I scramble up into the seat anyway.
The door shuts behind me, sealing me in. And holy hell—this thing is terrifying from the inside too. Black leather, dark trim, everything smelling like smoke and steel. The dash glows faint red, humming low like the car itself has a pulse.
It swallows me whole. I sink into the seat, dwarfed by it, by him. My chest heaves once, too fast, my palms sweaty against my knees.
Because it’s not Cole’s stupid convertible anymore. No music blasting, no trash talking the whole way home.
It’s Damian’s SUV.
It’s silence.
The door slams on Damian’s side, heavy enough to rattle my bones. The engine rumbles to life, deep and low, vibrating through the seat like the car itself is growling.
He pulls out of the lot with calm, mechanical precision—shoulder checking, signal flashing, every move clean. It’s terrifying, because it’s the same way he is on the ice: controlled, unreadable, inevitable.
And I’m vibrating out of my skin.
The silence is unbearable. Worse than Coach’s clipboard. Worse than turbulence at 30,000 feet. Worse than the storm.
So, naturally, my mouth kicks in.
“Nice car, Cap. Real cozy. Definitely screamsI could bury a body in here and no one would ever find it.”
Nothing. His profile stays carved out of shadow, eyes on the road.
I keep going. “Leather, huh? Real classy. Bet it’s easier to clean blood out of this than cloth.”
Still nothing.
My leg starts bouncing. “Do you, uh…do you keep all your rookies in here? Is this like—a hazing thing? You drive them around in the Deathmobile until they cry? Because I’ll have you know I don’t cry, sir. Not unless you count when you tape my wrists too tight. Which you did. Yesterday. Kind of rude.”
His jaw ticks once. That’s it.
So I lean in, grinning too wide, reckless fire spilling out of me. “Or maybe this is the secret initiation. You trap me in your SUV, scare me into silence, then—”
The words never finish.
Because suddenly his hand is in my hair, fisting, dragging me across the console. His mouth crashes into mine, hard and deep, swallowing every chirp before it can leave my tongue.
My phone slips from my hand, forgotten. My chest caves, my grin shatters, and I melt into it—into him. Into the heat, the pressure, the weight of him controlling even this.
He kisses me like he’s silencing me forever. Like every reckless word I’ve ever thrown into the air belongs buried under his mouth.
When he finally pulls back, my lungs are wrecked, my lips bruised, my words gone.
His hand stays curled in my hair.
“Better,” he growls, low and final.
And for once—for once—I shut the fuck up.
His hand stays locked in my curls, firm, steady, like I’m leashed to him even with the SUV rolling smooth under us. Every time I so much as shift in my seat, the grip tightens just enough to remind me: don’t.
So I sit there in silence, my pulse thundering loud in my ears. Every nerve in me screams to fill the silence, to run my mouth until the tension cracks. But every time I glance at him—his profile carved, mismatched eyes flicking between the road and me—the leash holds.
I’m not breathing calmer again until I realize where we’re going.
My stomach flips.
