15. Chapter 13

Not hearing from Jackson just adds insult to injury. Coach reamed me out for my extracurricular activities during Regionals, especially with the enemy. Luckily, video replay showed I hadn't been playing any differently than I normally do.

But going after my teammate was a hard line for him.

Trembley crashed the meeting to forgive me in front of our coach, making me feel even more like shit. Outside of a verbal ass whooping, nothing really happened. Our season is over, and they can't kick me off the team because of who I choose to date.

Most likely, I won't be captain next year, but I'm okay with that in more ways than one. Seriously, babysitting the Serpents' hunts is exhausting. I'll gladly hand over the reins to someone else.

"Fuck!" I look up at the sky. "Universe, please don't let them punish me by making me captain again."

"Blackwell."

I whip my head to the left, the thick Russian accent too familiar to ignore. Alexei Petrov leans against a creamy silver Mercedes G-wagon.

"What are you doing here?"

He pulls the backdoor open. "Get in."

"Uh, yeah. No thank you."

My heart plummets when Viktor Novotny gets out of the passenger side. "Get in the fucking car. Now."

Slowly walking forward, I look inside, but Jackson's not in there.

When I freeze up, Petrov grabs my nape and shoves me in. I fall face first onto the seat and try to turn around to get back out but his large frame is there.

"What the fuck! What are you two doing?"

Novotny gets back into the SUV and closes the door. "Need to talk . . . and take care of something."

Petrov rounds the vehicle, then gets in. He mumbles something in Russian and pulls away from the curb. I take out my phone and text Jackson to figure out what the fuck is going on.

"He won't answer."

"Why?"

I nearly vomit at the sorrowful look on Novotny's face. The Titans' goalie is unhinged, like a crazy fucking clown. But sad—I've never seen this expression on him before—the tension in the air only makes it worse.

"What happened?"

Petrov goes to speak but Novotny cuts him off. "Our assistant coach has an issue with us gays as he likes to say just low enough for me to hear. Most of the time, it's just disgusted looks, or the occasional comment directed at me."

"Fucker's too much of a pussy to say it to my face." Petrov sneers, venom lacing his tone.

Novotny looks me dead in the eye. "He beat the fuck out of Jackson. We found him passed out on the floor in the locker room. "

"Pull over!" My hand covers my mouth. "Now!"

The SUV barely comes to a stop before I fling the door open and puke.

No. No. No.

Of all the reasons I thought Jackson didn't answer me, this wasn't one of them. I empty my stomach once more, then wipe my mouth, fighting back the tears. "Where is he?"

"Stonybrook." Novotny claps a hand on my shoulder. "But we have something to take care of right now, so pull it the fuck together."

I straighten to my full height. "No, we need to go to—"

"After. Right now, there's a more pressing issue." His ice blue eyes narrow. "Or was Jackson just for funsies?"

I step into his space, then fist his shirt. "Say something stupid like that again and I'll throw your ass right into oncoming traffic."

He laughs, the sound disturbingly musical. "Then get in and stop making us late."

Releasing his shirt, I get back in, and we pull back onto the highway.

About forty-five minutes later, we roll into the parking lot of Sunset Harbor Marina. Petrov drives to the end, and we walk to a slip where a sixty-nine-foot Galeon is docked. Walsh and Knight are on board along with Mr. Reed.

Why are they on the South Shore?

Jackson's father gives me a curt nod as I board, then heads up a flight of stairs to the second deck. A few minutes later, boat pulls out.

"Anyone care to tell me what we're doing?"

The four of them look at me as if I should know, but all I can think about right now is Jackson, and the fact his father is here with us, so this must be important.

"Our former stupid cunt of a coach is inside. He's about to meet his maker." Walsh takes a sip of whatever's in his tumbler. "And since you're Jackson's boyfriend we figured you'd want in."

"I'm in."

Knight sits next to Walsh in the huge U-shaped dinette area, his own drink in hand. He swirls the glass, then looks out at the horizon as if he's just on a cruise instead of about to commit murder.

Petrov and Novotny disappear to the bar, talking in Russian as they walk away. Great so now it's me, the psycho, and the ruthless snob. Outside of Jackson—and hockey—none of us have a thing in common.

"Is he okay?"

"He'll live," Walsh says with no emotion, almost as a matter of fact. He looks me up and down, as if assessing me, or scanning me. Like, is he a real person or some advanced robot these rich fucks might have access to? "You just going to stand there like a dumbass?"

"Fuck off."

