Page 128 of My Pucking Crush

It’s not important.

The helicopter lands in a small airfield a mile from Max’s beach house. We get in a car driven by Ford, who even though he came, still looks feral for Ash.

After getting dropped off, I follow Max to his front door, energy and lust storming through me. I’m going to fuck him.

Max pats his borrowed jeans. “Shit, the front door is locked.”

It hits me. “I left the back patio door open in case you got back here before me.”

Max holds my hand as we walk across a stone path to the back deck where there’s a set of stairs. “Don’t worry, no one would break in.”

I stop when we reach the patio door and see the place is pitch black. “I kept the lights on. Do you have them on a timer?”

“No.” He shakes his head. “Maybe Emery came by and shut them.”

Figuring that makes sense, considering the hour, I let Max go inside without me checking it first. I’m dying for him. Max struts through the living room. Knowing the layout, he flicks on a lamp.

When my eyes focus from the sharp sting of light after darkness calmed my eyes, four men dressed in black have guns pointed at Max’s head.

SIXTY-EIGHT

Max

Iwake 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,chainedup. 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.

---