Brutal Obsession: A Dark Hockey Romance (Hockey Gods)

I skate out onto the ice, contemplating my next move with Violet.

My obsession with her is getting worse. I can’t stop thinking about her. Bloody. Bruised. Brutalized. I want to push my limits, yes, but I want to push her limits. See how far I can take things until we both crumble.

Part of me looks forward to that.

I had a phone call with my father this morning. He wanted to know how Crown Point is treating me.

The two months leading up to the start of my junior year were volatile. Both in how my father and I reacted to what happened, but also in Rose Hill. Our attorney, Josh Black, was by almost every day to advise us on the best legal action with Violet Reece. The civil suit haunted us through August, until she dropped the charges.

I wonder about that now as I pass the puck across the ice to Erik.

Why did she drop it?

We never saw each other in court. Never had to face each other in person. Except for the night of the crash, we didn’t interact. It was run through our lawyers. Everything from Mr. Black escorting me out of the police station a few hours after I was arrested, all the way up to the news of Violet’s personal injury suit being dropped.

Now, my father is the sort of man who will do anything to get his way. What lengths did he have to go to in order to manipulate Violet?

And a better question: how can I exploit that?

Where is the weak point?

Her leg. Her dance career.

Finances, family, her future.

Take your pick. She seemed well-rounded. Friendly. Happy.

I want to press on her bruises. I want her to squirm under me until she can’t breathe. Because taking her breath away has been the most exciting thing to happen to either of us all year—I can feel it. I can sense it. She let her fear in for a second, and then it was gone. The tears in her eyes were a show.

She’s just as angry as me, but she won’t let it out.

Come play with me, Violet.

She doesn’t want to. She wants to remain safe. She wants everything to go back to how it was. The dance team, school, friends. It’s not possible for her, and I doubt it’s possible for me either.

How many ways can a person break before they can be reshaped into something new?

“Devereux! You’re skating like your blades are coated in molasses.”

I heave a sigh and move faster, trying to anticipate the pass from Knox. Erik and I skate up opposite sides, racing toward Miles in the goal. He taps his stick against the ice, his face a mask of concentration.

Knox passes to me. The puck glides across the ice, and I cradle it. One of our younger players, a defensemen who just started this year, comes out to intercept me.

I dart around him, leaping over his stick as it swipes at me. If we had the wrong ref, we’d get shot down for him trying to trip another player. No matter, though. It doesn’t stop me. I aim for the top corner of the net.

Miles catches it. Barely.

Erik and I pass each other behind the net, and he gives me the finger. “Better luck next time.”

I growl and keep moving. Miles sends the puck back out, and another trio takes their turn charging for the goal. I skid to a stop beside our bench and snag my water bottle. I squirt it through the cage of my mask and toss it back.

Coach comes over and slaps my shoulder. “You’re off today.”

I look out toward where Miles and Knox are facing off. “Sorry, Coach.”

He makes a noise of disgust. “I expect my starting line to bring their A game. You’ve got eight hours to pull yourself together.”

I scowl. I always play best under the stadium lights, with a crowd screaming in the stands. With strangers staring at me like they’re going to eat me for lunch, only to be surprised when we outskate them at every turn.

My team is agile. We race each other just for the hell of it, working on our footwork and maneuvers. It gives us a slight edge, but we can’t rely on it. The plays Coach has been drilling into us all month are next level.

We had a slight break from games, and he took full advantage.

“Get back out there.”

I nod and shove off. I’m happier when I’m focusing on what I can control. How fast I move, the way my skates cut into the ice. The stick in my hand, the puck. It all blends into a harmony unlike any other.

“Watch it!” someone yells.

Someone bulldozes into me from the side, and we both go down in a tangle of limbs. He lands on top of me, and it only takes his disgusting grunts for me to realize it’s Erik. Fucking twat. I shove him off and push up, then circle him.

“What the fuck was that?”

He clamors to his feet, leering at me. “You should really watch where you’re fucking going.”

I brush off ice shavings. “You could’ve avoided me. You hunting for a fight, Smith? You want me to beat some sense back into you?”

“Okay, okay,” Coach hollers. He reaches us and looks between the two of us. He seems to be contemplating who was at fault and what to do about it. It only takes him a moment to decide. “Erik, get out of my fucking sight.”

“Coach—”

“OUT,” he roars. “And come back when you know how to skate.”

I wink at him on his way past. He rams his shoulder into mine, but I shake it off. He can be as disgruntled as he wants—for now, he’s gone.

Coach just shakes his head at me. “Sometimes you’re more trouble than you’re worth.”

I shrug at him and retrieve my stick. “Sorry, Coach.”

The rest of practice passes relatively quickly. We shower off and grab a bite to eat back on campus, then all stomp to the library. I’ve got a test coming up in environmental economics. That class is kicking my ass. As much as I enjoy making Violet uncomfortable, I really need to get a better handle on it.

