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CHAPTER 9

SLOANE

T yler was supposed to be walking into the locker room, but instead he was gesturing for me to come over to where an employee was opening the door that led down to the ice again. Taking a deep breath, I quickly walked over, dread filtering through every step. As soon as I was at the entrance, Tyler’s hand gripped my arm tightly, pulling me toward him before I even realized what was happening. “Don’t forget who owns you this week,” he growled.

I barely had time to blink before his lips crashed down on mine.

The kiss was all wrong. His mouth was cold, his grip possessive. It wasn’t soft, it wasn’t tender—it was a claim, a message to the world.

A message to Logan.

I tried to pull back, but Tyler’s hand tightened around my waist, forcing me closer. My heart raced, panic threading through my veins as the crowd around us seemed to go still. I could feel them watching, the weight of their stares pressing down on me like a suffocating blanket. Whispers started behind me.

Logan had already brought unwanted attention to me…and now Tyler was making it worse.

I could only imagine what everyone was thinking.

Whore. Slut. Tramp.

With each second, my stomach twisted tighter. This wasn’t supposed to happen. I wasn’t supposed to be the center of attention.

When he finally pulled away, my skin was crawling. I could still feel the weight of his hands on me, like a stain I couldn’t wash off. He leaned in, his voice a low, mocking whisper only I could hear. “Looks like York’s watching. Let’s see how much he likes that.”

I didn’t respond. I couldn’t. My throat felt tight, and the taste of him still lingered on my lips—bitter and wrong. My mind was racing, my body frozen in place. As Tyler walked to the locker room, smirking like he’d won, I realized I wasn’t just scared of what he’d done.

I was scared of what would happen next. I couldn’t even begin to think about what Everett would say. How disappointed he’d be.

Doing my best not to meet anyone’s gaze—especially Logan York’s—I hustled up the stairs, pushing through the crowd to get to the exit.

I hadn’t even made it to the hallway when my phone was buzzing, the sound cutting through the haze of my panicked thoughts. I fumbled to pull it out of my pocket, my hands shaking. The moment I saw the name flash across the screen, my stomach dropped.

Everett.

“Sloane,” he said coldly through the phone the second I answered. His voice was sharp, furious. “What the fuck is going on?”

“I—” I started, but he cut me off, his voice seething.

“You’re drawing too much attention to yourself. What do you think you’re doing? Tyler’s already called me. He’s not happy with your performance. Said you’ve been too focused on that Dallas player.”

My heart hammered in my chest, the panic rising as his words sank in.

“You wouldn’t happen to be doing anything behind my back now, would you? Because you know the rules.” Everett’s voice was perfectly calm, and somehow that was way more terrifying than when he sounded mad.

“I’m not—” I began, my voice weak.

“Don’t lie to me,” he snapped. “You’re playing with fire, Sloane. You think you can afford to be careless? You think you can afford to let people notice you? I’ve worked too hard to keep you under the radar, and now you’re screwing everything up.”

The anger in his voice made my blood run cold. I could picture him on the other end of the line, pacing, his face twisted in that familiar look of disgust.

“I’ll fix it,” I whispered, my voice trembling. “I promise…I don’t even know Logan?—”

“You certainly know his name,” he said—cutting me off once again.

There was an awkward, terrible silence as I waited for him to speak. Nothing I said was going to convince him.

“I don’t want to hear another word about this,” he finally said. “Do your job and stay invisible. Got it?”

“Yes,” I whispered, my chest tight with fear and shame. “I’ve got it.”

He hung up without another word, the silence on the other end of the line like a slap in the face.

I sat there for a long moment, staring at the phone in my hand, my mind racing. All of the fear, the anxiety, the panic—it twisted together in a messy knot in my stomach. Tyler was furious, my uncle was furious.

I had to stay away. I had to.

My whole future depended on it.

* * *

LOGAN

I was never going to watch Tyler Miller kiss Sloane again.

I hadn’t even spoken to her, and I’d only just learned her name.

But I did know one thing.

And that was the fact that I wanted her.

My stomach churned, a wave of nausea hitting me hard as I watched. I had the urge to take my stick and drive it through his brain; it was all I could do to stop myself.

He kissed her like he was marking his territory, like he owned her, and she…she looked miserable.

Of course she did. She felt the same thing I did.

Or at least that was what I was telling myself.

By the time I hit the locker room, I already had a plan.

A crazy plan.

It wasn’t the kind of plan I’d ever envisioned for myself, but I didn’t care. I needed Tyler out of the picture, at least for tonight.

I’d focus on forever after that.

