Devious Obsession: A Dark Hockey Romance (Hockey Gods)

“I’m going to go let them in.” Thalia says, getting up from the couch and slipping her feet into my sandals by the door.

Tonight was supposed to be lowkey—and yet somehow, it’s turning into a girls’ night. She wasn’t very specific, but she did come home with a bag full of those face masks and whatever else from the drug store on the corner. I didn’t inspect it too closely.

She returns with Violet and Willow.

Violet holds up a bottle of wine. Which is fine, if we’re going that route. But then I spot the tequila Willow has in her grip, and my expression must light up.

“Someone wants to get fucked up the proper way,” Willow quips. She toes off her shoes. “We brought popcorn, too. And Thalia assured us that she has a good selection of rom-coms to choose from. Anything to keep your mind off the guy we’re not thinking about, right?”

I smile.

Yeah, okay, maybe it’s a good thing they came over.

Willow joins me on the couch, while Thalia plops into the armchair. I’m suddenly glad that we decided to get more furniture than I originally thought was necessary. That’s Thalia, though. She likes to be surrounded by people sometimes, and she knew we’d eventually have friends over.

So therefore, we got as much comfortable seating as we could find and afford.

Thalia grabs the remote, and Violet goes hunting for glasses.

“Wine or tequila?” she calls to us.

Willow and I decide on tequila, and she winks at me.

I relax farther into the couch and adjust the blanket over my lap. Violet returns with two wine glasses and two shot glasses, delivered with our shaker of salt and limes in a little plastic cup that is more likely used for sauces in to-go containers.

My brow furrows. Did we even have limes?

“What?” Willow smirks at me. “We stopped by Haven for the limes.”

That damn bar.

We prepare the salt on the back of our hands, and she pours both of us a healthy shot. We cheers and take them together, then bite into the lime. It soothes the burn, and heat spreads from my center almost immediately.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Willow pours me another shot.

I take it and let my head tip back on the couch cushion. “Steele drugged me.”

Violet chokes. “He what?”

“He put some sort of hallucinogenic in a water bottle somehow. It was sealed—”

‘There are ways around that,” Willow says, her voice dark.

Goosebumps rise on my arms. “He found me in the music practice room. I don’t know, I just thought he was coming to be nice for once… then…”

Willow grips my hand.

I squeeze back. “I don’t remember half of what’s on that video.”

“Because he’s an idiot who probably gave you too much.” Thalia shakes her head. “Trust me, I did my fair share of experimenting at my old school. It’s easy to get the dosage wrong, especially if you’re putting it into water. Did he think you’d just take one sip? Drink the whole thing?”

I shudder. I don’t know the answer to that.

“Knox got Ruby to collect your present,” Willow says suddenly, her hand still on mine. “She got a hundred bucks from him to go pick up her own damn pet.”

I snort.

When I asked Thalia if anyone owned a snake, her first phone call had been to Willow. Who just so happened to know a girl who Steele had burned their sophomore year. Slept with her then iced her out, I guess.

While I didn’t really relish the idea of having a girl who knew what Steele’s dick looked like help me with a revenge plot, Willow assured us that Steele probably wouldn’t even remember her.

And sure enough…

I smile. “He got my message, then.”

“And he’ll be coming for you.” Violet meets my gaze. “I know his type, Aspen. He’s…”

“Whatever he’s got is nothing compared to what I’m going to do to him,” I whisper. “He crossed a line—his dad pulled my funding for next semester.”

Thalia eyes me. “What about the you-know-what in the you-know-where?”

She’s talking about the cash in my closet. I checked it once we returned to our apartment but only pushed it deeper back on the shelf. The longer it sits there, the more I hate it.

I don’t want to take anything from my father, but seeing as it’s already here, ignoring it is my next best bet. He probably got it from somewhere illegal. And if I just waltzed into the financial aid office with that cash, they’d ask way more questions than I want to answer.

What if it’s tied to bad people and I get arrested?

Or worse, targeted?

“It’s not an option,” I respond in a low voice.

Violet’s gaze doesn’t waver from me. She doesn’t seem put off by our veiled conversation. If anything, her lips twitch up at the corners like she’s trying to hold back a smile. I can only imagine her and Willow have that sort of shorthand, too.

