Page 91 of Lords of Ruin: Owned

“You think that’s funny?” I growled, my voice dangerously low as I stepped closer, towering over him. Dylan’s smirk wavered.

"Come on man, you know what it takes to be at the top, and she's not putting the work in."

My eyes flicked to Josie—she was stiff, her expression unreadable, but I could see the tension in how she clenched her fists. She was annoyed, maybe even embarrassed by the idiot, but too polite to put him in his place.

“Not putting in the work?” I echoed, my voice low, dangerous.

Dylan chuckled, running a hand through his hair, but his laugh lacked real humor. “She’s great, don’t get me wrong. But you know how it is, man. Sometimes, they need a little...push. Otherwise, they fall behind.”

Josie’s lips parted, but no words came out. I saw her flinch just the tiniest bit, and that was all it took for me to lose the last thread of patience I had.

I stepped forward, closing the distance between Dylan and me, towering over him now. My voice was steady, lethal. “A push?” I said, narrowing my eyes. “That’s what you call it?”

Dylan shifted, his cocky expression faltering for a second, but he still tried to keep up the act. “You don’t get it, Jackson. She’s stubborn. If I don’t keep her in line, she’ll never be ready for the big leagues. You’ve seen it yourself—she’s slipping.”

“Keep her in line?” I repeated slowly, letting the words hang in the air like a threat. My voice dropped, dark and cold. “What the fuck do you mean by that?"

"Stop it." Josie snapped, her body a paling pink and the phantom print of her hand against my spine ringing. "I need silence to practice."

"Josie-" I said, but she shook her head and kept her eyes down.

"Both of you need to leave, please; I need to practice." She spit out the words like venom before skating away to the other side of the stadium.

I took a step closer to Dylan, ready to give the obnoxious punk a warning, when the voice of the PR head of the Titans rang through the stadium. "Jackson! I have been looking all over for you. We need photos!"

A growl rolled through my chest, and Dylan flinched out of the way as I stalked out of the stadium. That would be the last time I would ever leave Josie unprotected.

Josie

Ten Months Later -- Present Day

Right foot slide. Left slide. Turn over your left shoulder. Scrape the right foot across the ice. Tuck and-

"Fuck!" I tumble on the ice again; the flurries of snow scraped up from the blades of my skates soak into my already wet pants. This is the twentieth time I have attempted to do a Mohawk Turn into a jump, a simple move I could have done in my sleep last season, and now, I can barely do anything more than a basic glide.

I rest my elbows on my knees, my right hand scratching at the loose curls from my bun around the nape of my neck. I almost forget I am not alone, but then the slow clapping from the sidelines erupts. My stomach free falls, and the sound of his skates gliding towards me grates across my skin.

"Better than last week." Dylan shrugs; his black thermal-lined pants come into my eye line, but I still don't want to look into his cocky green eyes. Dylan has a way of hurting me more than I can hurt myself, and that's saying something.

"Oh yeah, or are you just saying that?"

Dylan sighs, and I can tell his fingertips are gripping the bridge of his nose by the annoyed sound. "You asked me to be nicer."

"Nicer, not lie." I bark, my head jerks up, and I immediately regret it. Dylan used to be the most gorgeous man I had ever seen in my life. His green eyes have flecks of gold in them. His dark brown hair reminded me of the silkiness of milk chocolate, and his smile used to melt me to the core. Also, it's just not fair how he is lean and toned in all the right ways—that gets my panties wet—or used to, at least.

"Well, how about this, Golden Girl?" I cringe at the nickname from my youth, when everyone thought I was destined to be agold medalist and my signature blonde, shoulder-length curly hair. "You're not even bronze level anymore."

My eyes widen, and my skin sets a blaze. I press my open palms into the biting ice of the rink, trying to cool down before I say anything I would regret, to the matching accessory of my career. "You wouldn't have hoped to be anywhere near the Olympic Circle if it wasn't for me."

Whoops, so much for not saying anything mean, but fuck him. I was the star. I was the one people came to see, and if it weren’t for him and our old coach pushing me to do the death spiral, then I wouldn't be here. I fling my hand up at Dylan, and he locks his big hand around my freezing fingers, hissing at the sensation. A spark of satisfaction shoots through me at his twisted gaze, but I bite back the impending smile.

Dylan's eyes sharpen onto mine, and his grip tightens to the point I can feel my knuckles crack under his touch.

"Josie, I am the only reason anyone lets your stupid ass near the ice anymore; remember that."

"Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't know you had a lineup of women ready to be dropped onto the ice." I snarl, yanking my arm, but Dylan pulls me in closer against his chest.

His hand snakes around my waist, and from the outside looking in, we look like we're in love, doing the tango, and I am just so lost in his eyes. There was a time this was true, and we would be seconds from running into the locker room and warming each other up, but now I wouldn't let him touch me with a ten-foot pole or the five inches in his pants.

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