Page 146 of Twisted Play
I blinked at him. “What?”
He was already reaching for his phone. “Food. Thai or Italian?”
This man who kept me naked in his office was asking me about my dinner preferences like it was the most natural thing in the world.
“Thai,” I whispered, because arguing seemed impossible when he looked at me like that.
He placed the order, adding more dishes than I could possibly eat. “Twenty minutes,” he said when he hung up, setting the phone aside.
I settled back at his feet, and his fingers found my hair again, stroking through the strands with unexpected gentleness.The repetitive motion should have soothed me—usually, it did—but my mind wouldn’t quiet.
The clock ticked steadily on his desk. Carter’s voice echoed in my memory, the way his eyes had gone cold when he’d told me not to test his patience.
Alek’s thumb traced behind my ear, and I leaned into the touch despite myself. For those few minutes, I could almost pretend this was normal, that I was there because I wanted to be, not because I was trapped in a web of blackmail and desperation.
His phone buzzed. “They’re here early,” he murmured, fingers still in my hair. He reached for his jacket. “Stay exactly where you are,” he commanded, but his hand was gentle as it cupped my face.
“Where are you going?”
“Delivery driver can’t find the building.” He pressed a kiss to my forehead—soft, unexpected, completely at odds with every other interaction we’d had. “I’ll be right back.”
The door clicked shut behind him, and I was alone.
I remained kneeling exactly where he’d left me, my skin still warm from his touch. This was dangerous territory. I couldn’t start believing his moments of kindness meant anything, couldn’t let myself think that maybe?—
Carter’s deadline crashed back into my consciousness like ice water. The plays. I was supposed to have gotten them days ago, and I kept finding excuses, kept putting it off. But Carter’s patience was wearing thin. His last message had made that clear.
My eyes landed on the tablet sitting on Alek’s desk, its screen still glowing.
No.I couldn’t. Not when he was downstairs getting me food because he’d noticed how fucking tired I was.
But my father’s bruised face flashed through my mind.The way he’d flinched when Carter’s men grabbed him. The fear in his eyes.
I rose from my knees, breaking Alek’s command, and approached the desk like it might explode, my heart hammering against my ribs.
The iPad was unlocked.
I stared at the screen, frozen. I could just... not do this. I could tell Carter I couldn’t get access. But he’d kill my father. I knew he would.
With trembling fingers, I navigated the app he used to create the plays. It had a passcode. Fuck! I tried a few random combinations-0000, 12345—and then tried the year he won his first Frozen Four at Yorkfield.
Success! The plays were right there. Detailed diagrams showed every position, every strategy the team had been working on. I raised my phone and started taking pictures, my vision blurring with tears. Each photo felt like a betrayal, like I was destroying a precious gift.
Click. Click. Click.
He noticed I was tired.
Click. Click.
He ordered food when he realized I hadn’t eaten.
Click.
The sound of footsteps in the hallway startled me. I quickly closed out of the app, straightening the tablet so it looked exactly as he’d left it, and dropped back to my knees where he’d left me.
The door opened just as I wiped the tears from my cheeks.
Alek’s smile faded when he saw my face. “What’s wrong?”
