Page 11 of Triple Pucked
I remember seeing photographs of this huge, eighteenth century mansion hanging on my high school’s walls. It’s thereason that I recognize the governor’s house, which is the largest in Freedom.
The mansion is white and shuttered with symmetrical columns.
It has an intimidating number of windows. What are the chances that someone hasn’t seen us out of them?
Hot and cold rushes through me. Pink creeps across my chest and then up my neck to color my cheeks.
I truly feel like captured prey.
“It’s a bloody mansion.” Shay squirms to look up from his position over D’Angelo’s shoulder. “I’ve never seen a house this large. It looks like the type of place you carry around caviar and not hockey players with their cocks out. What if they set the dogs on us?”
“How English of you.” D’Angelo doesn’t slow down, skirting a manicured rose flowerbed. He marches up the rolling lawn, as if he owns it. “Here a homeowner would be more likely to shoot you.”
“My mistake,” Shay mutters.
“Or call the cops.” I flail in panic, looping my arms more tightly around Eden’s neck. “ Or take photos and sell them to the press, which is worse.”
I can imagine the headlines now:If You Go into the Woods Today, You’re in for a Big Surprise…Rebels Naked Protest at the Governor’s.
“Don’t worry,” D’Angelo says, coolly. “I happen to know that no one is home.”
“What is this? A naked home invasion? Sexy squatting?” I demand.
D’Angelo looks over his shoulder, exchanging a glance with Eden.
Whatever this is, Eden is in on it.
The tension in me bleeds out.
My shoulders relax. My racing heartbeat slows.
I trust both these men. Whatever they have planned, I know that they’ll keep all of us safe.
When D’Angelo veers away from the rose garden and onto a neat driveway instead, excitement for the first time joins the panic that is sheeting through me.
D’Angelo’s plans may be wicked but they’re also the most fun that I’ve experienced in my life.
He leads the way up steps to a high white door.
The windows are dark. There is no light behind the archway of glass above the door.
My breathing sounds too loud in the silence.
What if someoneisin?
D’Angelo finally swings Shay off his shoulder so fast that Shay lets out a startled yelp. “Stay.”
D’Angelo pins him with a stare.
Shay leans his back against the wall beside the door; he’s trembling with anticipation. “I’m kinky but notthiskinky. What type of rich bastard even lives somewhere decadent like this?”
D’Angelo gives a slow, dangerous smile. “Good question.”
He reaches into his waistcoat pocket and pulls out a key, which swings from an official Bay Rebels keychain with the puck logo trailing arctic blue flames. “This type of rich bastard. And now, all of you.”
He slides the key into the door’s lock.
My eyes widen in shock.
