Page 35 of Frozen Hearts
Bile burns my throat. Ravages through cartilage and muscle until I’m incapable of speaking, even as that one syllable forms a chant in my head.
No. No, no, no, no, no.
With every blink, the warehouse goes in and out of focus. Steel-clad walls are replaced with cream ones. The cement floor beneath my feet switched out for a bed with pink sheets and frilly pillows.
Always such a good girl.
My stomach cramps, my next moves occurring on autopilot as I drive my elbow into the asshole’s side. He grunts, air whooshing from his lungs as he doubles over. One foot planted in the present, the other in the past. I spin to face him, seeing his tear-stung, mud-brown eyes and scruffy beard, his worn cotton T-shirt with pit stains and scuffed-up jeans without actually taking any of it in.
Red colors his cheeks as he recovers, teeth gritted as those eyes snap to mine, hardening in anger. “Bitch,” he snarls, the vulgar word my only warning before he lunges.
A strong hand grabs my arm in a bruising grip, nails caked with dirt digging into the skin as he tugs me toward him. Wide-eyed and frantic, I gaze at the crowd of towering men around us. A crowd that is either unaware or uncaring of what is happening. Is this what Xander meant by being careful, by not going off alone?
I flick my eyes to the bar, frantically searching for Tara or Xander. I find the two of them at the far end, in the middle of what looks like a heated argument. Neither of them looks my way and fear rattles my bones as I realize I’m alone. They haven’t seen what is happening. I can’t rely on them to come to my rescue.
A scream builds at the base of my throat, lips parting as I suck air into my lungs. However, before it can burst free, a heavy hand clamps down on my shoulder before swiftly sliding to the back of my neck, giving a gentle squeeze.
Frozen in place, my very bones quake as I watch the man in front of me tear his eyes away from me to glare daggers at whoever stands behind me. Except, that murderous rage bleeds out of him, pupils dilating in awe and… fear.
Fuck, who the hell is behind me to cause such a reaction?
The man before me visibly swallows. “R-Ruthless.”
Fuck. If possible, my spine straightens further, and I become irrevocably aware of his hand like a brand on the back of my neck as long, slender fingers rub slow, gentle circles over my pulse point.
“I-I’m sorry. I d-din’t know s-she was y-yours.” The man stumbles over his words, stripped down to a stuttering fool in Ruthless’ presence.
“Now you do,” comes Ruthless’ flat yet deadly response. “And if you don’t want me to break every bone in your hand, you’ll walk away and never so much as glance in her direction ever again.”
“Y-Yes. O-Of course.” He’s barely got the words out before he backs away, scurrying like a city rat into the nearest drain in his haste to blend in with the mob around us.
Too stunned to move, I stare at the spot where the man disappeared for several blinks before I catch ahold of myself. Spinning, I dislodge Ruthless’ hand as I stare into those cold eyes, like chips of ice, as they glare down at me.
Endless seconds tick by. Me staring. Him glaring.
“Looks like you bit off more than you could chew with that one,” he drawls. One side of his lips is hitched in a sneer, although the rest of his expression remains perfectly blank. Unaffected. Except for those eyes that blaze with a thousand fires. Fires of ice. Of cold, brutal rage that I can’t even begin to comprehend.
Through the shock, it takes a moment for his words to penetrate, but when they do, I snap back into myself as though I’d somehow become disconnected from my body. As if the terror and shock of the situation had separated my body from my mind.
“Oh, go fuck yourself,” I snarl, any and all gratitude I may have felt dying a quick death.
He sighs, tucking his hands into the pockets of his jeans as though he hasn’t a care in the world. “This again? I thought we’d been over this already, Babydoll. Or have you already forgotten about your desperate attempt to follow me into the bathroom earlier?”
Teeth gritted, I’m surprised steam doesn’t stream from my nose. “I was not. Following. You,” I hiss with deadly venom.
He smirks, pure, masculine cockiness in every twitch of those muscles, and before he can spout some other bullshit that will only enrage me further, I spin on my heel, giving him my back as I storm through the crowd toward the bar.
I feel his eyes on me the entire time. Even after I’ve found Tara and asked her if we could leave. Even after she agrees and leads me through the crowd toward the door.
Even after we’ve gotten into her car and driven away from the warehouse, I still feel those ice-cold eyes digging into my back like arrows of icicles embedded in my skin.
10
LOGAN
My knee bounces as Coach goes over his typical pre-game spiel. However, instead of hanging off his every word like I usually do, my mind is stuck on her. Is she here?God, I hope so.I left tickets for her at will call, and because I’m a glutton for punishment, I got her a seat rink-side, so I’ll fucking know if she doesn’t show.
Fuck, please show.
