Hunting The Prey

JULIAN

I sat on the edge of the mattress in my flat, the adrenaline from the locker room had finally leveled out, leaving a cold, clean focus in my chest.

Rowan was a joke. The town’s hockey god, the pristine captain, was nothing but a submissive whore for the younger brother of the guy he had put in a cell. The way his body had given up, the way he had arched his hips into my hand while I squeezed his neck—it was pathetic. 

Physical violence wasn't going to be enough to break him. If I just beat him to a bloody pulp, he’d look like a martyr to the scouts. To destroy a god, you had to make him ruin himself. You had to drag his dirty secrets into the light.

I pulled out my phone and unlocked it. I bypassed my primary contact list and opened the burner app.

Maya Ashcroft.

I pulled up her public university profile. She handled the student-athlete compliance tutoring logs at the athletic center, and her schedule was right there. Tuesday nights. Late shift at the campus library.

I typed out a quick, direct message to her account: 

“Hey Maya, I’m Julian, the new transfer recruit on the hockey team. Coach Ted said you handle the athletic logs for English credits. I need to get my compliance hours sorted this week. Are you at the library tonight?”

I hit send. Five minutes passed before the screen lit up.

“Hi Julian! Yes, I’m working the desk until 9:00 PM. I have a private study room booked in the back stacks for athlete hours. Come on by.”

I tossed the phone onto the bed and stood up. The trap was set.

The next morning, the temperature inside the rink was freezing. Rowan arrived fifteen minutes late. He didn't say a word to Fred or Jamal, keeping his head down as he pulled his shoulder pads over his ears. He was pale, the skin under his eyes dark and bruised from a complete lack of sleep. His hands shook as he laced his skates.

I stood right across from him, buckling my helmet, letting my eyes burn into the top of his head until he finally looked up. When his bloodshot eyes met my mismatched ones, a visible tremor ran through his jaw.

"Line up on the blue line!" Coach Ted’s voice echoed off the plexiglass. 

"Full-contact transition drills. Move!"

We skated out onto the ice. Rowan took his position at center for the scrimmage, his breathing already heavy. I skated up directly beside him, our shoulders slamming together as we waited for the coach to drop the puck.

"You look like hell, Captain, rough night?" I muttered, keeping my eyes fixed straight ahead on the referee.

"Shut your mouth, Julian," Rowan hissed, his knuckles turning white around his stick.

"I don't blame you," I said, letting out a low chuckle. "I wouldn't sleep either. Maya and I have an appointment tonight at the library. She was real eager to help me get my compliance hours sorted. She’s got a sweet voice, Rowan. Sounds just like you when you’re whimpering."

Rowan’s head snapped toward me, his face twisting into an expression of pure, unhinged rage. His chest heaved against his jersey. 

"If you go near her, I swear to God—"

"What?" I interrupted, turning my head to look at him dead in the face. 

"You'll do what? Cry? Get hard against my leg again? You don't dictate a damn thing anymore, Captain. I do."

The whistle blew. Rowan completely blew his assignment. Instead of chasing the puck, he lunged violently toward me, but I anticipated the move, easily spinning out of his reach. He stumbled blindly, crashing into the boards. Coach Ted blew his whistle again, a sharp, angry blast.

"Ashcroft! What the hell was that?!" the coach screamed from the bench. "Keep your head in the game or give me the jersey!"

Rowan didn't look at the coach. He just stood against the boards, his breathing ragged, his wild eyes tracking me as I skated back to the blue line with a lazy smirk.

By 8:30 PM, the campus library was completely dead. I walked inside, my soft-soled shoes making no sound on the carpeted floor. I found Maya at the front desk, looking exactly like her pictures—dark hair, soft eyes, entirely untouched by the rot her brother kept hidden.

"Julian?" she asked, her eyes widening slightly as she took in my height, my mismatched eyes, and the tattoos peeking out from my hoodie.

"In the flesh, Am I early?" I said, putting on a harmless, charming smile.

"No, perfect timing," she said, stepping out from behind the desk. 

"The back study rooms are totally empty. Follow me." I walked behind her through the long rows of bookshelves, my eyes locked onto the back of her neck. We entered a small, isolated room with a glass wall and a heavy wooden table. She sat down, opening her logbook.

"So, what exactly do you need help with?" she asked. I sat down across from her, leaning back and crossing my legs. I didn't open a book. 

"You look a lot like your brother, Maya."She froze, a small frown wrinkling her forehead.

 "You know Rowan?"

"We're teammates," I replied smoothly. "Same locker room. He talks about you a lot. He's very protective of you."

"Yeah, he is," she said, a soft smile breaking across her face.

 "Ever since we were younger, he thinks he has to carry the whole world. He's a good guy. The best." A bitter laugh nearly bubbled up my throat, but I kept my face perfectly composed.

 "Sometimes people aren't who they pretend to be, Maya. Even the people we think we know best."

Before she could answer, the heavy glass door was violently rattled.

SLAM.

The door flew open, hitting the wall with a loud thud. Rowan stood in the doorway, his chest heaving, his face flushed red . He was still in his athletic sweatpants, a dark jacket thrown hastily over his shoulders. His eyes were wide, bloodshot, and feral.