Those pretentious bastards get the rink in the mornings and afternoons. Our rink. We're forced to practice in the gaps they leave behind, skating on ice that's already been carved up by their blades, breathing air that still carries their stench. It's a constant reminder that we have to share space with the team we despise most in this world.
The tension coils tighter around my chest with every passing hour. The hunger to win isn't just strong, it's consuming me, devouring me from the inside out. This game means everything. Scouts will be there. College recruiters. NHL scouts. This is our shot, and I'll be damned if I let Somerset take it from us.
But beneath the rage about the game, beneath the burning need to crush them on the ice, there's something else eating away at me.
Her.
I haven't seen Toren since Monday night. Since I cornered her in the library and fucked her. I made her fall apart beneath my hands. Since she dared to taunt me, to try and make me jealous with those calculating eyes and that sharp tongue as she drove her spiteful ass away.
Fury burns through my veins every time I think about it. How dare she think she could manipulate me like that?
How dare she believe for one second that she has any power over me?
I pace the locker room like a caged animal, my knuckles white around my stick. The guys give me a wide berth, they know better than to approach when I'm like this. When the darkness inside me is too close to the surface, threatening to spill over and consume everything in its path.
But I can't stop my mind from spiraling back to her. To the mark I left on her neck. To the way she looked at me with those wounded eyes, like I'd broken something inside her that could never be repaired.
Good. She deserves to suffer.
I have plans to make. Strategies to finalize. My empire doesn't run itself, and with the game looming and my men’s expectations crushing down on me, I need to be sharper than ever.
Tonight, I'm meeting with Cas and my most trusted men. We need to formulate a concrete plan to take down Steven Kellar and that fucking golden boy brother of hers. Masen thinks he's untouchable, thinks his NHL prospects make him invincible. I'm going to enjoy tearing that illusion apart.
We need to capture them. Steven, Masen, Meekan, Frank, all of them. And when we do, I'm going to make them bleed. I'm going to hurt them in ways they never imagined possible.
And I'm going to make sure she watches every second of it.
I want her to see what happens to the people she loves. I want her to feel the same helplessness I felt when they took my sister from me. When they destroyed everything I cared about and left me with nothing but ashes and rage.
My jaw clenches so hard it aches. My phone buzzes in my pocket but I ignore it, too lost in the violent fantasies playing out in my mind. The ways I'll make them suffer. The ways I'll make her suffer for daring to exist, for daring to crawl under my skin and make me feel things I can't afford to feel.
A bitter laugh escapes me, harsh and humorless.
She thinks she's carrying my child. The audacity of it, the sheer fucking nerve to try and trap me with that lie. It's not mine. It can't be mine. I refuse to acknowledge it, refuse to let that possibility take root in my mind because if I do, everything falls apart.
A Kellar and Devlin in one is an abomination.
If I let myself believe for even one second that there's a life growing inside her, a piece of me tangled with a piece of her, then I won't be able to do what needs to be done. I won't be able to destroy her the way she destroyed me.
Kids were what my sister wanted, not me.
So I don't think about it. I shove it down into the darkest corner of my mind and lock it away. Bury it so deep that it can't claw its way back to the surface.
It's not real.
She's lying.
She has to be lying.
“Xaden.” Cas's voice cuts through my spiraling thoughts. I turn to find him standing in the doorway, arms crossed, expression unreadable. “We need to talk.”
I nod curtly, grateful for the distraction, grateful for something to focus on besides the chaos raging inside me.
“The meeting's set for tonight,” he continues, stepping into the locker room. “Ten o'clock. Everyone will be there.”
“Good.” My voice comes out rough, scraped raw. “We need to move fast. Saturday's the perfect cover, everyone will be at the game, distracted. It's our window.”
Cas studies me with those calculating eyes, seeing too much. “You sure you're ready for this? Once we make this move, there's no going back.”