“Game on, sister,” Violet eventually says, then motions to the television. “I, for one, am ready for a movie. Popcorn, anyone?”

Five hours later, and we’ve finished two movies, eaten the popcorn, demolished the wine… and the tequila. Oops. My body and my brain are only faintly connected at this rate, which is fine by me. I’d rather not be connected at all.

And in fact, I think Willow feels the same, because she’s snoring on the couch beside me.

Violet and Thalia are talking quietly, and I roll my head toward them. They look like shadowy figures from this angle, similar with their body shape and their hair pulled away from their faces.

I tug a lock of my dark hair in front of my face, frowning at it.

I wouldn’t be mistaken for any of these girls.

Ah, well. My eyes drift closed for a minute.

Maybe longer than a minute.

When I open them again, Willow is covered in a blanket on the opposite end of the couch, curled into a little ball. I’m momentarily guilty that I’m taking up half of it, and I climb to my feet.

“I’ll be in my room,” I mumble to her, although I doubt she heard me.

Except there’s a body in my bed.

Violet, I decide upon closer inspection.

I head back out and go into Thalia’s room. She’s asleep on her back, snoring, with her arm slung over her eyes. I climb in beside her and fluff the pillow, and immediately my body goes back into the relaxed, drunken zone.

This time when I wake up, it isn’t because it’s morning.

Nope, I’m being moved. Jostled.

Is Thalia having a nightmare? Thrashing?

I crack my eyes open and am met with… white.

T-shirt.

Chest.

I drag my gaze up.

Throat.

Jaw.

Lips, nose, cheeks, eyes.

Steele.

My brain’s firing too slow for this. Am I dreaming? Am I that fucked up that I would dream about him coming to carry me away?

For the last time, Aspen, he’s not your knight in shining armor.

And yet, I can’t get that stupid image out of my head.

A door clicks behind us, and it takes a second to register that my eyes have closed again. Another door, and my stomach swoops. I’m being lowered, positioned, and yet my muscles are jelly. I really don’t even care where I’m going right now in my dream world.

It would be a better dream if I could open my eyes all the way.

Heat blasts onto me, and my body shifts with my seat’s movement. It’s not bad either. In fact, it lulls me to sleep again.

Wait…

Can you sleep in a dream?

The next thing I know, I’m in a bed.

It’s soft. Warm. And exactly how I was when I went to sleep next to my roommate.

See, brain? You were just dreaming about Steele, when you’re really still next to Thalia.

I sigh and roll over. My arms are above my head, and they get all twisted with the movement. My eyes crack open, and I stare up at my bound wrists, although it’s so dark, it’s hard to see what’s six inches in front of my face. Another minute passes while I try to catch up to what’s happening.

Why would Thalia tie me up?

I blink and try to lick my lips, but something is in the way. Hard plastic between my teeth, keeping my jaw open.

A flash of fear storms through me like lightning, obliterating the last of the drunken haze.

Nothing will wake you up quite like adrenaline.

I swallow and attempt to sit up. Something holds me fast around my ankles.

Okay.

Okay, okay, okay.

I let out a little noise. A whimper in the back of my throat.

The room is dark, and it’s silent, and I’m definitely not in Thalia’s room, that’s for sure. I pull at my wrists, my ankles, but I’ve got no leverage. When I spread my legs, something clicks—and then I can’t shut them again.

Fuck.

I close my eyes and will myself to ignore the panic welling in my chest. Breathing deep only gets me so far before I revert right back to shallow huffs through the gag.

It takes me too long to register that I’m naked. That when the air moves, it brushes against my bare skin. That there’s nothing hiding me from whoever walks through the door.

Whatever door it happens to be.

This isn’t fun anymore.

This isn’t a game.

I squeeze my eyes shut, blocking out the burning sensation and the lump in my throat. Instead of twenty-year-old Aspen, I’m a kid again. Trapped exactly like this, with only my heartbeat keeping me company. Waiting for the door to open and my nightmares to begin.

Or continue. Because they never really stopped, not back then.

I like to be in control. I like to be out of control with an emergency stop button. I like it to be my choice—and this isn’t that. My childhood wasn’t that either.

