11. Chapter 9

Chapter 9

Beckett

The chill of the rink seeps through my wool peacoat as I step out of the locker room and make my way to the bench, hands shoved deep in my pockets, I nod at Rinne as I take my place beside him. The tension in the air is palpable, the Serpents' fans loud and boisterous, their taunts and jeers a constant hum in the background.

Rinne leans in, his voice low. "Game's gonna be a bloody one."

Nieminen snorts. "Nothing like a little bad blood to get the crowd going."

Rinne and I smirk at one another. Nieminen was a legend back in his playing days, a brute on the ice. He drew more than his fair share of blood, but he always backed it up with points on the board.

My gaze drifts over the ice, taking in our players as they run through their drills. They're focused, intense, the gravity of playing their biggest rival on enemy turf weighing on them.

And then my eyes find Viktor.

He's in the net, stretching, his long, lean body contorted into a full split. I swallow hard, my fingers curling into fists in my pockets.

It's not unusual for goalies to be flexible, but the sight of him like that, spread out and open . . . it sends a jolt of heat through me, a flash of desire I can't quite suppress.

Three nights ago, after our interaction in the alleyway, I barely made it into the shower before I was fisting my cock. And then again the next morning, waking hard and aching.

He was right when he called me out, when he threw my bullshit back in my face, because the truth is, I do want him in the most feral way. And the more he pushes, the harder it is to resist him. Like the fucking fact I should be infuriated he's been spying on me in my own home.

Except, I can't help but wonder what he's seen.

Has he seen me naked? And if so, did he like it?

"You good?" Rinne's voice snaps me out of my thoughts, his brow raised in question.

I clear my throat, dragging my gaze away from Viktor. "Yeah, just not sure what to expect. Hoping Henneman's ready for this."

"This game will test what he's made of, if he's ready to be a Titan. The team will be watching him too."

The Titans' players are tough, but I've learned they also weed out those who can't hold up. Rumors claim accidents happen, but mostly, from what I gather, they just bully whoever they want off the team until that player eventually quits.

I glance over at Knight, who's eyeing Henneman. Knight's put the rookie into the boards a few times, even during practice. And full force no less.

While Henneman remains quiet, he hasn't backed down. In my book that shows character.

Rinne chuckles suddenly, nodding toward the ice. "Looks like you've got an admirer."

I follow his gaze to see Killian Blackwell, the Serpents' captain, glaring at me from across the rink. His eyes are hard, his jaw set, a clear challenge in his stance.

"What's his deal?" I mutter, meeting his stare with a cool one of my own.

"Probably just being overprotective of Reed."

Reed is stretching alongside Walsh. He seems more at ease around me, less skittish. He even came to me for advice on his puck handling. He's still recovering, and some things he's relearning how to do at the same level he used to do them.

Nieminen calls the team over, going over strategy and reminding them the Serpents are going to be coming after them. After, he turns to Reed. "You ease up on your partner out there, or I'll bench your ass so fast your head will spin."

"Might need to bench him for going too hard. Fighting's foreplay for them," Viktor says, causing half the team to snicker.

"Says the asshat with the new necklace." Reed points to the bruises on Viktor's throat.

Bruises I put there.

My stomach twists, a sour taste in my mouth. I hadn't meant to hurt him, to leave marks. I'd thought he was Noah and lost control for a moment.

But Viktor just basks in the moment, tilting his chin up with a proud glint in his eyes, as if he's showcasing the bruises. "What can I say? I like it rough."

The night in my office, I'd marked him then too, in a way. Painted his face with my cum.

But this . . . this is different. I don't like causing pain, don't like to leave marks, even if my tastes do run toward the rougher side.

Rinne shakes his head, laughing. "Surprised he's cracking jokes. Novotny's been prickly as a cactus lately. Probably needs to work out some frustration."

A smirk tugs at my lips. Well, fuck me sideways. Did the brat finally listen? Did he follow through on not touching himself?

The puck drops, the crowd roars, and it steals my full attention. The Titans and Serpents collide immediately, bodies slamming into each other, sticks clashing like swords.

I lean forward, tracking the puck as it zips across the ice. "Knight, watch your left side! Henneman, push up—support the play!"

The Serpents are relentless, their offense a battering ram against our defense. They push and push, searching for a crack, a weakness to exploit. Then Blackwell's on a breakaway, skating hard toward the goal. My heart leaps into my throat as he winds up for the shot, the puck leaving his stick like a bullet.

But Viktor's a wall of determination and skill. He slides across the crease, his leg extending in a perfect split. The puck ricochets off his pad, bouncing harmlessly away.

"Helluva save," Rinne says beside me, his voice filled with admiration. "Kid's got instincts you can't teach."

"He sure does."

The game continues, the minutes ticking by in a haze of adrenaline and sweat. The Titans fight hard, but the Serpents match them stride for stride.

In the offensive zone, Reed and Blackwell lock into one other, trading checks and stealing the puck from each other, neither willing to give an inch.

"Those two are really trying to outdo each other every shift," Rinne says as he tracks the play. "Fucking Novotny's right."

Reed gets control and passes to Walsh, who finally scores.

As the line heads back to the bench, Reed shoots Blackwell a snarky grin. "Suck it, loser."

"You'll be sucking it later." Blackwell gives him the finger before hopping over the boards.

The game gets chippy in the third period, the Serpents desperate to even the score. One of their forwards picks a fight with Henneman, breaking his nose and leaving him in a heap on the ice. Knight just watches, a cold look in his eye, as if assessing whether Henneman is worth stepping in for.

But Viktor is on fire, making save after impossible save. He's a marvel to watch, his reflexes lightning quick, his focus absolute.

Rinne leans over. "The Islanders are going to be damn lucky to have him. Though maybe he should wait until his rights are up. Test the waters as a free agent. Probably could land a better deal, a better team."

The thought makes my stomach clench, a cold fist squeezing my heart. Viktor, playing for another team. Being somewhere far away, out of reach.

It shouldn't bother me, but it does. More than I care to admit.

Before I can dwell on it, the final horn sounds, signaling the end of the game, our team pulling out a victory by one point.

On the way to the locker room, Viktor throws an arm over Reed's shoulder. "You and Kill coming to Vortex tonight?"

Reed shrugs, a half-smile on his face. "Depends. If Kill's gonna be a sore loser, might need to stay home and cheer him up."

Viktor laughs, but then he glances back at me. There's a challenge in his eyes, a provocation. He turns back to his friend. "He's not the only one who needs to let off some steam. Might need to find someone tonight to wreck my hole."

The fucking brat. He's trying to get a rise out of me, trying to push my buttons.

And damn him, it's working.

Because the thought of him grinding on some stranger in a club, letting another man's hands roam his body . . . it makes me see red, makes me want to put my fist through the wall.

He wants to play games, fine. But he'd better be ready for the consequences.

Because I'm done holding back.