The words sting more than I want to admit. Raiyne. The one person who’s the closest thing I’ve had to a friendever. . . he sold me out.
Zach pats my cheek. “Don’t worry about it too much, Merci. By the end of the week, you’ll be gone.”
He stands, they both turn, then walk away, leaving me here.
I spent five years running, reinventing myself, and building a life where I was free. On the silks, I could fly. I could be anything, anyone.
Now I'm right back where I started—trapped, helpless, at someone else's mercy.
And I don’t even want to know why my dick gets hard every time Zach puts his hands on me. That's a whole other level of fucked up that I'm not ready to deal with.
I close my eyes, trying to center myself the way I do before a performance. I've got less than twenty-four hours to figure out how to escape before they come back. Because I might feel guilty about what happened, but I'm not ready to die for it.
Not by a long shot.
Chapter 5
Zach
The locker room’s fluorescent lights buzz faintly, a sound most people filter out, but it grates on my nerves. I toss my equipment bag onto the bench and grab a banana from the cooler along with the bottle of honey. It’s a routine, a superstition before every game. Each time I do it, it's like I’m tricking fate into giving me strength and not letting my body fall apart on me.
Not that it ever works. But routines don’t have to make sense.
"Give it." Viktor holds out his hand, wiggling his fingers.
I hand the banana over, and he peels it, then takes a bite and swallows. He gives it back and smiles. “All good.”
After taking it, I add some honey, then take a bite, chewing slowly. Coach Harper walks past, his eyes lingering on Viktor before shooting me a cold glare. Viktor's hand tightens on his water bottle, his nostrils flaring.
My chest constricts at the exchange, and I swallow past the lump growing in my throat. Maybe Viktor won't abandon me like my mother did. He's stuck around this long, even after what happened with the whips.
But I hate how much I've come to rely on him.
The persistent fuck just kept inserting himself into every aspect of my life until I gave up fighting him. He decided we were friends back in Juniors, and that was that.
It’s the same way he pushed to become my personal taste tester after the whole sour milk incident. Of course, my friend’s obsessive tendencies kicked in when he couldn’t understand why I kept drinking it. Eventually I relented—after twenty-four hours—because it was either tell him I can’t taste shit or smother him with a fucking pillow. Killing him wasn’t a good idea when he’s a once-in-a-lifetime goalie.
People would look for him, including his family.
And his mom used to be an assassin and may still be. Not that I should know this, but Viktor decided to share the information for some reason.
Too bad Mrs. Novotny actually likes Coach Harper. Wish she kind of didn’t. Would make it easier for him to disappear and stop fucking interfering with our friendship.
But who the fuck’s going to watch out for me next year? Ottawa’s a whole new team with a new set of people, which means no one I trust.
Finishing my banana and honey, I get up to throw out the peel and find Henneman watching us from across the room. I bare my teeth at the freshman, and he quickly looks away, grabbing his helmet before walking out.
Jackson laughs from the stall next to mine. "You know he could probably break you in half if he wanted to, right? Kid's built like a brick house."
I snort. Physical size means nothing. I learned that lesson early—strength isn't just about muscle mass.
"What's your problem with him anyway?" Connor asks as he tapes his stick.
"Don't trust him."
Jackson chuckles. “You don’t trust anyone.”
He’s right.