* * *

Later that night I sat in a corner booth in the hotel bar where the Tampa players were staying, my hat pulled low over my eyes as I watched Miller at the counter, getting hammered.

I mean, fuck, he was making this way too easy. We were in the fucking finals. He couldn’t just drink water for a few days?

And where was Sloane? If I had her, you can bet I wouldn’t be spending a second away from her if I could help it.

Just further evidence Tyler Miller was a fucking idiot…and that he didn’t deserve her.

Miller was leaning closer and closer to the bartender like a vulture circling its prey. She was young—mid-twenties, maybe—with sharp, dark eyes and a no-nonsense air about her. But even her best efforts to stay polite weren’t enough to keep Miller at bay.

“You’re really gonna pretend you don’t know who I am?” he slurred, flashing her a grin that probably worked on puck bunnies but looked ridiculous now. “Come on, sweetheart. Take a guess.”

She didn’t even glance at him, just poured another drink for someone else and slid it across the counter. Her lips were pressed into a tight, professional smile, but I caught the subtle roll of her eyes as she moved to the other end of the bar.

Tyler, however, wasn’t the kind of guy who took being ignored lightly.

“Hey,” he called, rapping his knuckles on the bar. “Hey, I’m talking to you.”

She paused, her shoulders stiffening as she turned back to him. “What can I get you, sir?” she asked, her voice polite and flat.

“You can start by telling me your name,” he said, leaning forward with a smirk. “And then maybe we’ll talk about what time you get off tonight.”

Her expression didn’t falter, but the faint flicker of annoyance in her eyes gave her away. “I’ll get you another drink,” she said, turning away again.

Miller laughed, the sound loud and grating. “You don’t know how lucky you are, do you? This is a once-in-a-lifetime chance, babe. Tyler Miller doesn’t waste his time on just anyone.”

The bartender’s hand froze for a split second before she grabbed a glass and began pouring. I watched her closely, saw the way her fingers gripped the bottle just a little too tightly, like she was trying to channel her frustration into something constructive instead of chucking it at his head.

I couldn’t blame her. Miller had a way of bringing out the worst in people.

That murderous urge was hitting me hard again. I couldn’t believe he was actually trying to cheat on Sloane. He deserved everything he had coming.

She slid the drink across the bar, her smile thin and forced. “Here you go.”

Miller took a long sip, never taking his eyes off her. “You don’t talk much, huh? That’s okay. I like the quiet ones.”

She turned away without responding, busying herself with the register. Miller’s grin faltered, and his tone shifted, taking on an edge. “You think you’re too good for me? Is that it?”

The bartender didn’t respond. Instead, she stepped back, busying herself with another customer. But Miller wasn’t one to take a hint. He reached for the bartender’s wrist, his grip too tight, and I saw the flicker of fear in her eyes before she yanked her arm back.

“Please don’t touch me again,” she said, her voice low but firm. She muttered something under her breath to the guy working next to her—a tall, gangly kid who looked like he wanted to melt into the floor—and then untied her apron, tossing it onto the counter.

Without another word, she walked toward the back exit, her head held high, but I didn’t miss the way her shoulders tensed. Miller watched her go with a smirk.

I glanced at my glass, pretending to take a sip, but my eyes tracked her every move. When the door swung shut behind her, I set my drink down and stood, crossing the room quickly, weaving through the crowded bar with my head down. I pushed open the back exit, stepping into the dimly lit alley behind the building.

The bartender was leaning against the brick wall, her arms crossed tightly over her chest, a tear sliding down her cheek. She jumped when she saw me, her eyes narrowing in suspicion. “What do you want?” she asked, furiously wiping at her face.

“Busy night?” I asked, my voice casual.

Her eyebrows raised as she stared at me. I could see her trying to figure out if she recognized me or not. Finally she nodded. “Always is when a team’s in town,” she said, her voice flat.

I nodded, keeping my tone light. “You get a lot of the players in here?”

“Some,” she said, her eyes narrowing slightly. “Why? You a fan?”

“Not exactly,” I replied, a smirk pulling at the corner of my mouth. “Bet it gets exhausting, though.”

“What?”

“Dealing with assholes all the time,” I answered, leaning against the brick and trying to look unassuming—kind of difficult when you’re a six-foot-four, tatted-all-over hockey star .

I liked to refer to myself as such because it was good to manifest greatness.

“Are you another of those assholes ?” she asked, wiping at her face again as more tears fell.

“I try not to be,” I said honestly. “I’d like to help.”

She snorted, shaking her head. “Guys like you don’t help.”

