Page 46

“Don’t cry, Santiago. You did so fucking good for me. You're beautiful, you know that? Fucking perfect,” he said quietly, his voice rough and thick with genuine emotion.

I nodded, utterly unable to speak past the massive lump in my throat. I clung to his broad shoulders tighter, burying my face deep into the crook of his neck so he wouldn’t be able to see the fresh, agonizing guilt twisting in my gut.

This was supposed to be my final memory of him, something pure I could hold onto after I betrayed him to Pavel. But lying here locked in his arms, feeling safe and loved for the first time in my entire life... I lay there wondering how the hell I was supposed to destroy the exact man who was currently putting my soul back together.

Chapter Sixteen

Santiago

The stadium lights were blindingly bright, the collective roar of the crowd vibrating heavily through the metal bleachers under my ass. Every slight shift of my weight sent a sharp, agonizing reminder through my body, the deep, lingering ache from the rattan cane welts George had left on my skin two nights ago. Sitting down actively hurt. But I couldn't stay away from him.

I sat high up in the stands with my black hood pulled up, desperately trying to remain invisible. It wasn’t working.

Down on the sideline, I caught several players glancing up at my section with open hostility. Sam Howard, the team captain and center, glared daggers directly in my direction. Greg Bennett, the flashy wide receiver, muttered something to the player next to him while staring straight at me. Even Scott William, the starting quarterback, shot a dark, suspicious look toward my row before pulling his helmet on.

They all remembered what I’d done to George at the opening game, releasing that leaked audio file that had nearly destroyed his athletic reputation. They thought I was here to sabotage him again.

I almost wanted to laugh aloud at the irony. If only they knew how completely fucked my head was right now.

Then George jogged onto the field, and everything else in the stadium completely faded to gray.

He looked absolutely massive under the stadium lights, broad shoulders, powerful arms, and that commanding alpha presence that made it impossible to look anywhere else. His eyes scanned the stands, locking onto my exact coordinates almost immediately. A slow, confident smirk spread across his face. He wasn't worried. He wasn't ashamed. He just looked possessive. It was as if he knew exactly why I had come back to him.

My stomach flipped violently.

The game started fast, and on the very first drive, George was a goddamn wall. Scott William dropped back to pass, and George exploding off the line of scrimmage, burying the defensive end into the turf as if he weighed nothing. He anchored the pocket perfectly, giving Scott plenty of time to fire a deep ball downfield to Greg Bennett for a massive gain.

The crowd roared around me. By the second quarter, George was completely shining.

On a crucial third-and-long, the opposing defense blitzed hard. George read the layout flawlessly, sliding over to pick up the blitzing linebacker and driving his frame into the ground with brutal, unyielding force. The sound of the pads echoing off the field was deafening. Scott stepped up into the clean pocket and fired a strike downfield for a first down.

I couldn't take my eyes off him.

He dominated the trenches all night, pancaking defenders, sealing off running lanes, and protecting Scott’s blind side like a man possessed. Every single time the offense came to the line, George was the loudest voice on the field, calling out adjustments, slamming shoulder pads, and holding his line together with iron authority.

Late in the fourth quarter, with the game tied and NFL draft scouts watching intently from the sidelines, the offense needed a definitive play. Sam Howard snapped the ball. George engaged instantly with the opposing defensive end, a massive senior notorious for sacks, and completely owned him. He drove the guy back five full yards, tearing open a massive running lane. Scott took off on a designed quarterback draw and scored easily.

The stadium erupted into total chaos.

George ripped his helmet off on the sideline after the touchdown, sweat pouring down his face, and looked straight up into the stands again. His dark eyes found mine instantly. That same hungry, devastating smile pulled at his lips. He gave me the smallest, sharpest nod, a silent promise.

This is what I can do when I’m focused, his look said. And you’re part of that focus now.

My chest felt incredibly tight. I hated how proud I felt of him.

Sam Howard noticed the silent exchange and snapped something sharp to George on the sideline. George just shrugged his broad shoulders, completely unbothered, and kept his eyes anchored up on me.

Final score: Home team won by seven.

George had been one of the best players on the field, maybe the best on the entire offensive line. The announcers over the loudspeaker were already talking about his “dominant, pro-ready performance” and how he’d boosted his draft stock significantly.

As the players began heading toward the tunnel, I stood up to leave. My blood ran cold. Standing on the left exit of the bleachers was Marcus. On the right side stood Pavel, masked under a dark hoodie, his hands tucked into his pockets, glaring straight at me. They were flanking me.

I sat back down immediately as the crowd thinned out, my ass throbbing, my mind spinning in a panic. They were not going to let me walk away from this parking lot alive. All it would take to save myself from them was one whisper to the right university official about what George had been doing to me on that boat. It started with blackmail; it could easily be written off as criminal coercion. It would utterly destroy everything he had just built on that field tonight.

When Marcus started walking deliberately up the steps toward me, my survival instincts kicked in. I stood up, turned my back on him, and walked directly down the field barrier where the stadium security guards and local news cameras and the NFL scouts were standing.

George