Page 8 of Brutal Obsession

She has an unusual name. I’ve only heard of one other…

“Violet Reece,” Steele continues. “Best damn dancer on the team—no offense, ladies.” He winks at the other girls.

Violet Reece.

I clench my jaw to keep from saying anything. My expression smooths, although what I really want to do is ask why thefuckshe’s in my town. I’ve been here since the start of the fall semester, and I haven’t seen or heard of her. Not even a fucking whisper.

Best damn dancer on the team. Back from hiatus. So, what, this is a massive coincidence? My luck. No,herluck. I’m glaring holes in her skull, I think, but she makes a point to not look away.

Challenge accepted.

“So, how are you liking playing with the Hawks, Greyson?” one of the girls asks.

I tear my gaze off Violet and try to find who asked. The girl in the center, with perky breasts peeking out from a low-cut shirt, leans forward. It seems to be a tactic girls employ to drive attention down to them.

So I go with what she wants and let my eyes fall to the swells, then back up to her face. She’s flushed from whatever they’ve been drinking. I’ve seen her with some of the other girls who always shadow the team. We’re regulars at Haven—the owner has a soft spot for the team, especially after a win—and she just has the look.

A puck bunny in hiding. They’re usually not so subtle. Although I’m not sure what she’s doing issubtle. Maybe she’s just in denial.

“It’s a good change,” I finally reply. “Much better than where I was.”

Violet lifts the shot glass in front of her, slamming it back. My attention is pulled back to her. It’s unnerving. She swallows delicately, her throat moving. She’s stopped staring at me and has chosen to go with ignoring my existence.

But it’s subtle enough that I don’t think many other people pick up on her snub.

Maybe she’s regularly like this.

Cold.

It’s all the more intriguing, because I realize that I don’t actually know her. I’ve only heard her name in association with my future being choked to death.

“We’ll see you ladies around,” Steele says. He pulls at my sleeve. “Come on, man.”

“You look like you have room for two more,” I say.

The girls giggle. Except the one on the end, across from Violet.

A best friend? She seemed to catch whatever was going through Violet’s mind.

“No,” whoever she is says. “We’re celebrating—no boys allowed.”

I raise my eyebrow. “Oh? Hear that, Jack?”

He flushes. “She meant nohockeyboys allowed.”

I sneer. “Right. Well, catch you later.” I stick my hands in my pockets and follow Steele back to the bar. More dance girls—the ones I’m more familiar with—are waiting for us with my buddies, Knox and Jacob. The right wing, Erik, leans against the bar, as well. He and I don’t get along as well as Coach hoped.

Not my fault he’s a fucking dumbass. He’s graduating this year, though. Good riddance. Next year, when Knox, Steele, and I are seniors… we’ll take the hockey world by storm. More than we already are. Then we’ll take on the NHL.

“You meet the rest of the dance team, Greyson?” Paris puts her hand on my arm.

I let her. Why the fuck not? She’s pretty, too. And she sucks dick well enough. Found that out last month, before we all split for winter break. The hockey team came back a week ago to get back into practice, and now everyone has returned to Crown Point. School starts back up on Monday, and this is the last weekend hurrah.

There’s a new reverence around me. My old school didn’t have that, although I sure as fuck made the title for myself. Everyone knew who I was at Brickell University because of my last name. Money can open a lot of doors—but charmkeepsthem open.

Good old Dad taught me that one.

It worked, too, until everything blew up in my face.

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