Page 93 of Cracked Ice (The F*cked Up Players #1)

“Please . . . Please . . . Don’t leave me,” I pant.

I’m trying not to lose control, but I can feel the blade slipping farther into her chest. I can smell the iron of her blood, and it only spurs the monster that rages inside me.

I could do it. I could kill her and then she’ll have to stay with me just like they do.

She can join my family in my nightmares—and never leave.

“Never . . .” she whispers, tears sliding to her ears.

I want to lick them away, but she’s not done.

“I wanted this night so we could be tied forever. So that wherever I go, you’ll always be with me.

And even though you’re upset . . . I’m so glad I got to have that with you.

” Her voice chokes on her last words. Her breaths, ragged and her speech choppy as she attempts to bear the pain.

What about MY pain, Sydney!

“Don’t go,” I cry. “I don’t want to be alone again.”

Why does everyone leave me?

She says nothing, and it’s about the worst possible choice she could make. Her lips roll inward, and she closes her eyes. I hate that she’s hiding from this right now. I hate the silence that bleeds in, overbearing and blinding me to what’s real and what’s all in my head.

All I see is snow . . . and blood . . . and trees . . .

“You won’t be alone.” She breaks the silence, but not the feeling. “You have a life here.”

My eyes snap to hers. “A life that was crumbling !”

Blood flows in rivulets down the crevice around her pillow-soft tits and through the valley between them, staining her robe and sheets as I push in a fraction deeper.

I try to restrain myself. To think rationally, or rather not-so-rationally, because rationale is telling me to carve out her treacherous heart so she can be like me.

“You have Trevor,” she offers, but she’s still not getting it.

“Trevor would never be with me. I might be getting kicked off the team and he’s going pro. He’s my best friend, but there’s no future for us. Don’t you get it? You’re my future, my everything.”

“There’s no future for us either,” she rasps, emotion I can’t reconcile caught in her throat.

It could be from the pain she’s enduring from the blade, or from the loss of us because apparently there is no us and I was only kidding myself if I ever thought there was.

Maybe she’s right and I am a cocky fucker because it never once crossed my mind that she wouldn’t be mine.

“Why didn’t you just tell me? Why blindside me? You just checked me into the boards with no warning . . . no defenses . . . just betrayal.”

“I didn’t mean—”

I cut off her lies.

“You knew I was falling for you, and you did nothing to stop me.” I put my face closer to hers. “And we both know how good you are at stopping me before I go too far. Which means this was a path you chose ,” I snarl.

Faint noises from the other side of the door bleed through before there’s a banging sound. “Miss? Miss, your father is calling, and there’s campus police out here. They want you to open the door.”

Neither of us move to get up.

“I didn’t mean to, Lucien. I swear the intention was never to hurt you.

I stayed to watch you play so that I could see you one last time.

I figured the chance to check on you in the locker room was the last opportunity I was going to get to actually talk to you.

I tried to push you away when you came and found me, but then you offered me a night of fun and games.

The more I talked to you, the more I liked you.

I wanted more time with you, and I just thought .

. . that if I told you . . . you wouldn’t waste your time on me.

You’d find another toy to play with, and I’d be a forgotten memory you’d never even think twice about. ”

She still hasn’t told me to stop; she just let me dig in a little deeper. Her hands rest on my wrists, but they don’t push me away or pull me closer, they just hold me as I slowly stab her.

“I-I couldn’t stand the idea of walking away from you sooner than I had to.

” She hisses a breath, coping with the pain as she looks me square in my eyes.

“I’d have rather died than see you walk away from me.

” She shakes her head, resolution set in her eyes, even through the tears.

“I don’t regret . . . a fucking thing.” I press in a little more. “B-because I’m— crazy —about you.”

This girl will be the death of me, the death of us both.

I squeeze my eyes shut, frustrated and confused. I want to believe her, but it’s been so long since I’ve felt this kind of loss. I never imagined I would feel it again.

