LOGINThey swore to destroy each other. Then he whispered: "A deal is a deal. Tonight, you belong to me." Hockey captains Damian Volkov and Sebastian Montgomery have been locked in a brutal three‑year rivalry. On the ice, they try to break each other. Off the ice, they trade threats in darkened hallways. But when Sebastian finally wins the championship with a bone‑crushing hit, he collects a secret debt Damian doesn't remember making. That night, in the shadows of the locker room, Sebastian reveals a blood oath sworn on his father's grave: One day I'll own you. The price? One night of absolute surrender. No rules. No safe word. Damian expects cruelty. Instead, Sebastian drags him to the abandoned rink where Damian's father used to beat him. He forces Damian to skate until his feet bleed—then bandages the wounds with unexpected gentleness. Every command is a twisted therapy. Every touch blurs the line between hatred and obsession. But someone is watching. A blackmailer has a video of their most intimate moment. Damian's father is faking a stroke to manipulate him. And the journalist who shot them is just the beginning. As the league tries to ban them, as friends become enemies, as a bullet arrives with a note that says "Game seven. You're dead," Damian and Sebastian must decide: Is their bond a trap—or the only thing that can save them? When hatred bleeds into obsession, who will be the first to surrender?
View MoreThe knife clattered across the ice, spinning in a lazy circle before coming to rest against the boards. Alex lay face down, his arms twisted behind his back, Sebastian's knee pressed between his shoulder blades. The whole thing had taken less than three seconds—the lunge, the deflection, the disarm, the pin. Sebastian's body had moved on instinct, the same instinct that had kept him alive on the ice for a decade.Damian stood frozen, his arm bleeding, his heart hammering. The paramedics had bandaged him, but the gauze was already soaking through, crimson blooming against the white."Don't move," Sebastian said to Alex. His voice was low, steady, dangerous. "Don't even breathe."Alex wasn't moving. He wasn't breathing. His face was pressed against the ice, his eyes squeezed shut, his whole body shaking with silent sobs. The knife was ten feet away, gleaming under the moonlight.Police sirens filled the air. Red and blue lights flashed through the broken windows. Doors slammed. Boots po
The door to the abandoned rink slammed shut, but Alex didn't leave.Damian heard his footsteps on the concrete floor, slow and deliberate, circling back toward the ice. Sebastian's arms were still around Damian, holding him upright, but his body had gone rigid. His eyes were fixed on the shadow moving along the boards."Alex," Damian said again. His voice was hoarse, broken. "Please. Just go.""I can't." Alex's voice echoed off the walls. He stepped into the moonlight that streamed through the shattered windows. His face was pale, his eyes wild, his hands still shaking. "I've been watching you for years. Waiting for you to see me. And you never did."Damian pulled away from Sebastian. He stood on his own, his legs unsteady, his heart pounding. "You rigged the vote."Alex's jaw tightened."You bribed the ref."Alex didn't deny it."You hired the journalist. You sent the bullet. You kidnapped Sebastian." Damian's voice rose with each accusation. "You tried to destroy us."Alex's face cr
The hospital discharged Sebastian on a Tuesday.The doctors had done all they could. The swelling on his brain had gone down. His memory was still patchy—gaps here and there, moments that didn't connect. He remembered Damian's name. He remembered the championship game. He remembered the stick splintering. But he didn't remember the blood oath. He didn't remember the abandoned rink. He didn't remember the night Damian had begged him to hurt."He needs triggers," the neurologist had said. "Places, smells, sounds—things that might unlock the memories trapped in his temporal lobe."Damian had nodded. He had thanked the doctor. He had helped Sebastian into the car and driven him home.The apartment was the same. The same couch. The same kitchen. The same bed where they had slept together for months. Sebastian walked through the rooms like a stranger, touching things, trying to remember."This is ours?" Sebastian asked."Yes.""I don't—" He stopped. His brow furrowed. "I don't remember livi
The first day was the hardest.Damian sat in the plastic chair beside Sebastian's bed, watching the rise and fall of his chest. The machines beeped. The IV dripped. The bandages on Sebastian's head were white and clean, stark against his pale skin. His eyes were closed. His breathing was shallow.The doctors had done their tests. CT scans, MRIs, cognitive assessments. The verdict was the same each time: moderate traumatic brain injury, swelling on the temporal lobe, temporary memory loss. The word temporary was the only thing Damian held onto."He may not remember recent events," the neurologist had said. "The memories could come back in days, weeks, or months. Or they might not come back at all."Damian had nodded. He had thanked the doctor. He had walked back to Sebastian's room and sat down in the plastic chair and not moved for six hours.Sebastian's mother brought coffee. Alex brought food. Detective Morrison brought updates—no leads on the kidnapper, the bullet, the note. Damian












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