Page 108 of Tangled In Tinsel & Knots
They don’t. Beard reaches, trying to get around him, fingers brushing the air close to my arm.
The rink lights flicker.
Once.
Twice.
Then the world snaps into darkness.
Music dies. Voices rise. Skates scrape in sudden stops. Shadows stretch and twist in my peripheral vision.
Chris’s hand clamps on my hip, dragging me tight against his back. “Hannah?”
“I’m here,” I manage.
“Don’t move.”
Then the stockier man lunges, arm swinging toward Chris’s head in a wild arc. I see the punch coming, sharp against the dim glow of the distant streetlights. Dread consumes me.
Chris intercepts the punch mid-swing, forearm snapping up to block with a force that jolts through his body and into mine. The impact cracks through the air like a snapped branch. Beard jerks at the collision, pain twisting his face.
Before the man can recover, Chris rotates his stance, catches the front of Beard’s jacket, and drives a controlled, vicious strike straight into the ribs. Not wild. Not sloppy. Perfectly placed. Beard folds, choking on a breath.
But Scar is already moving.
He steps wide around Chris, using the distraction to go for me. In the dimness, his outline is sharp enough to see his gloved hand stretching toward my arm.
“Come here, Omega,” he hisses, his voice cutting through the muffled noise of the crowd. “Let me show you what a real man can offer you.” He gropes himself.
My feet scramble backward on the slick ice, skates wobbling. My nails dig into the back of Chris’s jacket. Every cell in my body screamsMove, but fear punches deep and makes me slower than I should be.
Scar’s fingertips are inches from me?—
Then he’s gone.
Two heavy shapes slam into him from opposite sides, appearing out of the shadows so fast I barely register them before the impact. Noel hits him low, driving his shoulder intoScar’s hips with enough force to knock the air straight out of him. Kane strikes high, grabbing the front of Scar’s coat and using that momentum to yank him upward and sideways.
The three bodies crash into the boards so hard the metal rattles. Scar’s breath leaves him in a shocked, strangled sound as Noel drags him down to the ice, pinning him with ruthless anger, while Kane braces beside them, ready to break him in half if he tries anything.
The impact is brutal. Someone screams. The crowd surges away, bodies pressing back, skates scratching hard against the ice as people scramble to get clear.
Beard tries to push up again, fury flashing in his eyes.
Chris doesn’t warn him, just moves. His fist snaps out in a brutal, perfectly timed strike that connects squarely with Beard’s jaw. The sound is sickening, hard knuckles meeting bone with a crack that echoes across the ice.
Beard goes down like a felled tree, his whole body whipping backward before he slams flat onto the ice, arms sprawled, eyes glassy.
Chris stands over him, breathing steady, drawing me closer to him. “Stay down,” he commands, voice low enough that only Beard and I can hear. “Try getting up again and I will put you right back through the ice.”
Beard doesn’t move. Not even a twitch.
Across from us, Noel has Scar facedown on the ice, one knee grinding between his shoulder blades, hand locked on the back of his neck. Kane braces at his side, free hand fisted in Scar’s jacket, ready to drive him down again if he even breathes wrong.
The lights hum. There is a flicker, then a sudden blaze of harsh white as the system kicks back on. People wince, shielding their eyes.
“Sorry about that, folks! Little hiccup with the circuit breaker. Everything’s fine again. Enjoy your night!” the rinkattendant chirps over the speakers, blissfully unaware that the ice just hosted a small war.
Everyone else is very aware.
