Page 141 of My Pucking Crush

Watching Jake Quinn hurt Max,my Max, fueled me with rage. My fist lands easy punches—surprising for a hockey player. But they’re used to fighting on skates, not flat on their backs. And just not against someone with nothing to lose.

Quinn’s team is too stunned to react, and might even feel he deserves it. Fighting is part of this sport, but not the way Quinn went after two innocent rivals.

Who happen to be gay.

I’m grabbed from behind and practically lifted off the rubber floor tiles. Only one person can handle my weight like that.

Max.

“What the fuck are you doing in here?” I yell at him.

“Me?”He looks at me, stunned.

“You’re not supposed to be in the visiting team’s locker room! Your team will be disqualified. Presley, get Ryan the fuck out of here,” I scream at one of my guys.

The catatonic Richmond team and their securityagents with their player writhing on the floor, gape up at me.

Flashing my gun at all of them, I say, “You didn’t see any of this.”

Max drags me away, like I’ve lost my mind.

I have.

I miss him.

I’m dying without him.

He throws me against a wall in the corridor. “What the fuck? Where did you go?”

“New York.” I breathe him in. Musk and sweat and blood. My fucking favorite hat trick. “I killed Nero and his driver.”

Max’s jaw drops. “Youleftme.”

“I had to. It was the only way Belova would let you go.” I try not to collapse. “Presley, get Quinn over here. He’s out of the game, it doesn’t matter.”

“Yes, boss.”

I give Max a look. “How long until the intermission is over?”

“Five minutes, maybe,” Max says with a tight jaw. “Talk. Fast.”

Presley drags Quinn out into the corridor. The men I brought with me follow. The Richmond locker room door closes, and I suspect someone is gaslighting the team, saying Belova wanted Quinn punished for getting thrown out during such a crucial game.

“I’ll meet you all outside,” I say to the ops unit I brought with me.

They shuck off the security jackets I stole and toss everything into a dumpster. Presley stays with me, holding Jake.

Max glances around. “Equipment room.”

I follow Max on his skates walking like a warrior. We get in the room, and I throw Quinn down on a metalchair. “Talk.”

“What?” he spits out.

“I have your messages with Ivan Belova.”

His face crumbles. “Those can be faked.”

“And the photos of you with a guy, too?”

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