Page 60 of Wicked Ends
“What’s up with you?” Cayden took a long pull from his water bottle.
We were in the locker room, gear half off, sweaty and exhausted. The guys had taken their energy out on the ice and exorcised some demons, while I was even more keyed up than I’d been before.
“Getting schooled like fucking losers isn’t the reason I play, maybe it is for you,” I snapped at him. I never snapped at my friends. I was the easygoing one in a group of guys who could be pretty intense. I was the joker; I deflected my fury and disappointment with the world through humor.
Tonight, though, with Ari in the stands, sitting pretty as a picture and painted in Hellion colors, innocently smiling as Professor fucking Casanova put his hands on her? I’d seen red.
I sank down on the bench and pressed the ice pack against my swollen hand.
“You stopped the game, Marcus. I know who I think was the problem in that game,” Beckett mused.
I shot him a dark look. “Why don’t you do you your fucking job and protect the goalie, then, Anderson?”
He shrugged. “Judging from tonight, my time would be better spent protecting the other team.”
“You were out for blood, and that’s not your style—in a game, at least,” Asher added, leaning on a locker and watching me with narrowed eyes.
“Right, well, maybe you guys should consider, if you can pull your heads out of your own drama, that I’m not the guy you all assume you know, and assign me the role of the fucking clown.” I tossed my ice pack down with the rest of my gear and headed to the shower.
The hot water rained over my head, and I took my first deep breath in hours. What the hell was I doing? Shouting at my friends and fucking a game up? A goalie losing their gloves was a serious move in a hockey match, and I’d never lost my cool that way. I forced another long, deep breath, dragging the steamy air into my lungs. This wasn’t me. I didn’t stew in frustration or feel powerless. No one had ever made me feel like that, except my family… and now, Ari. She was under my skin. She fucking lived there. It was time to set the record straight and let my girl in onthe rules of our little game. We could play as long as she wanted to, but no one touched what was mine.
No one.
The security at the Night Owl consisted of a broken CCTV camera outside the front door and a teenage kid asleep on the couch in the lobby. My motorcycle helmet hid my face. It made an excellent and convenient disguise. I walked into the lobby and spied the kid, sound asleep with headphones on.Ridiculous.Ari couldn’t stay here long-term. They’d just had a break-in, and this was their solution to make sure their guests were safe? Fucking idiots. Something would have to be done about it.
I headed behind the front desk, turning my head slowly from side to side, checking for more cameras. One blinked up in the corner above the check-in desk. I flexed my hands, sheathed in black leather gloves, and grinned inside my helmet, then gave it a small wave before moving on.
Behind the desk was the oldest computer I’d ever seen. When I nudged the mouse, the entire thing seemed to shudder. I clicked around a little. The login information was on a Post-it taped to the corner of the monitor.Perfect. Safety failure number two.Someone needed to burn this old shithole to the ground, and I might be the man for the job.
I quickly found Ari in the room directory. She was one of only three guests tonight.
Room six. I left the reception building and headed along the dark row of motel rooms and silent parked cars. Ari’s bucket of boltswasn’t anywhere to be seen, so she’d gotten a ride home. Just like she’d gotten a ride to school with music school Bill.
She was such a fucking handful. Amid the remnants of my earlier jealousy, a flicker of amusement flared to life in my belly. No matter what Ari thought about being a good and proper teacher, an upright citizen… she wasn’t bad at all at playing games. I could respect that. She was sweet and kind, but tough when it mattered, and had a spine buried beneath those boxy, ill-fitting clothes. She was becoming more interesting by the day, and honestly, I couldn’t look away.
I found her room, right at the end of the block.Perfect.
Kneeling by the door, I took out a pocketknife and set to work opening the shitty lock. It was a challenge in the helmet, but luckily there was a flickering light overhead, giving me enough of a glow to manage the job. The door clicked, and I eased it open.
Inside was dark and still. Either she was sleeping, or she wasn’t fucking home yet.
I stepped inside silently and shut the door. The helmet came off, and I set it down on the table, glancing around the room.
Satisfaction hit me as soon as I made her out. She was sleeping soundly, lying on her back, her hair spread over the pillow. The soft sound of her breathing filled the room if I listened hard enough, and the whole place smelled like her.
I sucked in a full lungful of that addictive scent then started my search. I went through her closet and then her dresser, taking my time to stay as quiet as possible. Ari didn’t stir. If I found the bag, our game would end now. She’d be a sore loser, I suspected, but that was fine… I’d play with her as many times as she needed to realize that it was already too late. She was mine.
My search was fruitless.Interesting.Whatever she’d done with the bag, it wasn’t here. I respected a well-thought-out plan, even if I still intended to win.
I let out a long breath and shoved a hand through my hair, turning to look at my sleeping birthday girl.
So, the game continued. My Ari was smart. She wouldn’t go easy. It was fucked up that part of me was relieved about that. I wanted her to try her best. I wanted her to put her all into beating me… and try to convince herself in the process that what was between us was something ordinary, when I’d already accepted that it wasn’t. It was different. Unique. Special. The more she fought the inevitable, the sweeter it would be when she realized she was wrong. The best victories were hard-won.
Anticipation licked along my spine as I stood over her, and my cock stirred at the sight. I reached a hand out and ran it through her soft hair. I wanted to feel it wrapped around my fist.Fuck, I was getting hard as hell. I adjusted my aching cock against my jeans. Her lips were parted, and I imagined sliding my cock between them, letting her wake up gagging around it. I took a tight breath. I was getting fucking distracted, but then, that was only natural. Arianna Moore was a born distraction. It came effortlessly to her.
I stroked a finger down her smooth cheek. There was another raised line there. An old scar. Her body was a map of them, appearing in hidden places. Her words that night in the back room of The Clutch flashed through my mind. How she had plenty of experience patching herself up… Dark anger swirled through me at the very thought of that old scar on her cheek bleeding. Had someone hit her? Hurt her?
Never again.
