Page 56 of Lords of Ruin: Owned

When I finally leave the bathroom, my heart is racing. I can hear the crowd before I even step into the arena, the roar of voices and the unmistakable sound of skates cutting across ice.

Damien is already on the ice, his movements sharp and commanding as he passes the puck to a teammate. The crowd surges with energy, and I feel the stares before I see them. Whispers ripple through the stands like wildfire, people nudging each other and pointing in my direction.

I bite my lip, ready to turn and bolt, when an arm slips around my shoulders.

“Relax,” Vincent’s deep voice rumbles in my ear. He’s standing beside me, dressed in his usual tailored perfection, exuding a calm confidence that I desperately wish I could borrow. “They’ll get over it.”

I glance up at him, my pulse hammering. “What if Damien hates this?”

Vincent’s smirk is infuriatingly casual. “He won’t. Trust me.”

Cast appears on my other side, grinning as if he’s enjoying my discomfort. “When Damien makes a shot, you’d better cheer loud enough for the whole arena to hear.”

I glare at him. “Seriously?”

“Seriously,” Cast replies, his tone teasing but firm.

The game continues, and I stand stiffly between them, hyper aware of every glance thrown my way. Then Damien takes possession of the puck. He weaves around defenders with a grace that makes the crowd roar.

“Cheer, Cariña!” Cast nudges me.

I take a deep breath and cup my hands around my mouth. “Go, Damien!”

My voice rings out, louder than I intended. Heads turn, and I feel my face burn, but I keep cheering. “You’ve got this!”

Damien winds up and takes the shot, the puck soaring into the net. The arena erupts, and I clap, my voice blending into the cacophony.

“Good,” Cast says, grinning. “Now, turn around.”

I hesitate, my stomach twisting, but I do as he says.

Damien’s grey eyes lock onto mine from across the ice. His expression is unreadable at first, his gaze flicking to the jersey, the rhinestones on the thong’s strings peeking over the edge ofmy jeans. His jaw tightens, and for a moment, I think he’s going to skate away.

The sharp sound of a whistle cuts through the roaring arena, and my stomach drops.

“Damn, Damien, where’d you find her? And can I borrow her after the game?” One of his teammates yells, his voice carrying easily over the noise.

I freeze, my cheeks burning as laughter ripples through the bench. My fingers tighten around the hem of Damien’s jersey, wishing I could sink into the floor.

“Who the hell was that?” I whisper, my eyes darting to Vincent and Cast, who both look far too entertained.

Before they can answer, Damien spins on the ice, his skates screeching against the surface. He strides straight toward the offending player, his jaw clenched and his eyes blazing.

“Say that again,” Damien growls, his voice low and deadly.

The guy, still grinning, raises his hands in mock surrender. “Relax, man. Just saying your girl looks good—real good. No harm in that.”

“Don’t.” Damien's knuckles collide with the man's helmet, causing the visor to crack before he can even finish his sentence.

Gasps ripple through the crowd as the guy stumbles back, blood trickling from his nose. But he recovers quickly, lunging at Damien, and the two of them collide in a flurry of fists and skates.

“Holy shit,” I breathe, my eyes wide.

Vincent bursts out laughing, his shoulders shaking as he leans against the railing. “Classic. Damien’s a territorial bastard.”

“He’s been waiting for an excuse to deck someone,” Vincent adds, grinning ear to ear.

“What does this have to do with me?” I demand, my voice rising in panic.

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