Chapter 4

ELIAS'S POV 

The shower in my apartment was running so hot the steam had turned the bathroom into a mini sauna. I still couldn't believe that I'd had sex with a guy, and Ryder at that.

“I must have been out of my mind,” I muttered to myself. If I had been drunk, I would have at least been able to blame the alcohol for last night. I couldn't get the image of me screaming under him, cumming like an idiot and even begging him to fuck me harder out of my mind.

I scrubbed my neck until the skin was raw, desperate to wash away the scent of him, that mix of expensive cologne and the lust in his eyes.

I leaned my forehead against the tile, letting the water pelt my back. I was Elias Carter, the captain of the Northwood Titans. My life was built on discipline, morning drills, and a reputation for being untouchable.

Yesterday, I was all those things before I lost to Ryder.

"Get it together," I hissed at my reflection in the fogged-up mirror. My lower lip was slightly swollen, a visible mark of my shame. I looked at the "C" on my jersey hanging on the back of the door. It looked like a mocking eye.

The training facility was already buzzing when I walked in at 6:00 AM. I was thirty minutes later than usual, a lapse in discipline that felt like a neon sign above my head.

"Rough night, Cap?"

I stiffened. Mason Riley was leaning against the doorway of the weight room, a towel draped over his shoulders. He was a sophomore with a chip on his shoulder the size of a puck, always looking for a way to climb the ladder I was currently holding.

"Just a long game, Mason. Get on the bench," I said, my voice cutting and cold. I didn't look at him, but I could feel his eyes tracking me.

The practice was a disaster. I was overcompensating, skating harder than anyone else, shouting orders that were sharper than necessary. I was trying to prove I still had the wheel, but every time I looked toward the opposing team’s practice rink across the complex, my stomach did a slow, sickening roll.

As I exited the ice, dripping sweat and breathing hard, I was cornered before I could reach the safety of the locker room.

"Elias! Just a moment?"

It was Lena Hayes. She was sharp, dressed in a tailored coat that looked too expensive for a local sports journalist, and she was holding a digital recorder.

"I’m in a rush, Lena," I said, moving past her.

"I’ll walk with you," she said, her heels clicking rapidly to keep up with my stride. "That was a hell of a hit Volkov landed on you last night. The footage of your stick snapping is going viral. People are calling it the 'End of the Carter Era.'"

I gripped my equipment bag tighter. "It was an equipment failure. It happens."

"Does it?" She stopped, forcing me to glance back. Her eyes were narrowed, scanning my face with a precision that made me feel naked. "You stayed late last night. So did Ryder. My sources say the garage security didn't see your car leave until well after 10:00 PM."

My heart skipped a beat. "I was reviewing tape. Ryder probably was too. We don't share a schedule."

"You looked… different out there today, Elias. Not at confident as before. Is there something you want to tell the fans?"

"There’s nothing to tell," I snapped, my voice rising. "The game is over. Move on."

I ducked into the locker room, slamming the door behind me. My pulse was thundering in my ears. Maybe I was paranoid but something about the questions she asked had me suspicious of her. It nearly felt like she knew something.

“No, there's no way anyone would know,” I took a deep breath to calm myself. She would have been straightforward and sure if herself if that were the case.

If she found anything though, if she even hinted at the nature of our "deal" it wouldn't just be my career on the line. It would be the entire team’s reputation.

"Elias. Hey."

Jason was sitting at his locker, his blonde hair messy from his helmet. He looked at me with a frown, ignoring the rest of the guys who were joking around in the showers.

"What's up, Jace?" I pulled my jersey over my head, hiding the bruises on my ribs.

"You’re lying to me," he said quietly. "I saw you flinch when Lena mentioned Volkov. And I saw you head toward the high-rises last night. That’s not where you live."

"I was clearing my head, Jason. Drop it."

"He did something, didn't he?" Jason stood up, his protective streak flaring. "If he’s threatening you, or if that hit was more than just a play—"

"I said drop it!" I yelled.

The room went silent. The other players stopped talking, staring at me in shock. I never yelled at Jason. He was my best friend, the only person who actually kept me grounded. I saw the hurt flash in his eyes before he slowly sat back down.

"Fine," Jason whispered. "But you're acting weird and I'm worried."

I didn't apologize. I couldn't. I just grabbed my bag and headed for my locker to grab my keys. As I opened the small metal door, something fell out.

It was a small, jagged piece of black carbon fiber. A shard from my broken stick. Wrapped around it was a piece of athletic tape with a single word written in thick, black marker:

“Soon.”

My breath hitched. I looked around the room, my eyes landing on Mason. He was sitting across from me, slowly tying his shoes. He wasn't looking at me, but there was a faint, ugly smirk on his face that hadn't been there ten minutes ago.

He had seen the note. Or maybe he’d seen the person who put it there.

I shoved the shard into my pocket, my skin crawling. I needed to get out of here. I needed to be alone.

I hurried to the parking lot, my head down, ignoring the few fans waiting by the gates. I climbed into my car and locked the doors, leaning my head against the steering wheel. My phone buzzed in the cup holder.

Unknown Number: Meet me at the old pier in thirty minutes. Don't be late, Captain.

I knew that tone. I knew that command. I started the engine, my hands shaking as I backed out of the space. As I pulled onto the main road, I glanced in my rearview mirror.

A black SUV with tinted windows pulled out two cars behind me.

It didn't turn at the light. It didn't speed up. It just sat there like a shadow following me through the city streets. Was it Lena? Was it Ryder’s people? Or was it Mason, looking for the final piece of evidence to tear the "C" off my chest?

I pressed my foot down on the gas, the engine roaring as I sped toward the water. I was terrified, out of breath, and trapped and the worst part was, I was heading straight toward the man that had made me this way.