Page 68 of My Pucking Crush

Max

I wake up, lying on a concrete floor with a single light overhead, hurting my eyes. It swings, making the floor feel unsteady. The place reeks of mold, sweat, and something else. My throat stings and my eyes feel like they’ve been dipped in fire. I touch my neck to find a painful bump.

“Propofol,” a voice in the darkness says to me in a brutally sharp accent.

Russian.

I turn over to vomit as my head clears up a little more each second. My eyes roam across the cold cement with cracks and blood stains.

Uh oh.

“What the hell day is it?”

“Thursday.” A man in a mask emerges from the shadow. “Evening.”

My heart stops.

“I have a fucking game tomorrow,” comes out of my mouth because I’m a programmed robot.

I missed morning skate, practice, the Richmond videos, coach’s lunch/strategy meeting. All it took to get one damn day off to go to Coach A’s wake. Now this?

Horror freezes my brain.

Luca...

“Where’s my...” I breathe heavily, the damp, disgusting air making me choke.

“Care to finish that?”

“Where is Luca?” God, I’m pathetic. Even in this situation I can’t claim him in front of a stranger .

A light on the other side of the room illuminates with a pump-action sound of an industrial circuit breaker. Luca sits in a chair, chained up. His glossy curls fall woefully out of place against his face, but he looks unharmed.

He squirms against the bindings. “Max, keep your fucking mouth shut. Do what they say.”

I try to get up and help him. But someone appears out of nowhere and kicks me in the ribs. Pain explodes down my spine and I collapse.

Luca goes ballistic. “ I will fucking kill you .”

“Stay down,” the man in the mask says to me. “Don’t fight. Or I’ll hurt you until you collapse again.”

“What do you want?” I bark.

“You. Broken.” The man removes his mask.

Ivan Belova.

“You.”

“Da. I told you, I’d get to him,” Belova sneers at Luca.

With Luca chained down, I’m at their mercy. A war breaks out in my head. Do they want to send me back battered and bruised, too hurt to play? Or keep me from playing all together?

Fuck that. I don’t care what they do to me. If I get out of here, I’m playing .

I roll over and try to stand, but Belova pushes me down. Wincing in pain, I mutter, “What the fuck? Why hurt me? Just fucking keep me here.”

“I’m not paying five guys to keep you hostage for ten days while the teams play. Feed you, give you bathroom breaks. For all I know, if you’re officially missing , they might postpone the games.”

“You’re really giving me way too much credit with my team,” I say, even though he has a good point.

“I studied this game carefully.” Belova strokes my head, a finger gently brushing my sore cheek .

“Get your fucking grimy hands off him,” Luca bellows. “He’s mine. ”

Belova’s jaw tenses. That admission might have signed my death warrant if he also wants to hurt Luca for what happened to his sister. The way Belova studies his elusive brother-in-law with a tight jaw, however, suggests just how deadly Luca is. No one knows Luca better than Ivan Belova.

“As I was saying.” Belova focuses on me. “Do you remember two seasons ago?”

“Keep kicking me and I won’t remember anything.”

“Your brother’s drug trial in California.”

My stomach threatens to revolt. “That’s fucking low.”

“I thought it was brave and honorable for you to miss several games to be there for him. It didn’t go unnoticed how your team fell apart without you.”

“My shift is tight, we’re highly in tune. There’s only five of us on the ice at one time. When one of us...” I stop.

Oh, no. He’s figured it out.

“I’m surprised other teams have not surmised that without you on the ice, the Crushers would be in last place.”

“It’s called being decent and honorable and training to be better than me. Not fucking cheating.” I struggle to get to my feet, but I’m kicked again.

“One more time, and you die,” Luca screams blood-curdling cries from his throat.

Holding a gun, Belova hikes over to Luca. I cringe, thinking he’ll pistol whip him.

“Stop. No, please,” I beg. I’m trained to take this kind of pain. Luca isn’t. I’ll take ten times the agony I’m in now to keep him perfect.

Belova bends down and kisses Luca .

On the mouth.

Belova won’t hurt Luca. He’s hurting me. He hates me, or how good I am and how I can beat his shitty players. He doesn’t hate Daniil. Shit, he...he loves him.

But that wasn’t a lover’s kiss, or I’d get to my feet and head butt him so hard he’d stroke out on the spot. That kiss meant something else. But what?

“We were raised like brothers,” Belova says to Luca. “I trusted you with my sister. Over anyone in my organization. All you had to do was keep your man-fucking in the shadows.”

“Why are you doing this?” Luca asks, his voice shot.

“Your fucking sister escaped,” Belova grinds out.

“Good. You were a fool to think you could keep her.” Relief vibrates from Luca.

My heart squeezes that she’s okay.

“Now that I have you. She’ll come back. We’ll be a family again.”

“You said I had until after the season.”

“What?” I glare at Belova. “What the hell is he talking about?”

“Luca and I shared a nice afternoon.” He smiles. “In Vermont.”

Vermont. Where his son is buried. That guts me. He didn’t bring me there. He didn’t want to share that with me. All this talk about me getting over trauma. Luca is holding on to mountains of it.

“When was this?” I ask.

“Weeks ago. On the anniversary of his son’s death,” Belova senses how I feel slighted. “I gave him an ultimatum and for insurance, I kidnapped Samara. But she’s crafty and figured a way out of my mansion and off my property undetected.”

“How many people did she kill?” Luca asks.

“Two,” Belova says with an odd source of pride .

We grew up together.

“Good. I’m glad she got away,” I sneer.

“It seems your precious obsession cares about you.” Belova reaches for my face, but my head snaps back. “I think it’s time he knows the real you, Daniil. What Max Ryan truly means to you.”

He shoves a phone under my nose where a video is playing. From an overhead camera I’m looking down at a massage parlor.

“Tell me your fantasy,” the masseur coos, squeezing Luca’s bare ass cheek, a signal he’s down for some male-on-male fun.

“Do you follow hockey?” Luca asks.

“Not at all,” the hot masseur who...looks like a hockey player says.

Wait. What?

“Come on, pretend for me .” Luca’s voice sounds dark and lustful. “ Can I call you Max while I fuck you?”

My eyes fly to Luca who looks away in shame.