Page 57 of Cracked Ice (The F*cked Up Players #1)

twenty-four

T he crowd whoops and hollers remind me of the roaring arena from earlier tonight.

They only grow louder as Lucien strides toward me.

They part for him like the Red Sea with a blend of worried gazes and feral anticipation.

Their sweat-slicked faces and inebriated bodies gather around the backyard, apparently thrilled with this segment of the evening.

Even though he’s on the outs, even though they lost, they all still adore and praise him.

I’d kill for that kind of adoration, but I get a nice contact high from just being next to him. They shout my name, cheering me on as only drunken college students can. I pretend they’re clapping for me and not secretly praying for my downfall and betting against my success.

They give a full round of applause as Lucien steps up to me.

“What took you so long?” I ask, grinning when he tilts my face up with one of his busted knuckles and gives me a wink of his own.

“I needed to grab some things,” he says, skimming my lips with his thumb. “Can’t leave you alone for two seconds, can I?” He tosses Asshat a death glare over his shoulder.

“Maybe you shouldn’t leave a damsel in distress,” I tease.

He chuckles, turning back to me with nothing but wicked intentions written on his face. I think I love it, that glare that burns down all my hesitations and fears. “You are no damsel. You’re my little—”

“Don’t you dare say it,” I warn, though judging by the twinkle in his eye, I know he’s thinking it anyway.

Lucky for him, he doesn’t dare, but his laughter quickly ebbs away.

“You okay?” He tilts his head toward the onlookers and MC Asshat behind him.

I nod. “I’m fine. It’s . . . a lot, but I’m not nervous.”

His eyebrows pinch, but for once he doesn’t call me out for lying. “Don’t let them scare you. You got this. I wouldn’t have asked you to do this if I didn’t think you could handle it.”

“If the others could handle it, then so can I.”

His face falls, a flash of hurt in his expression if my eyes aren’t playing tricks on me. I thought nothing could hurt Lucien, but maybe that’s not exactly true.

“There are no others,” he whispers, leaning closer. “Only you.”

“Because they failed ?”

“No.”

The jeers of the crowd quiet, and all I hear are loud puffs of breath that I recognize moments later as my own breathing.

“Because you’re already mine .” He grips both my wrists, pinning them to the board as if I’m on a cross. His proximity scrambles my senses as his lips ghost my temple. “ It’s no contest, Princess.”

A sense of pride flutters in my chest.

Even if it’s only for a night.

Even if I am a human target for this psychopath.

I’m his.

I really must be crazy about him if I’m willing to go this far.

Lucien bends down to pluck an apple from the top of the pile in a bucket at his feet, presenting it with a magician’s flourish when he rises.

“Hold the apple out to the side, balanced in your palm,” Lucien instructs, running his fingers sensually across the inner part of my arm, then wrist, before flipping my palm up.

I still feel the stares we’re getting. Hell, I even recognize some of their meaning. There’s desire, jealousy, curiosity, and wonder, but they’re nothing compared to the look Lucien’s giving me right now.

Intense hunger. Deep-rooted obsession. Unhealthy fixation. Everything anyone normal would run away from. Everything I should run away from . . . but the more I think about running, the more stubborn my body becomes, because running from a man like Lucien is asking to be chased.

We’re all bathed in flickers of orange light from the bonfire, but only Lucien looks godlike under the amber hues as I peer up at him.

His scent cuts through the stench of booze and smoke, invading my senses, intoxicating me.

The air between us crackles like the reflecting flames that dance behind his golden eyes.

It’s as if the whole world’s gone silent and it’s just me and him before he’s bringing the apple to my lips.

“Kiss it,” he commands, pressing it to my lips before I can think better of it.

My lips pucker of their own accord as if placing a chaste kiss to his cheek.

He turns the apple over, smiling as he admires the spot where my gloss sticks to the shiny red skin, then he gingerly sets it on my outstretched hand.

“It’s very important you don’t move, Princess,” he murmurs.

I stutter a nod, straining to accept the dire implications of ignoring his warning. I understand basic logic, but I’m worried that my body isn’t as resolved as my heart.

If I flinch, I’m dead.

If he misses, I’m dead.

Death is starting to feel like a strong possibility.

He must see the fear in my eyes, feel the thrumming of my heart, because when he straightens, he pulls an exact replica of the blade skewered to Asshat’s shoe from behind his back and draws the terror out more.

