4. Chapter 2

I hold the door to Antonio"s Subs open for our winger Raiyne, the blast of warm air from inside a welcome respite from the blustery winds whipping at our faces. He smirks, giving me an exaggerated curtsy before sauntering inside like he owns the place.

Sarcastic fuck.

The delicious aroma of toasted bread and melted cheese envelops me like a comforting hug as I follow him in. My stomach rumbles loudly, reminding me just how long it"s been since I last ate. The cozy interior of the restaurant is packed with hungry customers, the red vinyl booths filled to capacity.

"I"m starving, Cap." Raiyne gives me a light punch on the shoulder. "You buying me dinner, right?"

I chuckle, shaking my head at his audacity. "Don"t you ever buy your own shit?"

"With a pretty face like mine, never have to." He grins, dramatically batting his eyelashes.

"Pretty face, my ass."

Raiyne"s far from ugly, with his sharp features and piercing hazel eyes. But there"s something about him, a hint of danger that lurks just beneath the surface. It"s like looking at a twisted version of Peter Pan, one you know instinctively to steer clear of.

Then again, most people seem drawn to that danger. They just don"t realize that when it comes to Raiyne, there"s no hint. He"s all-out sinister.

Just like most of the Serpents.

Truthfully, I'm probably one of the tamer members of the team, sort of like their warden, keeping them in line and making sure they don"t go too far off the rails. And I can't say they don't need it, especially when it comes to the monthly hunts in the Pine Barrens.

Raiyne studies the large menu hanging over the register, his brow furrowed. "Can"t believe we"re staying at the same hotel as the Titans."

Sometimes I wonder what I did to make the universe hate me so much. Why couldn't we be staying somewhere else? Sure, there are three other teams in our hotel as well . . . but the Titans.

That's just asking for one big murder scene. Hope the Providence police force is up to the task.

"Just remember why we're here." My voice is stern, which it needs to be to keep my teammates in line. Not that I'm any better, especially when it comes to Jackson Reed.

There"s nothing I enjoy more than slamming that asshole into the boards, feeling the satisfying crunch of his body against the plexiglass. I"ve been doing it so often that I can still catch a whiff of his bergamot, oak, and sandalwood body wash when we"re on the ice together.

Raiyne must be thinking the same thing because he pins me with a knowing stare, one eyebrow raised. "Like you don"t want to find out which room is Reed"s and break his leg?"

I can"t help but chuckle. "No denying that."

"What did you say to him anyway? Seriously, he flips the switch if you just say ‘Hi' half the time."

"Might have reminded him what a shit player he is. You know, seventh-round draft pick and all."

Not the smartest move, but I hated losing to them and just couldn't help myself. Especially after getting dumped the night before. Nothing like being told you"re a boring lay to put you in a bad mood. But, as usual, the universe saw fit to have my now ex-girlfriend break up with me right before our game against the Titans.

Bringing up the draft was definitely a low blow, specifically since I'd gotten picked by the Rangers in the second round. Only my closest friends know the real reason I opted to go to college instead of signing the contract.

Reed ended up breaking my nose during the ensuing brawl. It wasn't the first time, and it definitely won't be the last fight we'll ever have.

The server at the counter greets us with a bubbly smile, her blond ponytail swaying. "What can I get for you guys tonight?"

"I"ll take a large meatball sub, extra cheese and peppers," I say, my mouth watering. "And my friend here will have. . ."

"Make that two large meatball subs, extra cheese." Raiyne grins, rubbing his stomach.

Ten minutes later, walking across the parking lot, our food in hand and the warm scent of melted cheese wafting up from the bags, my footsteps falter at the sight of the five figures standing in front of us, dressed head to toe in black.

Jackson fucking Reed and his four friends.

If there"s one group of people I hate more than anything, it"s this one. Entitled rich assholes, with a healthy dose of psychosis to boot. They rival the Serpents in almost every way, except for one key difference—wealth. Not that anyone at our school is poor, but none of us are in the top point-five-percent of rich families the way these spawns of Satan are.

"What the fuck do you want?" Raiyne snarls, his voice dripping with venom.

"Just your friendly welcoming party." Jackson's gaze bounces from Raiyne to me, his light green eyes as intense as touching a bare wire. "Did you buy me dinner too?"

"Eat shit."

He just snorts, dismissing my weak comeback with a wave of his hand.

Jackson runs his hands through his wavy chestnut hair, and I turn my eyes from him to his teammate, who's bouncing on his toes like a deranged jackrabbit, a crystalline mask decorated like a demon nun—complete with an upside down cross—covering his face.

Viktor Novotny.

He, along with Connor Walsh and Zach Knight, are on a whole other level of dangerous compared to Jackson and Alexei Petrov.

I turn back to Jackson, my jaw clenched so tightly my teeth grind together. "Leave it for the games, asshole."

"Uh . . . no." He smirks, his eyes glinting with malice.

"So what? We're going to fight in the parking lot with cameras all around? Thought you were smarter than that."

Novotny chuckles behind his mask, the sinister sound sending a chill down my spine.

Jackson steps closer, invading my personal space. "Figured a celebratory hunt was in order. Thought you Serpents would appreciate the irony."

Fuck.

Raiyne"s lips curl into an evil half-smile as his eyes glitter. Of course he"d like the idea. But I don"t.

The Serpents hunt a different kind of prey, ones we"ve made sure deserve it. Because they don"t walk out alive. I hardly participate—only when the victim has committed some atrocity that I"m truly passionate about punishing them for.

"Guess you two should start running." Petrov clenches and unclenches his fists, the veins in his forearms bulging. "Five, four—"

Jackson"s smile turns wolfish, his gleaming white teeth bared. "Three, two—"

God fucking dammit.

Raiyne drops his food, bending at the knees like he"s about to take off sprinting.

"Reed, cut the shit. Now."

"Better run, bitch." His lips peel back into a snarl. "One."

I spin on my heels and take off running through the parking lot as fast as my legs will carry me, Raiyne to my left, matching me stride for stride.

"These fuckers are crazy." My teammate sounds both pissed and intrigued. "Can't believe they ruined dinner. I was really looking forward to that sandwich."

"Shut the fuck up and move your ass." I pump my arms harder, my heart slamming against my ribcage.

We dart between brick buildings and down alleyways hoping to lose the bastards, but their footsteps never cease pounding the concrete behind us. Up ahead is the dark outline of the woods, the same ones that run behind our hotel.

Without a second thought, I veer right, plunging into the tree line. But when I glance over my shoulder expecting to see Raiyne, he"s nowhere to be found. The idiot must have gone left instead.

Fuck my life.

Last thing I need right now is for my friend to get hurt. However, when I slow down to double back, Jackson comes into view. So, I turn and head further into the woods.

Branches whip at my face and arms, the darkness pressing in around me like a living thing. My lungs burn with each gasping breath, and my legs ache. But I can"t stop. I won"t stop. Not until I"m sure I"ve lost him or until my body gives out.

Whichever comes first.