I held up my hands, palms out. “You’ve had a rough night, and I’ve got a solution.”

Her brow furrowed, but she didn’t move. “A solution?”

I pulled the vial from my pocket, holding it up between two fingers. “For that guy. Just a few drops in his drink, and he’ll be out of your hair for the rest of the night.”

She stared at the vial, her expression unreadable. “What is that?”

“Nothing dangerous,” I said smoothly. “Just enough to give him the shits until morning.”

That was a lie, it was going to make him sicker than that, plus get him suspended when the NHL drug tested him. But it wouldn’t kill him, so really that was all the information she needed.

“You’re seriously asking me to drug a professional hockey player?”

I shrugged. “It will make you feel better.”

Her lips twitched like she wanted to smile, but she crossed her arms tighter. “Why should I trust you?”

“Because you don’t deserve to deal with assholes like him,” I said, staring at her. “And because if anyone asks, you had nothing to do with it.”

She hesitated, her eyes flicking between me and the vial.

“Don’t you want to take back some of your power? Finally get back at the idiots you have to deal with all the time. And he’s just getting started,” I told her, nodding to the door. “Who knows what he’ll do next.”

Her eyes widened at that thought, and the look of fear returned. She was silent for a few seconds, but I saw when the light in her eyes changed, when she went from prey—to a would-be predator.

She reached out and snatched it from my hand. “Fine. But if this comes back on me—or if something really bad happens…”

“It won’t,” I promised. “He won’t even remember where he got the drink.”

She studied me for a moment. “What’s your name?” she asked.

“John Soto,” I said immediately, thinking that would earn me a few gold stars if I ever told Ari about this. Or whatever the Circle of Trust was handing out on that particular day.

I personally would have asked for more information, a lot more, but she’d reached the desperation stage. Assholes like Tyler Miller could get you there fast. She walked back inside without a look back, and I stayed there for a minute before I followed her inside to where Miller had somehow managed to get even more drunk while we’d been outside.

I slid into my booth again, watching as she moved to Miller’s side of the bar. I couldn’t see her hands, but I did see her hesitating for a second—right before he opened his asshole mouth once again and sealed his fate.

“So, do you like to be fucked in public, or am I going to have to take you to my room?” he slurred.

That same look I’d seen in her eyes outside, the one that said she was sick and tired, came back, and her movements were sure and determined after that. A few seconds later she was handing him another glass.

“Here you go,” she said, her voice neutral.

Miller didn’t hesitate for a second. He grabbed the glass, downed half of it, and slammed it back on the counter. The bartender shot me a glance, her expression a mix of satisfaction and wariness. I nodded, raising my glass in silent thanks before I grinned and slid out of the booth.

Miller was about to be very incapacitated…and now, it was time to try and find Sloane.

I wandered through the lobby, trying to come up with a plan to get her room number, when I saw her.

Sloane was sitting at a table in the corner of the hotel restaurant, looking like she’d stepped off a runway. She was wearing a black cocktail dress, the kind that hugged her body just right, accentuating her curves without being too obvious. Her legs were crossed, one foot lightly tapping the floor in rhythm with the soft jazz playing in the background. Her hair was perfectly styled, waves falling just past her shoulders, but it was the red lipstick that caught my attention—a shade she’d been wearing both nights, that somehow made her look both powerful and untouchable.

She was fucking perfect.

And evidently there were a lot of people who agreed with my assessment.

Everyone was watching her. Men at the bar kept sneaking glances, some of them even standing up from their chairs, preparing themselves to talk to her. I prepared myself to escort them out of the restaurant if they tried.

Luckily for them, they either had no balls, or they realized that she was so far out of their league it wasn’t worth trying, and they sat back down each time.

Sloane didn’t seem to notice any of it. Her eyes were downcast, staring into the glass of wine in front of her as if it held all the answers to life’s problems. Her fingers gently traced the rim of the glass, her posture perfect but somehow distant, detached, like she was in her own world.

She was lonely; it hung around her like a veil, hidden beneath the sophistication, the perfect appearance. She looked elegant, yes, but there was something else. Something deeper. Something broken.

I couldn’t tear my eyes away.

Before I could overthink it, I was walking to her.

“Hi,” I said, sliding into the chair across from her, acting like I had every right to be there.

Because I did. She was mine.

Her head snapped up, her eyes widening in shock. “What are you doing here?” she asked, her voice low but tense.

I smiled softly, my eyes greedily taking in her face. “Just passing through. Saw you sitting here alone.”

“You were passing through the hotel where Tampa’s staying?” she asked incredulously.

