Page 12 of Break

“Professionalism is important here, Jax.”

He continues watching me with mischief in his eyes. I swallow. “You can get dressed.”

“Do you want me to?”

The twitch in his boxers draw my eyes low, and I quickly turn around to check the last box. “As long as your drug test comes back clean, you’re good.”

I hear the rustling of his clothes but don’t turn around. I hate them. I have to hate them. For what they did, what they knew about and allowed when it came to my dad, the way they blamed me for it.

I clear my throat. “We’re done here. Feel free to go back to the gym.”

“It’s only a matter of time, Hope,” Jaxon says.

As I try to walk toward my desk, he grasps my wrist, spinning me around until he has me caged against the counter. My body heats, and as twisted as that is, I still don’t ever want him to touch me again.

His eyes dip over me and he shakes his head. “A matter of time.”

“Your time is up,” I grit. “Head back out there.”

He takes one step back, then another, but his fingers ghost over my wrist like a promise. When the door shuts, I rub the place on my hip that he touched. One little touch, his intense gaze, it shouldn’t rattle me.

Maybe when they… did what they did, they broke something in me. They screwed me up in a way I can’t undo. Because some part of me, some dirty, depraved part, wanted Jaxon to strip me, to force me on my knees and make me choke on his hard cock no matter how much I fought.

I wanted him to grab my wrists, slam me against a wall, and make me his. I know he can. I know he wouldn’t hesitate and… And that’s all the more reason to push these three away at every opportunity.

They’re predators, hunters, and if they smell any weakness on me or some lingering lust—even if it’s not for them, even if it’s the kind of lust that just gets me through the worst memories of my life, they’ll pounce.

I might not be able to find someone who will engage my kinks—they’re dark, so that’s understandable since most people only see me as ‘cute’—but that doesn’t mean I’m going to go tothe three bullies who made me develop kinks to deal with the past.

Trauma bonding isn’t the same as a relationship, and I’m done settling for being a toy. I’ll have a say in my next relationship. I’ll have some kind of power, even if the power is just deciding yes or no. And no amount of long, eager gazes, threats, or sex appeal is going to change my mind. Especially not where these three animals are involved.

Six

Thankfully, I take lunch before I have to deal with Dimitri. Knox was unpredictably pissy, beyond what I’ve come to expect of him, and Jaxon’s gaze still lingers on my body. I don’t want to deal with Dimitri quite yet.

After a few sobering breaths and some time away from the guys since I decide to go to a local restaurant and get a sub rather than chance the cafeteria, I almost feel in controlof things again.

Maybe I can survive these guys being in my space. Maybe I can keep enough distance between us and push back enough until they leave me alone.

And if they do try to start shit, most of the guys on the team like me. I’ve made sure to build up my defenses. I won’t be alone like last time. I won’t be the girl who’s easy to pick on with no friends and no backup.

Jared would absolutely protect me. So would some of the other guys I’ve helped with injuries. Mike is huge and dense. He’s a defensive lineman, which means he knows how to take hits and dole them out. I half think the padding he wears in games is to protect whatever offensive players have to take him on because he isn’t the kind of guy anyone wants to fight singlehandedly.

Continuing to think about the guys who like me enough to invite me out to team nights at bars and pubs makes me feel better. I’m almost smiling when I finish my sandwich. Until my phone rings.

Then I just stare at the horror movie theme song.

I made sure my dad had aspecificring tone. I glare at the phone, watching it ring because I can’t deal with the idea of talking to him at all, even over a phone.

My hands start to shake at the memory of his voice, the mental image I have of him, of everything he put me through.

Dads are supposed to protect their daughters. They’re supposed to love them from a distance. They’re supposed to cherish them, help them grow, maybe scare the shit out of some boyfriends. They aren’t supposed to…

I shake my head of the thought. If I let myself slip into those memories, it will take me hours or days to pull myself out of them. So I just hit the button on the side of my phone to silence the ringing.

Dad always gets mad if I send him to voicemail. And when he’s angry, it becomes an issue that I have to deal with. Right now, I have enough on my plate. I can always just tell him later that I was working and I’m not allowed to have my phone. Maybe that will curb some of his anger and let me off with a warning or just a very long tirade.

But after a minute where I’m hopeful I can escape without a call back, my phone starts ringing again.

---