Page 61 of Lords of Ruin: Cherished

I slap my gloves together, my heart pounding in my chest, adrenaline already coursing through my veins. I walk to the door, take a deep breath, and push it open, stepping out into the arena. The roar of the crowd hits me, but it’s like a distant hum compared to the storm inside my head.

The ice is cold, the chill biting at my skin, but I feel alive. I feel like I could tear through a wall. I skate into position, squaring myself in front of the goal, eyes scanning the rink, ready for anything.

“Sterling!” My coach barks walking closer to me.

“I got it,” I nod. “Put me back on the ice.”

“You left the ice, are you out of your mind?” The assistant coach yells at me, but I keep my eyes on the ice and focus on the anger coursing through me.

“I got this.” I snarl looking Coach in the eye.

He inhales sharply, and says, “Put him in.”

“Coach?” The assistant whispers.

“You heard me Henry, put him in.”

I smile to myself as the game is paused to exchange goalies.

Monroe whispers to me as I pass, “Come on D.”

Once I am in position the game kicks off again, and I’m in it—completely in it. Every save I make feels like it’s in slow motion, every move sharp, calculated, andperfect.I’m not just stopping pucks, I’mdestroyingthem, as if every shot against me is a challenge I can’t back down from. I’m on fire, like I’m finally in control of something.

The opposing team starts to get desperate, throwing everything they’ve got at me, but it’s like I can anticipate every shot before it even happens. I’m diving, stretching, sliding across the ice in ways I never thought I could. The crowd’s roar grows louder with every save, and it feeds me, pushing me harder, faster.

I catch one slap shot right out of the air with my glove, and the arena erupts. I don’t even flinch, I just look up, my eyes scanning for the next threat. The seconds stretch into minutes as I work in a blur of motion. Nothing is getting past me. I’m untouchable.

And then, with just seconds left on the clock, they launch a final attack—one last, desperate shot. The puck rockets toward me, and I move before I even realize what I’m doing.Time seems to slow down as I extend my leg, my pads making contact with the puck, redirecting it just enough to send it bouncing off the post and away from the goal.

The buzzer blares. We win.

The crowd goes wild. I can barely hear anything over the deafening roar, but the adrenaline surges through my veins like a drug. I stand there, catching my breath, my entire body buzzing. For a moment, I feel untouchable.

I don’t wait for the team to come over and congratulate me. Instead, I skate straight to the bench, throwing off my mask and gloves, and in the chaos, I look for her—Willow. I catch sight of her in the stands, her eyes on me, her face a mixture of awe and pride.

I nod at her, pounding my hands against the plastic barrier. Now I get it. I get Vincent’s need to consume her and Cast’s words from a couple of days ago. I want to marry her too.

19

CAST

About a week after Vincent comes back into our lives, Damien finds Richard Beaumont and we create the perfect plan to kill him and scare Angie.

The moment I step into the grand ballroom, the scent of money and arrogance clings to the air like overpriced cologne. Chandeliers dangle from the ceiling, throwing a golden glow across the sea of tuxedos and designer gowns. The gala's banner reads "Technology for Tomorrow's Children" in elegant gold lettering. Ironic, considering what we're here to do and who these people are.

The people here are only interested in their own reflection, clinking their champagne glasses while throwing crumbs at charity to make themselves feel important. They don’t know struggle and they don’t care about the future of the children, only the future of their bank accounts and the idea that attending jerking off sessions like this makes them good people.

Vincent walks ahead of me, exuding effortless confidence in a deep navy suit, his presence commanding. Damien flanks him on the other side, in a dark grey suit that Willow said matched his eyes. I stand slightly behind scoping out the area. We're here for one reason—to find Vincent’s father and put an end to him.

While we wait, I scan the silent auction table. A vacation to the Amalfi Coast catches my eye—private villa, personal chef, all the luxury a man like me could ask for. I imagine Willow there, sprawled out on a sunbed, soaking in the Italian sun, hair wild from the breeze. A perfect escape.

I grab a pen and write down a number that ensures no one else will outbid me. One million dollars. A small price for something I know she’d love.

“Sentimental of you,” Damien murmurs at my side, amused.

I smirk. “Not at all. I just enjoy the finer things in life.”

A lie. It’s for her. But Damien doesn’t need to know that, because then he will want to come, and that trip is just for Willow and me.

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