Page 70 of My Pucking Crush
Max
T he guy wearing the Viking pin removes the chains from my Luca. My love. I’m... I’m losing him.
The rest of Belova’s murderers sit perched on the roof of this dirty warehouse watching us as Nero escorts us to the car Luca’s been driving me around in. I guess they didn’t want to leave it in East Hampton if someone went to the house looking for me.
Damn, these guys think of everything.
The image of Luca on his knees sucking that man’s his dick twists my stomach. No, not Luca. Daniil. That’s how everyone knows him.
I like Luca better.
My God. My light. My hero.
“Keys,” Luca says to me. “You’re hurt. You can’t drive.”
“Where are you taking me?” I hold the keys someone slammed into my palm a few minutes ago.
“Home. Like I said to Ivan.”
Getting my bearings, I’m stunned to see we’re in...Stamford. “Then what?”
“Give me the fucking keys,” he says through clenched teeth. “Get in the car.”
Swallowing and pissed off, I toss them to him. It’s so odd that we’re just driving out of here. It hits me.
Gentlemen.
The bratva are savages, but they respect the word of one of their own. Luca was always one of them. He promised to drop me off and return. They believe him.
Fuck that.
When we drive away, I look behind me. “Cut over to Route 15. We can drive to the airport and—”
“No. You’re going home. You’re playing hockey tomorrow.”
I fold my arms and wince, yet I consider grabbing the steering wheel. “What about you?”
“I’m going back to Chicago,” Luca says with a catch in his throat.
“You’re really leaving me?”
“If I don’t, he’ll kill you just to destroy me. He’ll hunt down Samara and hurt her this time. No offense, I’m more valuable to him than both of you.”
I don’t know if he’s saying these things to hurt me. Belova can sell the team for a profit now. Forget about hockey. He still needs Luca to save face. To repair his reputation after his grief-fueled mistake of trying to kill his own brother-in-law caused mistrust among his men.
“I’m worried about you, Luca.” I touch his leg, but he pushes it off.
“Just forget about me,” he scoffs. “Go play your game and get your trophies. Seriously, I loved hockey my whole life. After watching it every night for eight months out of the year, it makes me sick.”
He’s just saying that... He’s closing himself off.
My building comes into view, and I start to tremble. “I love you, Luca. Daniil. Whoever the hell you are.”
He goes rigid. “I don’t care.”
“Yes. You do. You’ve been obsessed with me for—”
“Exactly. You’re an obsession. A fantasy. It’s not real.” Luca parks the car outside my garage. “I thought it was. But it’s not. I’m sorry.” He opens the driver’s side door and my stomach flips violently.
This is it. All those men with guns, and the car following us... I can’t fight.
Swallowing a lump, I ask, “How are you getting back? ”
“With them.” He nods to the rearview and the glare of the headlights stings my eyes. “Park your car in the garage. Take a shower. Get some sleep. Forget about me and beat that damn team tomorrow night.”
I have no idea how I’ll play. But I don’t care.
“Your things...” I hold it together. If I fall apart, he’ll fall apart, and they’ll hurt him.
“Throw them away.” He pushes out of the car.
I sit there stunned, but I don’t know what else to do. I get out, and without looking at Luca, I plop into the driver’s seat and peel away to get my car into the garage.
Dazed and on autopilot, I ride my elevator, and when I’m inside my apartment, I take stock of my injuries. The soreness in my ribs should keep me out of the game. But no matter what, I’m playing tomorrow.
And sending as many Richmond players as I can to the hospital.