“If one strand of hair on his pretty little head breaks, I’ll rip someone’s throat out with my teeth.”
No one better touch my sunshine if they know what’s good for them, and they must because the only people sitting next to him are Sasha and Winston. Everyone’s left a good three seat buffer around and behind them.
Smart.
I turn my attention back to the ice, my blood singing for destruction and violence. And no one brings that out of me more than Killian Blackwell.
Just thinking his name has my jaw ticking. That smug bastard and I have unfinished business, and I plan to leave him a bloody pile of broken bones by the time the final horn sounds.
The one person who wants to crush his soul more than me is Jackson. Their hatred is explosive. Turns Jackson dark. Darker than he already is.
Walsh wants to break him too, especially after Blackwell sent him headfirst into the boards last year.
We might love to coat the ice with blood, break a few bones, but we draw the line at brain injury type shit.
The first faceoff is brutal, players crashing and bashing like wrecking balls. No one holds back, blood spilling barely five seconds in.
Just how I like it.
I steal the puck, passing to Knight as I barrel down the boards. Blackwell moves to intercept, malice carved into his face.
Jackson slams into him. Before any of the Serpents can retaliate, I saucer the puck straight to Walsh's tape.
He dekes, buying time for me to cherry pick by the net. Walsh fakes the shot, then sends a blistering pass right on my tape where I let it rip.
Top fucking shelf where mama hides the cookies.
We're up 1-0 four minutes in. I make sure to flash Serpent’s bench a grin and wink as I skate by.
During the second period, I assist on another goal while Knight turns one of the South Shore’s wingers into his personal punching bag. Zach’s last name might be Knight, yet my fucking friend is anything but.
Not sure what name would fit a sadistic psychopath.
In between shifts, I glance over at Eli, who gives me a subtle thumbs up that warms me straight down to my fucking soul.
During the third period, I finally draw Blackwell one-on-one. We battle, vicious and nasty, along the boards, trading hits.
My elbow comes up, crashing into his jaw. "Oops."
He spits blood and swings wild. The refs peel us apart and we both get matching penalties.
I blow Eli a dramatic kiss on my way to the box, and my boyfriend rolls his eyes. But I catch his little smirk. Yeah, he can pretend to be annoyed all he wants. I know better.
We pot two more goals before the final horn.
Titans triumph, 4-2.
I'm barely out of the locker room when familiar arms wrap around my waist. I sweep Eli into a blistering kiss, claiming him in front of everyone.
"So proud of you," he gasps when we separate.
"Love you, Solnyshko."
Eli smiles, soft and sweet. "Love you too."
A sudden commotion erupts nearby. Jackson and Killian are fighting like rabid animals, crashing into the walls whileswinging at each other. They both end up on the ground, Jackson with the advantage as he pounds away at Killian’s face.
The rest of the Serpents rush out of their locker room, heading straight for the rest of us.
