Page 5 of Loaded Laces

Hearing it now…

No.

I can’t have it, can’tallowmyself to have it.

I force my lids back open, force myself to hold his gaze as he continues talking.

“—so just cut the crap and give in.” He bends closer, his hair tumbling over his forehead, his gray eyes blazing. “Tell me why you’re here, baby.”

That desperation creeps back in, but I attempt to beat it back.

“Tell. Me,” he growls.

My attempts at escaping continue to fail, panic crawls through my insides, a lie coming to the tip of my tongue. “I?—”

“No lies,” he snaps, cutting me off. “No bullshit. Just fuckingtellme.”

And the desperation takes control.

Three

West

One second,I’m pinning her to the door.

The next, I’m curled in a ball, gripping…well, myballs.

Christ, even with a cup, she still managed to get both of them.

Groaning, I roll over to my hands and knees, struggling to sit up, but I manage it just as the door shuts with a softclick.

“Fuck,” I mutter, groaning again as I lurch up to my feet and reach for the handle.

I’m twisting it and taking off after her in the next instant, my gait uneven for a few paces before I manage to shake off the pain and head toward the exit, thankful that I took my skates off earlier, that I don’t have to worry about dulling the blades by walking on something that isn’t the black mats that lead from the locker rooms down to the ice.

But, truthfully, I wouldn’t give a fuck what kind of floor I’m walking on as I haul ass after Belle.

I’d take whatever verbal reaming the equipment guys would lay on me for ruining my skate blades, no matter how brutal it was.

I turn the corner just in time to see a flash of brown hair gleaming in the overhead lights, spreading out behind her like a cape as she takes a right down another hallway—this one being the one that leads out to the underground parking garage.

Which means she’s close to making it to her car.

Close to escaping.

I grind my teeth together, push through the fatigue sinking into my body, my legs from an intense game against the Sierra,andignore the ache in my balls, then speed up until I’m sprinting down the corridor, turning the corner?—

The exit door slams shut.

“Fuck,” I mutter again, but I don’t stop, reaching the door a heartbeat after it latches, slamming my hands against the metal bar that opens it, shoving the panel wide, gaze searching the hushed, darkened parking lot.

There.

I whip to the left, hustle several rows over, and see Belle struggling to insert a key into the door of a piece of shit car. The sedan is so fucking rusted and taped together—literally taped together with duct tape—that it’s a miracle it somehow managed to make it into the underground garage at all.

I half expect the handle to be torn free as she wrestles with that key, gets the door to unlock, and yanks it open.

But it stays in place and the heavy panel swings wide, and?—

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