Page 4 of Ice Princess

His spittle flies when he says, “You were always like this, Rebel. Acting all high and mighty when you’re nothing but a pretty face from the trailer park.”

My lips tighten into a firm line, but it’s not because of his words. I’ve been called ‘trailer trash’ all my life. Cliff would have to try harder to hurt me.

My eyes slide down to my phone.

Fifty-five minutes left.

Restlessness pours into me and makes my fingers jittery. We’re working against the clock here. I don’t have time for his temper tantrum.

“Let me go, Cliff.”

He yanks me forward instead so I collide with his chest.

None of his crew members come to my aid. Not that I expect them to turn against their own boss.

I’m on my own.

I struggle to free my arm from the bigger man, but he’s got a rock-hard grip. I claw at his hand with my fingernails. “Let go!”

Cliff snarls at me, his bruised ego turning him into something ugly. “I bet you could get away with anything thanks to that pretty face of yours. Well, sorry. I’m no longer one of those losersfrom Cornblue who worships you. I won’t letanyonedisrespect me. Much less a woman like you.”

Fear skitters down my throat as his fingers tighten on me.

My voice trembles, “Cliff, I said let?—”

Something whistles through the air. I see a black blur come dangerously close to Cliff’s face. A moment later, it thunks to the ground by his feet.

Cliff yelps. “What was that?”

I scan the disc on the floor.

It’s a hockey puck.

At that moment, a low voice rumbles from the doorway. “Let her go or the next shotwon’tmiss.”

CHAPTER

TWO

GUNNER

Clifford Davoe’sface turns purple with fury and he flings Rebel’s hand down, storming toward me with a snarl.

“You’re asking for a beating, Kinsey.”

I swing the old, busted hockey stick over my shoulder like a baseball bat.

Clifford’s workmen take threatening steps toward me. I deliver a warning glare. It’s a look that needs no words and the crew shirk back, glancing at each other with uncertainty.

Clifford nears me and I toss the hockey stick to the ground, preparing for a fight.

It’s a toss-up for who’ll get the bigger beating.

I’ve gotten my fair share of bloody lips and raw knuckles on the ice, but Cliff’s become a lot brawnier since high school. Besides that, he’s got a skull so thick, he could probably crush cement with it.

I don’t expect to walk out of here without a bruise.

But before Clifford and his beer paunch can reach me, a streak of pink cuts in front of his path.

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