I stiffen and that fear ramps up several more degrees, just like he wanted.

That thrumming in my heart, becomes a fluttering of bees.

He twirls the knife in his hands, whirling it around his middle finger, the hole in the hilt perfectly shaped.

“No need to be scared, Princess,” Lucien murmurs. “I promise I won’t miss.”

“You can’t make a promise like that,” I choke out.

The blade stops and he grips it between deft fingers, holding it up until it’s right under my chin, poking into the underside of my jaw.

Tilting my face up, he asks, “Aww, don’t you trust me?” The glint in his golden eyes somehow shines brighter in the night. And what was a light breeze in the air, dusting the wisps of hair over my face and tickling my nose, is now a smoldering inferno that burns all my doubt away.

“Does it matter?” I whisper.

He chuckles darkly, “Honestly, no, it doesn’t. I don’t want your trust; I want your submission.” His glare sharpens, training in on me in a way that tells me he’s digging for something he knows I can’t easily give. “That’s a lot harder to earn, wouldn’t you say?”

I take a deep swallow, the blade moving with my throat.

Yes, I would say . All things considered, I’m an obedient daughter and even an amenable lunch date, but submission? I’ve never in my life done that.

“So then, do it,” I push. “Make me submit, Lucien.”

He twists the knife so that it lies flat, dragging it from my chin and along my jaw as he speaks.

“So eager,” he muses. “I told you you were no damsel. Don’t worry, I have all night to make you submit to me.”

“Promises, promises.” So many promises, Lucien.

Lucien grins. “I do love a challenge.”

There’s a brief sting when he flicks the knife back. Without looking, I know he’s nicked me, but his tongue’s a welcoming salve as he licks up the base of my throat.

I suck in a shaken breath, my knees knocking.

My pussy, wet. This is the second time he’s pulled a knife on me tonight, the third time he’s cut me, and I’m just as turned on and terrified as I was the first time.

Even more so now that I hear the murmurs of our growing audience.

Everyone can see I’m his and that whatever’s happening between us isn’t a part of their regularly scheduled program.

Lucien brings the blade across my cheeks to my lips, forcing me to kiss it, same as the apple. Except this time, when he pulls the blade away, he licks over the spot my lips touched.

I stifle a moan, ready to announce my fealty now and submit in whatever way he demands, but that’s not the name of the game.

This is a test.

He takes a step back, then several more.

More steps than I expect him to. The more the space stretches, the more my heart constricts.

Can he actually hit his target from that far away?

The crowd has more than doubled in size since I’ve taken my position in front of the target.

They wait with baited breath to witness the outcome of my fate.

The large, mangled piece of plywood set up against the tree behind me should be evidence enough that quite a few things have been pierced against this wood.

Glancing down, I see dark blood stains caked into some of the splinters.

Those same splinters claw at my back, inciting my attention, but I’m not allowed to move too far from the target.

My last sliver of sanity rises to the surface, screaming at me that this is not safe.

Abort mission! I don’t need to prove anything to Lucien, I’m Sydney fucking Sinclair.

I could be packed and vacationing in Aspen by tomorrow afternoon, with a real Calvin Klein model, cozying up in a hot tub, swiping Daddy’s credit card and riding all the slopes and dick I want.

But who’s to say the Calvin Klein model could even make me come, could even make me feel a fraction of how I’ve felt this whole evening with Lucien?

The only other time I’ve felt this alive, is when I’m skating.

And I don’t mean in competitions. I mean in the cold air, on a frozen lake.

No one in the stands and no judges critiquing me, just skating for me.

It’s been a while since I’ve done that. Since I’ve felt that.

A soft crunch echoes in my ears and twists my middle with a nauseating churn as cool liquid seeps into my palm.

My mouth drops open, ready to scream in pain, but the pain doesn’t come. I dart my eyes to my outstretched hand where a knife sticks straight through the apple, embedded so deeply it’s trapped against the wood.

I drop my hand in shock, then shift my gaze back to Lucien.

Did he even try to warn me, make sure I was ready before he threw it?

Of course not , the stupidly pleased smirk on his face says as much.

Any normal person would be upset. Instead, I’m impressed. He didn’t miss. Even from that far away.

Amazing .

He’s a good fifty paces apart from me, and still, he hit the apple dead center.

“Another one!” Lucien shouts, gesturing with the knife to the remaining pile of fruit.