“And I’m crazy about you.” I force air into my lungs, sucking in enough oxygen to clear my thoughts. “So where does that leave us?”

Her face screws up. “We found each other once; we’ll find each other again.”

I memorize the hope on her face and trace every line, hair, and mark from the crown of her head, down to her neck.

Her cracked blue eyes capture my own and we breathe in the silence together.

Blood coats my hands and I stop pushing the blade in, but she doesn’t move. She stays. She accepts her punishment.

“I’m not them . My heart will still beat for you, even when I’m gone,” she says.

“It isn’t the same. Your family had no choice in dying.

Death is unrivaled, right? But that doesn’t mean you’re alone.

I’m still here.” Her bloodied hand presses to my chest, leaving a palm print against my skin.

“Even if I’m not in your life, I still exist. We could be . . . friends.”

I huff, disbelieving.

She wants to be my fucking friend ?

Friends don’t fuck like we fucked. Friends don’t build altars in each other's name and worship at their feet. Friends don’t give over their whole body and spirit to do with as a fucked up soul like me pleases.

Friends don’t beg to be choked on the pierced cock of their buddy while she drowns in my cum.

A friend wouldn’t be poised to cut out his bestie’s heart for betraying him .

There’s another knock at the door, but again we ignore it.

“Do you really want to live a life without me in it?” I ask, resting my forehead to hers and stroking my busted knuckles over her wrists.

“No,” she whispers.

“Then I should cut your heart out right now so you can’t give it to anyone else.”

The door pounds again.

My hand flexes but I don’t push in any farther. I really am liable to kill her by accident if I don’t stop but I’m not yet convinced I should. What’s left for me on the other side of that door?

Nothing and no one.

Not hockey. Not my friends. Not my parents. Not Lilith.

“So do it,” she goads, “cut it out. It won’t matter how many times I fall in love or who I give my heart to; you’re the very blood in my veins.

It won’t beat without you. There’s no getting rid of you.

I’m yours, remember? They’ll have to take it out of your cold dead hands if they want it.

” The corner of her mouth curves into a sly smile even as she pants.

Leave it to her to not only be unfazed by my suggestion, but to agree.

I won’t lie and say this doesn’t hurt, because it fucking does.

It hurts like hell, but if there’s anything I can believe in right now, it’s that Sydney and I aren’t over.

Not even fucking close. So, I’ll do what I always do when there’s a tricky play, no room for a shot, and no one around to make the pass. I’ll make my own way.

Another knock raps against the door, only this time it’s louder and angrier.

“You can fall in love. Get married. Start a family. You can find God and become a nun. You can travel a million miles away and join a convent and you would still fucking belong to me,” I growl, tossing the blade aside and gripping her face, my palms slick with her blood.

“I don’t care where you go or what you do, just don’t let me go.

Don’t ever stop being mine. If I’m the blood in your veins, then you would need to flay yourself and bleed me out to get rid of me. Do you understand?”

“Yes,” she sobs, grabbing my face and pulling me in for a kiss.

I fall willingly into her, consumed by her.

Addicted to her. We kiss even as her stab wound continues to run red down her sweat-slicked torso.

We kiss even as the banging on the door grows louder.

We fucking kiss even as I’m pulling my cock out and sliding inside her wet heat that chokes me tighter as she writhes and screams my fucking name.

We don’t stop kissing until well after she brings herself to orgasm, riding my cock and praying for forgiveness.

“God, please. You have to believe me . . . I’m sorry, Lucien. I’m so sorry ,” she moans.

I’m not far behind her after that.

“You better fucking be, because I’m your redemption, Princess. Don’t forget that.”

They’re my final words before I’m flipping her over, fucking her into the mattress until I’m coming deep inside, cursing her name and spilling out her sunrise-colored pussy.

We’re catching our breath when a man’s voice booms from the entryway with such undeniable authority, I know exactly who he is: her father.