Page 88 of Lords of Ruin: Owned

“No answer?” Vincent says mindlessly.

“I’m going to have his fucking head.” Cast says, his hand moving to his private phone in his other pocket.

Vincent shifts beside me, his eyes darting over to Cast, but neither of them can keep the anger from showing in their eyes. I can see and feel their unease. They know as well as I this isn’t right, something happened.

I step back, my thoughts racing, trying to piece this together, but it’s like the world’s spinning faster than I can catch up. Willow wouldn’t just leave. Not without telling me.

“Damien?” Vincent’s voice cuts through the fog, a note of concern breaking through.

I don’t even hear him at first. I’m already turning on my heel, heading for the car.I’m going to find her.That’s all I know.

Cast falls in step next to me, Vincent just behind. We don’t speak—there’s no need. I can feel the weight of their presence, the unspoken understanding that something’s wrong, something’s off. And it’s not just Willow who’s gone. This whole damn night feels wrong.

I climb into the car, gripping the door like I can hold onto something real. “She’s out there,” I say, voice low. “And I’m going to find her.”

Cast doesn’t say anything, but I see the way his jaw tightens in the rearview mirror, the way Vincent’s hand grips the steering wheel in front of him.

This isn’t over. Not by a long shot.

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Heat up with Josie and her super hot NFL hockey star whose only game now is earning her with every puck

Here is a taste of a their angsty, steamy ride to their to a family neither saw coming- Triplets!.

Christopher

Don’t tell ESPN, but Josie Richards is the real reason I left the Mississippi Titans after an award-winning season: to come to this small town in Maine to coach a subpar hockey team. I did this not because I was humble or knew my prime was over, which isn’t true. I am a beast driven by my obsession. If I wanted to be in my prime, I could be so for as long as I wanted.

No, it was for Josie Richards, Northbrook University darling with a smart mouth, killer legs and no fucking respect.

I remember watching her when I was at the top of my game last season. She looked like an angel, lost in the flurry of snow. She was Olympic-bound, a future gold medalist, and the icon everyone had their eye on. I mean, how could you not keep your eyes on her?

Her loose, wavy blonde hair with honey highlights looked effortlessly perfect even when tossed into a messy bun on her head. Up close, her tan freckles dusted her nose and cheeks, and her lips were a dusted baby pink. But the best part about being this close to her are those ivy-green eyes that remind me of the trees around my home in Michigan.

She is stunning, but she's still a student, even if she's a senior in college. This doesn't make my attraction to her any less inappropriate or complicated, but she is the reason I took this job below my status.

See, my obsession with the game consumed me daily: the sound of skates scraping against the ice, the roar of the fans, and the grunts of my opponents. But nothing compared to the adrenaline rush I felt when I stepped onto the ice for a game. Or so I thought until I saw her in her proper form. Suddenly, the ice and the game didn't hold the same appeal for me anymore. Hockey felt dull, my contract was up, and Josie was ripe for the taking. It didn't matter that I spent my life dedicated to hockey when there was someone more compelling than hockey ever was.

The moment I laid eyes on Josie Richards, she caught me in her spell. It was during the Northbrook Winter Showcase, where I had been sent for good publicity after my team caused a drunken brawl at a local bar with some students from Northbrook. I attended to show that not all of the Mississippi Titans are assholes, especially not their very own golden boy Christopher Jackson— killer on the ice, sweetheart in the city. I was to smile, wave, take pictures, and congratulate the performers.

I never would have guessed that a girl with blonde hair, wearing a sparkling lavender bodysuit and tutu, could capture my attention for the entire evening. The light from the stadium made her outfit look like a second layer of sparkling skin, hiding not a single curve from my imagination. Her toned legs curved in arches for tricks, making me wonder how many positions I could put her in.

But it wasn't just her physical prowess that held me captive. There was a fire in her eyes, a determination that burnedbrighter than the spotlight that followed her every move. She was a goddess, and the ice was her altar. I’ve never been big on prayer, but I’ve always believed in devotion and worship. Josie Richards’ tight little body deserved to be worshiped in the most primal and passionate of ways, as a true believer would offer themselves to their goddess.

She was flawless on the ice—graceful, precise, and only making one minor mistake on a spin that no one noticed but me. She seemed perfect, living up to being the Olympic-bound gold medal star everyone had hyped her up to be. If it weren’t for the tightness in her jaw, I’d think she was perfect, just like everyone else, but that’s the thing about goddesses—they’re just as human as us.

Off the ice at the afterparty in the president's house, she was polite, respectable, and stiff, giving everyone a plastered-on smile as she rolled her jaw over and over again. She had changed into a short, body-con, champagne dress that blended so well with her complexion that I had to remind myself over and over again that she had clothes on. When she was mine, and trust me, she would be, I would never allow her to wear that color again.

I watched from across the room at her performance, not knowing if this one or the one on the ice was better.

Every Tom, Dick, and Harry congratulated her, took a picture with her, and touched her. That's what really pissed me off; the number of men that found a reason to touch her, whether it was a hand on the small of her back during a photo, pinching her elbow to get her attention, moving a rogue curl behind her ear while they chatted; every man had tried to steal a piece of my little ice princess.

Lucky for their limbs, she was too cold to let any of that get to her. She excused herself halfway through the night, making an excuse about homework, and steadily exited the house.

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