I shrugged. “Or maybe I was trying to find you.”

She looked stunned at that statement, visibly swallowing her shock.

“Do you always look this serious when you’re drinking, or is it just because I wasn’t here?” I teased, leaning across the table and feeling like I was high from being this close to her.

She glanced up, one brow arching in perfect disinterest. “Are your pickup lines always this bad?”

“Not always,” I said, shrugging. “But I figured I’d start slow. Give you time to fall in love with me.”

Her lips twitched, almost a smile, and it felt like a victory. “Charming.”

“I’ve been told. By my best friend, mostly.”

That earned me a full-on smile, and I blinked because it was so fucking glorious. Her hand slid across her face, like she was trying to hide it again, and when she moved it…her smile was gone. “And what makes you think I want to fall in love with you?”

“Call it a hunch.” I rested my chin on my hands. “Or maybe it’s just that you haven’t walked away yet.”

She tilted her head, considering me like she was trying to figure out if I was worth her time. “Maybe I’m just bored.”

“Lucky me, then. I’m an excellent distraction.”

That smile was back, and she wrinkled her nose at me. Fuck, not only was she hot…she was cute.

A lethal combination for my currently aching dick.

“You don’t even know my name.”

“Sloane Calloway,” I responded quickly, and her eyes widened again, an almost panicked look filling their depths before she blinked…and they went perfectly blank.

“And what else do you know about me?” she asked, in a careful, practiced voice, glancing down at her fingertips as she went back to tracing the edge of her wineglass.

“Absolutely nothing. But I’m desperate to change that.”

That had her meeting my eyes again, her lips pursing as she studied me.

“Let me take you out,” I said, all that desperation I’d just mentioned leaching out into my words.

Her brow arched again, this time in surprise. “Take me out?”

“Dinner. Drinks. I could even be persuaded to dance,” I said, ticking off options on my fingers. “Whatever you want.”

“I have a boyfriend ,” she said, her voice firm, but there was a flicker of something—disgust?—as she said the word like it tasted rotten on her tongue.

“Do you?” I asked, raising an eyebrow. “Because I know where he is right now, and you deserve way better than that.” I tapped my chin. “I mean everyone deserves better than that, actually, but the sentiment stands.”

Her mouth opened, then closed again. She looked away, her hand stilling. “You’re probably right on that,” she whispered.

“Good. Then there’s room for an upgrade.”

She snorted, shaking her head. “If you won’t take that excuse, then take this one. I’m swearing off hockey players.”

“Calloway, that’s an awful idea. I happen to know that most hockey players make the best fucking boyfriends on the planet. Just not Tyler Miller, obviously.”

She grinned again, her cheeks flushing slightly. “I thought you were talking about a date. And now you’re talking about boyfriends. You’re moving awful fast there, buddy.”

“Can I add that I’m also fun, charming, and excellent in bed?”

She scoffed, taking a drink of her wine. “All of those things are probably debatable.”

I grinned, the corner of my mouth tugging upward. “You should give me a chance to prove that, then, for research purposes, of course.”

“Of course,” she said, a hint of laughter in her voice.

I winked at her, and she squirmed in her seat, that blush in her cheeks darkening.

Before I could say anything else, a commotion broke out near the entrance. Voices rose, a mix of horrified gasps and muffled groans. We both turned, and I had to stifle a laugh at the sight.

Miller, looking like death warmed over, was stumbling through the lobby, clutching his stomach. His face was pale, sweat dripping down his temples as he staggered forward. And then, as if the universe had finally decided to do something right, he doubled over and vomited directly onto a woman’s head.

The woman shrieked, her hands flying to her hair as Miller stumbled back, his hands raised in weak apology. The entire lobby froze, everyone watching in stunned silence except for Sloane, who sat there looking disgusted but entirely unmoved to help him.

I bit back a laugh, turning back to her. “Definitely not your boyfriend, right?”

Her nose wrinkled again, her lips curving into a smirk. “Definitely not.”

“That’s what I like to hear. Now, should we start our date?” I asked, standing and offering her my hand.

She stared at it, her eyes narrowing slightly.

“It’s just a date, Sloane,” I said softly, and her answering smile may have been the saddest thing I’d ever seen.

“I wish,” she murmured back, gracefully sliding out of her seat and straightening invisible wrinkles out of her dress.

“Forget you ever met me, Logan York,” she called over her shoulder as she walked away.

I frowned as I watched her move out of the lobby and past where Miller was struggling to walk. She went straight to the elevator and stepped through the doors after they opened, not even giving me one look back.

“Not a chance,” I whispered.