can’t let you go until you tell me the truth, Avery.” His fingers flex around my arm. “This is serious. What the hell did you hear?”

God, I despise his stupid, sexy, raspy voice. I hate the way he smells—like sweat and sweet pine, an infuriating mix that shouldn’t be appealing but somehow is. And more than anything, I loathe that he’s fucking gorgeous. A guy like him shouldn’t be allowed to possess those qualities.

“Nothing,” I sputter. “I heard nothing. I was literally standing there for a nanosecond.”

His gaze sharpens, his lips pressed into a thin line as he scrutinizes me for any sign of deceit. Maybe, just maybe, he’ll surprise me and prove there’s a shred of humanity buried under that hardened exterior. With any luck, he’ll convince Aidric to let me go. If not, I’m ready to scream until my lungs give out. Someone will hear me. Someone has to.

Just then, my phone rings.

My breath catches, eyes wide as I fumble to reach for it. But before I can even grasp the strap of my purse, Callan clamps onto it and yanks it from my grasp like it belongs to him.

“Hey,” I stammer. “What the hell are you doing?”

Ignoring me, he digs out my phone, brows lifting as he glances at the screen. He looks at Aidric. “It’s my sister,” he says as he hands Aidric my phone. “She’s probably looking for her.” He rubs a hand down his face like he’s already exhausted by this exchange.

“She is looking for me. And she said she was coming to talk to Callan, so she’ll probably walk in here any second.”

Aidric looks amused, twirling my phone between his fingers. “Oh, Little Devil,” he muses. “Smart people don’t just walk into the players’ locker rooms.”

My jaw clenches. “Are you calling me stupid?”

He grins, all teeth and arrogance. “I’m certainly not calling you smart.”

A subtle growl climbs up my throat as I jerk against Callan’s ironclad hold. It’s no use—he’s not letting up. But damn do I want to give this asshole a piece of my mind.

Aidric tips his chin at Callan. “What’s it gonna be, Cromwell?” he asks with an edge to his tone. “Do we trust your little friend wasn’t eavesdropping? Or do we bring her with us and get the truth out of her the fun way?”

A sharp swallow burns down my throat. Pleading eyes snap to Callan. “Please,” I whisper.

He studies me, a dark look in his eyes. Finally, he exhales, shaking his head. “You know you’re a shit liar, right? Your bottom lip quivers and your eyes don’t stop dancing around.”

“I’m not lying,” I cry out. “Just tell him we’re good, and I swear, none of you will ever have to see me again.”

Aidric clicks his tongue again, stepping closer. His thumb brushes my lower lip, sending a sick shiver down my spine. “Hmm. He’s right, you know. Your lip is trembling.” His fingers trail to my chin in a firm but teasing hold. “Lucky for you, I’ve got bigger things to deal with tonight. So, I think we’ll cut you loose.”

Relief floods through me. “Thank you,” I blurt out, hating how desperate I sound.

“Don’t thank me yet,” Aidric smirks. “I’ll let you go under one condition.”

My stomach knots. “What do you want?”

He leans in just enough to make my skin prickle. “Practice. Tomorrow at ten a.m. You’ll be there cheering us on like a good little fan.”

I glare. “That’s your condition? I don’t even like hockey.”

“Yeah, well,” he chuckles, stepping back, “you do now. You’re our new biggest fan, Little Devil. And if I find out you heard something you shouldn’t have…” His smile drops to something dark, almost dangerous. “I’ll fucking ruin you.”

Then, with a casual shove and my phone slapped to my palm, he says, “Run while you can.”

I don’t waste a second of time. I bolt.