3. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

Viktor

Soft music fills the expansive circular room that sits on the upper level of the mega-yacht. As we step inside, the glass surrounding us showcases all the stars bedazzling the ink-black sky. I strut in first, a broad smile on my face. "Your king has arrived."

Of course that garners some chuckles, then handshakes. Nothing like being the adored goalie of the Crestwood University Titans hockey team.

Feisty Mouse nudges my shoulder. "Do you always need to be the center of attention?"

I snort. "I'm the damn sun, center of the universe."

"The sun is not the center of the universe." Zach adjusts that ugly ass pink gold Audemars Piguet watch of his.

Who even gets pink gold?

Now, my cobalt blue watch, complete with glare proof sapphire crystals from their Royal Oak collection, makes a statement.

Alexei wraps his big lug arm over Eli, then pulls him away, and my smile fades. Sure, I get it. They want to spend as much time together as they can since Alexei signed with the New Jersey Devils. But those fucknuts left me alone most of the summer to go to Minnesota.

Nothing like having my cousin and best friend ditch me to go see the Feisty Mouse family. Well, Alexei also did some offseason training while out there. But they could've invited me along.

Can't be too mad. I'm proud of my cousin and happy the NHL finally took notice of him. It'll be weird not having him around, but he's leaving Eli in my care so at least I'll still have my best friend.

Of course, Jackson's outside talking to Killian. Curious what this season's going to be like when we play the Serpents. But those two consider fighting a type of foreplay, so the games will probably continue to be just as intense.

I'm worried about him though. We haven't met our new assistant coach yet, and while my teammate claims he's fine, I notice little details that say otherwise. They're easy to spot since we're roommates this year. Not that he has to worry. He has us, and if this new guy is an issue . . . we'll take care of him.

Connor slaps my shoulder. "Time to schmooze."

My favorite pastime activity—being the center of attention, and the Annual Gala hosted by Crestwood's Department of Athletics is the perfect opportunity.

To my left, Zach's eyes blaze, his fists clench and, to be blunt, he looks like he's about to murder someone. While I love attention, he barely enjoys being around the five of us. Things between him and me were awkward for a while after the one time we played together.

Didn't know what I was getting into, how sadistic he can get. Unfortunately, scars were left. Think Zach's secretly afraid of what Alexei would do if he finds out.

Not that I'd ever tell my cousin.

But over the summer, Zach came to me for help. Turns out, he needs my assistance in tracking down that cockroach of a stepbrother he has. A specialty of mine, thanks to my mother and her family.

Sure, the larger part of the family business is definitely not legal. But we're powerful. And matriarchal.

Thank God.

At least I never have to worry about giving up hockey. My sister, on the other hand, lives with my aunt, Alexei's mom, who runs the show and is training her to take over one day.

Mom and Dad made sure I'm capable of taking care of myself too. They taught me how to protect myself, along with other skills that feed into my stalker tendencies.

Stupid them.

But thanks to their not-so-bright idea, I spent most of the summer trying to help my teammate track down his runaway sibling.

Turns out, the little shit nearly killed Zach five years ago, and my friend is hellbent on ending his existence.

The chatter in the room grows louder as more people arrive. Connor and I spend a good half an hour mingling with the donors. More like practicing our manipulation skills. And damn am I good.

When our team captain starts flirting with some girl, I make my way to the lounge area, then drop into a chair next to Zach, who's scrolling through his phone. "If I can pretend I'm straight, can't you pretend to have emotions?"

"Emotions are overrated. And, unlike you, I don't need the attention." His tone is as cold and flat as ever. It's like talking to a wall sometimes, but that's just Zach.

"Blah, blah." I sit farther back into the soft leather chair. "Haven't pinpointed your little cockroach yet."

"Neither has my father's private investigator. Just find that little fuck first."

I nod as I take in the room, my attention settling on a man at the bar. He's cute with his thick, dark brown hair that's shorter on the sides and longer on top. And the way his trimmed beard frames his jawline is making my dick hard.

Love the whole rugged yet refined appearance. Goes well with that tousled style he's got going on.

Effortless yet meticulously groomed.

My head tilts, and I look closer at the way he glances around and hunches over, as if he doesn't belong.

And that suit . . . cheap. Well, cheap for this crowd.

Yep. He's not supposed to be here.

Bet the fucktard snuck on the yacht. Or maybe he's one of these rich ole ladies' side pieces.

Too bad. He's making my dick twitch, so he's mine now. "Time to have some fun."

Zach glances up from his phone. "Don't kill anyone. None of our fathers will be able to save your ass."

"Yeah, yeah. Time and place. Heard it before." I wave a haphazard hand, then straighten my Brioni suit jacket, eye-fucking my toy for the night.

The man's swirling his near empty glass of whatever, so I take the opportunity to lean against the bar sideways, staring right at him. "Need another?"

