Page 26 of Forbidden Titan (North Shore Titans Hockey #4)
Chapter 25
Merci
The Titans dominated another fucking game, and I can't help bouncing in my seat as the crowd files out. My voice is shot from screaming—both cheering and cursing out those blind-ass refs because, seriously, how do you miss someone basically leg-sweeping Zach in the second period?
"That save was fucking insane!" I'm still high on adrenaline after watching Viktor do a full split to stop what should've been an easy goal. The words taste like betrayal coming out of my mouth, but I have to give credit where it's due. "Like, I hate to admit it, but damn. That was impressive."
Eli giggles beside me, his eyes sparkling with amusement. "Did you just compliment Viktor?"
"Ugh, don't remind me." I slump back in my seat, crossing my arms. "I feel dirty. Like I need to wash my mouth out with soap. "
"You're ridiculous." He bumps my shoulder with his. "But I'm glad you're finally becoming a hockey fan."
I am. Kind of. But every time someone slams into Zach, my heart lodges in my throat. Because I've done my research—thanks, obsessive late-night Googling—and the statistics on hockey injuries and concussions are fucking terrifying.
When he fell in the second period and stayed down for a few, my stomach dropped to the floor.
What if next time he doesn't get up?
Except when he skates, the way he moves, all raw power . . . it's like watching a predatory animal. Something dangerous and untamed. And the way his body becomes a perfect weapon when he delivers those bone-crushing checks?
Fuck if it doesn't do things to me.
He's beautiful out there, graceful in a way that reminds me of being on the silks. That feeling of being completely free, when everything else falls away and you're just . . . flying.
How can I ask him to give that up?
"Hey." Eli's voice pulls me from my spiral. "I'm going to run to the bathroom. Want anything from the concessions?"
I shake my head, offering him a small smile. "Nah, I'm good. "
He nods and heads off, leaving me alone with my thoughts, which is probably not the best idea considering the dark places they've been wandering lately.
The arena's mostly empty now, just a few stragglers making their way toward the exits. So, I pull out my phone, scrolling through Instagram to distract myself while I wait for Eli to get back.
"Well, well. Look who it is."
My head snaps up, my stomach dropping as I recognize that voice. Three shadows loom over me, blocking out the overhead lights.
Fuck my life.
The frat assholes from the cafeteria stand in a loose semicircle, cutting off any easy escape route, looking like the poster children for "douchebags anonymous." The one in the cast smirks down at me like he thinks he's hot shit.
"Where's your boyfriend?" His gaze rakes over me in a way that makes my skin crawl. "Not here to protect you this time?"
My heart does a stupid little flutter at the word “boyfriend” before my brain catches up with the threat in his tone. Still, I can't help running my mouth as I stand. "Aw, do you miss him? "
The one on the right—the same asshole who punched Eli in the leg—steps closer. "You think you're so fucking clever, don't you?"
My fingers tighten around my phone. "I mean, compared to you three? A houseplant would look like a genius."
The words barely leave my mouth before a meaty hand shoots out, grabbing my ass hard enough to leave bruises. "How much to fill this slutty hole, huh? Bet you're cheap."
I smack my hand across his face so hard that my palm burns. His head whips to the side, and I can't help the surge of satisfaction at the perfect red handprint blooming on his pasty cheek like some twisted artwork. "Next time you touch me, I'll rip your fucking hand off and beat you with it."
His fist flies at my face, and fuck, there's nowhere to dodge between these seats. Pain explodes through my jaw when his knuckles connect, my head whipping back so hard my teeth clack together. I hit the concrete steps hard, my phone flying from my grip and skittering across the ground.
"Fucking faggot." A boot connects with my ribs, and I curl in on myself, trying to protect my vital organs. "Think you're too good for us?"
They're circling now, taking turns. Each blow comes with a new slur—slut, whore, cocksucker. The words hurt less than the kicks, but they still sting. One of them hawks and spits, the glob landing warm and wet on my cheek.
