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Pavel lined up directly across from me again. He wasn't even looking at the ball; his eyes were locked entirely onto my chest plate. He wanted blood. He wanted to ruin our entire season, and he wanted to do it right through me.

"This is it, Brooks," he growled, his voice a distorted rasp behind his bars. "I'm putting you on the turf."

"Try it," I whispered.

"Hut!"

Pavel exploded off the line, but this time, he didn't try to bend the edge or dive low. He threw his entire frame into a violent, screaming bull-rush, channeling every single ounce of his hatred straight into my chest.

CRACK.

The impact vibrated through my teeth, the sheer force of his desperation driving me back a single, agonizing half-step. Pavel let out a triumphantly ugly roar, thinking he’d finally broken my leverage, and tried to rip my shoulder pads down to clear a direct path to Scott.

But I was the anchor of this team. I didn't break.

I dug my cleats deep into the sod, sinking heavily into my hips until I was an immovable block of concrete. Channeling all the protective, dominant fury that ran through my veins, I fired my palms upward, striking the sweet spot right beneath his shoulder pads with a force that sounded like a car crash.

Pavel’s breath left him in a violent oof. His momentum didn't just stop; it completely reversed.

With a brutal, sweeping extension of my arms, I literally lifted his massive frame off his feet, driving him upward and backward. He went airborne for a fraction of a second before crashing violently onto his back, the air escaping his lungs in a ragged gasp.

Behind me, the pocket was a pristine, untouched sanctuary. Scott William stood calmly in the fortress I had built for him, waited for the tight end to clear the linebacker, and fired a bullet past the first-down marker.

Our tight end hauled it in, sliding down to keep the clock running and securing the game. First down. Game over. The stadium exploded into pure chaos.

I didn't even look at the celebration downfield. I stood directly over Pavel, casting a massive, suffocating shadow over his crumpled body. He was clutching his ribs, staring up at me with a mixture of agonizing defeat and pure, unadulterated fear. He was completely broken, his villain act shattered into pieces.

"I told you," I growled down at him, my voice carrying the absolute, unquestionable authority of a man who owned every single inch of this turf. "You don't touch my backfield. And you sure as hell don't touch me."

Sam Howard came sprinting out of nowhere, leaping onto my back with a feral scream and slamming his helmet against mine. "Unstoppable! You're a fucking monster, George! Game over!"

I carried Sam’s weight easily, walking off the field as the broadcast cameras swiveled to capture the star of the night. Pavel was still on the ground behind us a defeated antagonist in a story I was completely rewriting. I was untouchable.

Santiago

“GOT YOUR FAVORITE FLAVOR ready to go,” Benny shouted from behind the counter as I entered the coffee shop for my evening dose of caffeine.

“You always do.” I tapped my campus meal card against the scanner, grabbing the ice-cold hazelnut latte and taking a deep, satisfying sip of the thick, sweet liquid.

“You know, I’m not just a barista,” Benny said, leaning his forearms over the counter. “I’m actually enrolled here. In fact, I’m in your psychology class.”

I chuckled, adjusted my bag strap, and began heading toward the exit. “Ugh, everyone is in that psychology class. There are like a thousand students.”

“Are there?” Benny smiled smoothly. “I only ever see you.”

“Bye, barista,” I said, turning away with a faint smile and pushing out the door.

I pulled my heavy black hoodie up over my head as I walked down the dark, isolated street toward my apartment building. Suddenly, the headlights of a heavy truck blinded me. The tires screeched violently, the vehicle swerving and stopping right in front of my path, nearly running me over.

“Hey! Watch it!” I barked, taking a defensive step back.

“Watching you, baby,” Marcus sneered, stepping out from the driver's side. Another man immediately exited the passenger seat, flanking my escape route. “Haven't seen you at the club lately, Sig. Where the fuck have you been hiding?”

“What the fuck is it to you, Marcus?”

“You have to answer to me. I am your master.”

“Temporary master,” I corrected, my heart beginning to trace an uneven beat. “And I don’t need you anymore.”