Knight gulps down his drink and sets the tumbler down. "You two are boring me, but he's right, Killian. It's not a quick ride. Might as well take a seat. We don't . . . Yeah, we totally bite. But we kicked your ass right out of the playoffs, so we're cool for tonight."

"Gee, thanks."

When the water gets a bit choppy, I do finally sit but on one of the stools near the large aft galley. Restless energy courses through me. This guy is on the boat. He hurt Jackson. Enough that Mr. Reed is even partaking in whatever is about to happen.

The knot in my stomach grows. It has to be bad.

About thirty minutes later the Galeon slows down. Another smaller boat is in front of us. The people on board wave, then appear to start tidying up. Someone empties a pail into the water and I spot a fin.

Chum.

When the smaller boat leaves, the engine of the Galeon stops. The yacht rocks on the water, adding to my already queasy stomach. Petrov and Novotny reappear with the Titan's assistant coach, and I recognize the fucker from our games.

The man's face is already swollen, bruised, and bleeding. Seeing him, gagged, arms tied behind him, nearly sends me into a frenzy. Everything pulsates as if each cell is beating in time with my heart. Even my ears are ringing.

Mr. Reed comes down, his black suit impeccable, hair slicked back. He shoves the assistant coach to the floor and kicks him in the face. The man falls onto his back, groaning, but his eyes narrow, full of pure hatred.

I'd be scared to death if I was in that position, and it pisses me off he isn't, as if he has no regret for what he did, no fear of the consequences.

Petrov reaches down and lifts the man by his collar off the ground to his feet and drags him over to the stern platform. "Time's almost up."

Knight appears by my side and holds out a knife. "We had our fun already. Your turn. Just don't kill him."

"And don't make him bleed too much. I want him conscious as he's eaten alive," Mr. Reed says, his tone menacing.

Now I get it. The chum. The fins. They're sharks. And this homophobic fuck is about to be their dinner.

My hands are shaking as I take the knife but not from fear. I'll have no regrets once I'm done. Petrov and Walsh hold the motherfucker as I step forward, tightly gripping the hilt. Each breath comes out ragged, yet I do my best to stay calm even though I want to gut this fuck.

I look right into his eyes as I slice his cheek, deciding to keep all my cuts to his face. "Jackson's mine, and you tried to take him from me."

Another slice across his other cheek. "But you failed. He's tougher, stronger than you'll ever be, you piece of shit."

One slice across his forehead.

"You won't get a chance to try again or hurt another person."

This time I buck-fifty his face on both sides from the corners of his mouth to his ears.

Mr. Reed places a hand on my shoulder and squeezes, pulling me back until he's standing in front of the assistant coach. Walsh takes the gag off and the man spits in Mr. Reed's face. "Too bad that faggot son of yours is still breathing. You ruined my sister, my family."

Jackson's father remains calm, wiping the saliva from his cheek as if it were just a speck of dirt. "I will always carry the guilt of what happened with your sister. But my son . . . You're a fucking pussy. You should've come after me."

The man sneers. "I did, only you were too stupid to figure it out."

"No one, for any reason, touches my family." Mr. Reed looks the man dead in his eyes. "And just so you know, God's out to lunch so scream, bitch."

He push-kicks the guy overboard.

It doesn't take long for the screaming to start. With his hands still bound, he can't even try to get back on board. Two fins breach the water and the next second the asshole gets dragged under, then resurfaces.

It's a feeding frenzy.

We all watch the motherfucker until the screams stop and he gets dragged under for good. Everyone's face is a blanket of calm coldness. Not sure if mine is, especially since I'm a bundle of nerves, needing to get to Jackson.

But the rest of them—Jackson's father included—look like regal, ruthless, stone-cold kings.

Mr. Reed turns to me. "Let this be a warning. Hurt my son and you're next."

"Should we just push him over now?" We all stare at Novotny, who only shrugs. "Well, they beat each other up constantly, and you said—"

"Shut it, you idiot." Alexei slaps his cousin upside the head.

I look back to Jackson's father. "I'd burn the goddamn world to make sure there isn't another soul who thinks they can hurt him."

Petrov laughs. "You know, you're sounding more and more like a Titan."

Ignoring him, my shoulders sag as I stare at Jackson's father, my bottom lip trembling. "Can I go see Jackson now? Please?"

His father nods, then returns to the top deck. Moments later, we're heading back to the marina. Can't say we're calm, but we're all definitely quiet. Even Novotny.

And it scares the shit out of me because I don't know exactly what I'm walking into.