Fight or flight kicks in hard, and flight wins by a landslide. I spot a gap, and I take it, my phone abandoned somewhere behind me. My ribs scream as I scramble to my feet and sprint toward the locker rooms to Zach.
To safety.
The corridor stretches endlessly ahead of me, my footsteps echoing off concrete walls. I’m almost there. Almost—
A hard tug yanks me backward, the collar of my shirt biting into my throat and causing me to choke. My body slams into the wall with a sickening thud, pain radiating up my spine and leaving me gasping as the air is knocked clean from my lungs.
Rough hands grab at me, pinning me in place. "Where do you think you're going, pretty boy?"
I let out a raw and desperate scream as I thrash against their grip, my voice tearing through the narrow corridor. But they don’t let go and start hitting me again.
Lifting my arms to shield my face, I keep screaming as my eyes close.
Then suddenly it all stops.
My eyes open and I peek between the gap in my forearms to see what’s going on .
Zach.
He’s bare-chested and still glistening with sweat, his hockey pants hanging low on his hips, his feet bare against the dirty floor. His face is a mask of cold fury, his jaw clenched tight as he drives the guy with the cast into the opposite wall.
Then Zach’s hand locks around the guy’s throat, muscles rippling as he squeezes, his voice a dangerous growl. "I told you to keep your fucking hands off what isn’t yours."
The two others move, attacking Zach and pulling him off their friend. It becomes a three-on-one fight. When the one in a backward baseball hat hits him in the back of the head I lose my shit.
I throw myself at the motherfucker, my body colliding with his in a clumsy tackle. My teeth sink into the meat of his shoulder as my fists rain down on whatever part of him I can reach.
He howls in pain, his hand twisting in my hair as he tries to pull me off. His friend grabs my arms and yanks me off, using the momentum to send me flying backwards.
The world tilts violently, and my shoulder slams into something solid—a door. It gives way under the force, swinging open as I tumble through and hit the floor hard .
"Merci!" Zach appears in the doorway, blood dripping from his nose. He steps into the cramped space and extends a hand.
Just as my fingers brush his—
Click.
The sound echoes like a gunshot in my skull.
No.
No, no, no, no, no.
"Please, I can't—" A sob tears from my throat as I grab Zach's wrists, my fingers digging into his skin. The walls are already closing in, crushing the air from my lungs. "Get me out. Please get me out."
He turns and slams his shoulder against the door, the impact echoing through the small space. It doesn’t open. Again and again, he continues to throw himself at it, each thud making me flinch.
But it won't budge.
Just like the freezer.
My heart slams against my ribs so hard I think they might crack. Sweat soaks through my shirt, yet I'm shivering.
Cold. So fucking cold. The basement was always cold.
I shove past Zach, throwing myself at the door. My palms sting as they hit metal, but I can't stop. I have to get out. Have to escape .
"Daddy, please!" My fists pound against the door, over and over, each impact jarring my bones. A loud ringing roars in my ears, drowning everything else out. "I'll be good! I promise I'll be good!"
He's not listening. He never does. Never will.
"Let me out! Please, let me out!" I claw at the door, not caring my nails tear and split. The blood makes the metal slick, but I keep going. Keep fighting. Because the walls are pressing closer.
I can't breathe. Can't think.
Screams tear from my raw throat. But I barely hear them over the thundering of my pulse as static fills my head.
Someone touches my shoulder, and I thrash wildly, fighting against phantom hands on my ankles dragging me down concrete stairs. "No! Please, Daddy, I'm sorry! I'll be good!"
"Merci." Zach's voice seems far away, muffled like I'm underwater. "Calm down. I’m here."
I keep screaming, keep fighting.
My lungs burn, chest constricting, as I gulp for air that isn't there. Black spots bloom across my vision as the walls press closer. The air is running out. I'm going to die here, trapped in the dark.
Like the worthless piece of shit my father always said I was.