"I'm good." He doesn't bother looking up and it sends a jolt through me.

A challenge.

"Man of few words. I like it." I signal the bartender. "Macallan 26 neat. Another on the rocks."

After showing her my ID, she goes about getting our drinks.

"Said I was good."

"You're milking ice water at this point. Just say thank you and stop being so grumpy. It's a gala."

He snorts.

"Care to tell me how you snuck onto the yacht? You obviously don't belong here."

The grump of a man turns, glaring at me, and holy fuck he's one of those people with two different eye colors—one green and one blue.

"You're so pretty."

The words slip out. Not that I wanted to stop them, but I certainly didn't voluntarily say them.

Not even sure why the fuck that turns me on. Maybe because I've only seen it in movies. Bet it'll be a sight to behold when I'm on my knees, staring up into them with his dick stuffed in my mouth.

His face softens a bit, the side of his mouth twitching as if he wants to smile but fights it.

The bartender brings our drinks and I pick up my glass, taking a sip. "So, which of these old hags brought you along? Or was I right the first time?"

And now he's impassive once again. Swear it's like talking to Zach.

He gets up, then walks away. From me. Leaving the fucking thousand-dollar glass of whiskey on the bar.

Fine, the money I can wipe my ass with. His attitude, on the other hand, is clouding my normally sunshiny—and slightly unhinged—personality.

I turn to the bartender and throw down three thousand dollars, wink, then follow after him with my drink in hand.

Up ahead, he stops and talks to Coach Nieminen, so I hang back. Coach Fuckhead will start lecturing me about drinking. Like that's the worst thing I've done. Bet most of his gray hairs are from me and my friends.

Although, there's that dark streak that runs through him too.

We suspected it at first, but when he helped drug Coach Buckland after he beat the shit out of Jackson we knew. Like it was no sweat off his back.

What did he say? Oh, yeah. "He's no more valuable than the bag of trash I throw out every Sunday."

I chuckle, a bit too loudly, then duck behind a group of old geezers to stay hidden.

They talk for a while, and it occurs to me my new toy didn't sneak onto the mega-yacht. He was invited. But it's obvious he doesn't want to be here.

Too bad.

His loss is my dick's gain.

Eventually, he makes his way to the bathroom, and taking a page out of Alexei's book, I follow a few minutes later. While I might be unhinged, I draw the line at flirting with guys as they take a leak.

Only because I did it once, and the fucker must've eaten asparagus or some shit because his piss stank. Gave me the instant ick.

I look at my Audemars Piguet. Five minutes should be long enough to have finished. I saunter down the hallway, then into the expansive marble bathroom.

Crestwood University spares no expense when it comes to the athletics fundraiser. Then again, they have no choice. No one would come if they got some ratty-ass party boat.

"And there he is, the man of the hour." I walk over, sip my drink, then place the glass down.

He stares at me by way of the mirror as he washes his hands.

I flash a grin, flipping my wavy blond hair from my eyes. "Oh, come on now. I know you love my sunny disposition."

He just shakes his head, still indifferent.

I sigh dramatically. "Let me guess, you're straight."

"What I am is of no concern to you."

Some other guest comes out of the stall and washes his hands. I quirk a brow and the fucker snickers. But I catch the way this jackass casually splays his fingers and graze's my toy's ass on his way out.

Wrong move, fuckface.

When the idiot gets closer, I grab his hair and smash his face into the wall. Well, more accurately, the full-length mirror attached to the wall. "Didn't they teach you in school to keep your hands to yourself?"

He yelps as blood runs down his nose, covering his lips and chin.

"What the hell is wrong with you?"

I ignore my toy and shove the perv toward the door. "Say you fell. Otherwise, you'll be swimming back to shore—if you even make it."

The man grabs a shit ton of paper towels, then runs out. I turn back to my toy, pick up my glass, then hold it up and give an air-cheer. "You're welcome."

"You're insane."

I sip my whiskey, then place the glass back down. "Yeah, but I am your knight in shining armor."

He keeps that indifferent expression as he tries to step around me, but I move in front of him. "You're really not going to say thank you?"

"For what?"

"Did you want him to touch your ass?"

He doesn't answer.

"Did you?"

"No."

I curtsey and grin. "Hence, your knight in shining armor."

"Grow up." He places a hand on my chest, moving me forcefully, yet carefully—if that's even possible—out of the way, then pulls the door open and walks out.

Okay, so that didn't necessarily go the way I wanted, but he didn't run screaming from me like most people do.

That's a plus. And I can be mature.

I look in the mirror, adjust some wavy strands of hair, straighten my suit jacket, then grab my glass and head out.

Whoever this guy is, he's stuck on the yacht with me for the rest of the night. Plenty of time to win him over.