So we bury our heads in our textbooks for the next few hours. Erik comes in with some of his buddies and takes a seat at a far table.

Someone catches my attention. Just a flash of blonde out of the corner of my eye.

Violet.

She’s been wearing the strangest outfits lately. Baggy sweatshirts with Crown Point University across the front, or the dance team t-shirts that must be free. Black leggings and boots or sneakers. Nothing crazy or outrageous. Nothing that shows off her shape. Just like the pink sweater the first night I saw her at Haven, or the shirt she wore when I dumped beer over her head and then chased her out of the bar like a lunatic.

I don’t regret what happened after I caught her, though…

I shift in my seat.

“Be right back,” Knox says. He pushes back and goes over to where Willow and Violet are sitting. He joins them with an ease that picks at my jealous nature.

That has to do with my upbringing, no doubt.

Raised to have the best things, immediately, I don’t quite understand the mechanics of getting something I can’t have.

Like Violet.

No, brain. I don’t want Violet.

I grit my teeth and turn away abruptly. It’s either that or go and rip her book to shreds—and there are more subtle ways to undermine her. And lead her in my direction…

Knox comes back and falls into his chair. He winks at me. “Girls are coming to the game tonight. In case you were wondering.”

“I wasn’t.”

He shrugs. “Okay.”

Something else catches my eye. Jack, coming into the library and joining Violet and Willow. He leans into Violet, whispering something to her. I clench my teeth so hard, my jaw aches. Why the fuck is he still talking to her? I thought that was over and done with.

Apparently not enough.

Still, I force myself to ignore it. There’s nothing between Violet and me. No spark, no attraction. Animosity, sure. Anger, yes.

I need more than that.

I stand abruptly and cross the room. I ignore Jack completely and grab Violet’s arm. She lets out a squeak of protest, but I don’t give her much choice. She can either stand and come with me or she can be dragged.

Lucky for her, she chooses to come—albeit not as quietly as a library would usually dictate. I pull her down one of the aisles, between the stacks, and find an abandoned corner. I box her against the shelves and brace my hands on either side of her.

“What do you want?” she snaps.

So fearless… until she’s not.

“I’m craving another taste of your pussy,” I tell her.

Not particularly true, but whatever. Now that I think about it, blood rushes to my cock. I don’t have a public sex kink. But by the way Violet’s gaze drops to my pants, then back up, I think this girl might be darker than she lets on.

Interesting.

I add that to my mental file about her.

“Or maybe I just wanted to see what you’d do if I interrupted you and what’s his face.”

“Jack,” she replies hotly. “Which, if you’ll excuse me…”

I tsk, not moving. “Not how this works.”

“How does it work?”

I look her up and down, frowning. “I want to see it.”

“See what?”

“What I did to you. The damage.” The reason she limps .

Her gaze goes frigid. “So you admit it?”

I lift one shoulder. “Admit what?”

“That you hit me.” She’s too pale. “And then will you admit that you snuck into my room?”

This is the second time she’s mentioned it, and I haven’t gone near her fucking room. It’s on my to-do list to find out where she lives, but I’ve been a little preoccupied trying not to obsess over her. Clearly, my plan is going so well.

I sneer. “If I wanted to sneak into your room, I’d do it when you were asleep. I’d put my hands around your pretty little throat and squeeze until you woke up, and then I’d squeeze some more…” I can imagine the flush of her cheeks, how her whole face would slowly turn redder. How she’d gasp and gape like a fish out of water. How pretty she’d look, struggling for breath. “Something tells me you’d be into that, though.”

“Not quite.”

“Okay.” I look away, then back to her. “Tell you what. I’ll say whatever the fuck you want me to if you meet me after the game. You’re coming, aren’t you?”

Her eyes narrow. I’m just now realizing they’re so blue, they’re almost violet. Like her.

And I’m all shades of gray. No color, no personality except what I want people to see. I wonder how she’d react if she realizes every smile, every laugh line and crease in my eyes, the things people search for to indicate genuine happiness, is all fake.

If she’d run from me.

I hope she’ll run.

“Tonight,” I prod.

She glowers at me, considering. I see the thought process. I see her weighing the pros and cons.

“I suppose I’ll go to the game. But I’ll only meet you after if you win,” she says.

I smile, and I run my hand down her side. She immediately tenses, but I find what I’m looking for in her back pocket. Her cell phone. I swipe it open, mildly irritated to discover it isn’t even password protected. I shoot myself a text, then close out of it and tuck it back into her pocket. She doesn’t try to stop me.

Choosing her battles?

I step back, ignoring the urge to carry her away now. That caveman instinct is going to get me in trouble. I’ve got to be patient.

“We’ll win,” I promise.

“Otherwise, you leave me alone.”

I’m already turning away, walking back to my table, when her last condition reaches me. But I don’t pause. I don’t even fucking acknowledge it, because there’s no way we’re losing. Not with what I have planned riding on it.

I always do better under pressure.