My breathing continues to come in short bursts. I stare at the darkness above me, my mind wandering.

You’re okay, I assure myself. It’s a complete lie, though. I rip at the bindings around my arms, jerk my feet. There’s another click, the bar locking and keeping my legs in their new spread position.

Seconds pass.

Then minutes.

My panic doesn’t ease. My heart doesn’t slow.

The longer I lie here, the more I’m convinced that this is cruel and unusual punishment—and for what? For leaving a snake in his bedroom? For telling his father about him? Which, that point is bullshit. I never gave his dad anything actionable. Never told him about the worst treatment Steele has given me.

Fire, I think. That safe word that lives in the back of my head. I say it out loud, but my tongue can’t get around the gag. It comes out as a muffled plea that could mean anything.

Fire.

Because we’re taught as little girls that if you’re attacked, no one will come running if you scream for help. But they will if you yell fire. People are selfish like that. They’re drawn into action by things that may hurt them. But if it’s you on the line?

Forget it.

I pant and twist and curl my fingers around the headboard, trying to get enough leverage to rip the bindings off my ankles. Or give my back some relief, because my ass is starting to go numb. I barely get my hips off the bed.

The door opens. It’s a little crack of dim light coming through, and then it closes again. My breathing stops. It’s a noise that was there, but now the room is entirely silent. Except for the footsteps that come toward me.

The bed caves. He climbs up over me and trails his finger up the inside of my thigh. I groan through my teeth. I can’t even make out his face, or his shadow.

It could be Steele, or it could be my father. I’m waiting for the flash of a camera. For the searing sharpness to temporarily blind me further. And I’m mumbling nonsense behind the gag. A string of no, no, nos that fall on deaf ears.

Something heavy drops on my belly.

And then the bed lifts again as his weight disappears, and he retreats. The door opens, and he slips out, but there’s still something on my stomach. A second later, the overhead light comes on.

I raise my head.

A snake sits coiled on my belly, its tongue flickering out.

I groan through my gag, and a burst of adrenaline burns through me. Tears leak out of my eyes. I can’t stop them. The snake doesn’t seem interested in moving, but it watches me.

The light goes out, plunging us into darkness again.

I lower my head and close my eyes, burying my face in my arm. My breathing hiccups, my nose blocks. I’m an ugly crier—always have been, always will be. My skin gets blotchy and red, I get snot running down my nose, my face contorts.

That’s probably happening now.

Except with the gag, I can’t get a good breath.

Can’t seem to take in any breath at all.

On some level, I register the escalating panic attack for what it is. I’ve been slowly ramping up while I’ve been lying here, but this is the icing on the fucking cake. He wants to torture me—and he’s succeeding.

“Fire,” I attempt to say again. The safe word that’s supposed to be my ticket off this insane ride. But nothing happens, and I stay exactly where I am.

I blink, and I’m a kid again. Anxious, scared. My brain is playing tricks on me, making me see my old room. The purple comforter under my body, the stuffed animals that lined the bed next to the wall. I used to think they’d protect me, too.

My breathing is still ragged when the snake uncurls. It slithers lower, down over my abdomen. It drops down between my legs, and the feel of it sliding across my core is too violating. I shudder. My chest heaves, the fear dripping into my lungs icy cold. It freezes me from the inside out. My skin crawls—and my mind splinters.

I lean into the numbness, begging my brain to give up control. To not care that Steele is torturing me for his own sick pleasure, for payback. I just want to shut it off for a minute, or an hour, or a day. I just don’t want to be here anymore.

And my brain accepts.

The tears stop.

The shaking stops.

I stare at the ceiling—or where I imagine the ceiling to be, since I can’t see a thing—and wait. My body is cold, but I’m caught up in a floating sensation. Like I’m not really here, after all. I’m just watching this happen from far, far away.

When Steele finally reemerges, and the light flickers on, I don’t really notice it. My eyes ache as my pupils retract, but I don’t look away from the spot on the ceiling. It has a crack running through the paint, forking off in different directions. I can see it now, although I had already built the image in my head. I fixate on the cracks. Maybe the ceiling will split and come crashing down on us.

He leans over me, and I flinch when he touches me.

That’s what he wanted, right? To break me?

I think he succeeded.