Page 50 of Vicious Butterfly
“Wait.” He yanks me to him anyway, spinning me so I’m facing him, planting his lips on mine. His kisses might kill me. They’re filled with something I can’t name. They’re deep and hungry. Nothing hidden, just pure claim and possession. He pulls away too soon. “Now, you may go.”
“You’re an asshole, Tatum.”
He wrinkles his nose at “Tatum,” and I file that away for later.
Ilick under the faint ridge of my temporary crown. It’s smoother than my real teeth, bulkier, foreign. Just a pretty imposter. A great metaphor for how I feel at North Point. I get it now, more than ever before. I’m supposed to smile, say all the right things,doall the right things, and keep my fucking mouth shut. All the while, something different brews within me.
It’s like I’m inside a pressure cooker, but I don’t know how long I can keep the lid on.
After Rowan and his fucking cronies ambushed me and beat the shit out of me for trying to get a message to Griff, I’ve kept my head down. Making decisions when I’m fresh out of options is a bad,badidea. The last time I gave in to a bad idea—playing murder hockey—it triggered the hunter in Tate. Marrying him is the riskiest thing I could do. I don’t know the rules, and I don’t know if I can trust him. No, scratch that, I can’t trust him. I’d be walking into a deal with a hope and a prayer that he’d—at minimum—keep his promise to protect Griff.
Forever is a lot to gamble on a hope and a prayer. If I say yes to Tate, it’s irreversible. He’ll never let me go, and I’ll never be able to leave. He might be more powerful than my father—that’s yet to be determined. Father’s a white-collar criminal with dirty hands, but I fear Tate is something … worse.
And I’ve already fucked myself. What happened Saturday night should never have happened. Now all I can think about is him kissing me, touching me,fuckingme. Tate is the living incarnation of the poison apple.
Speaking of poison apples. Father’s never going to support me going to Shadowridge. I’ll eventually have to tell Tate the truth, and the wedding might be off the table. As uncertain as I am about marrying him, it’s not an option I can afford to let go of either.
Kane glides to a stop beside me, the cage of his helmet open, and a look I don’t trust on his face. Or maybe it’s more accurate to say, a look that I can trust means he’s up to something.
“Hey, Cuz.” He removes one of his gloves, adjusting his stick so it’s resting blade-side up in the crook of his shoulder. He spits on the ice. The long scar across his dangerous face is more prominent today due to the added bruising from Saturday’s game, and his dark blue eyes glitter with an ulterior motive.
“What are you up to, King?”
He smirks and shrugs. “Nothin’.” He closes his helmet, shielding his swollen face.
The four of us, me, Kane, Gideon, and Torin, are more beat up than usual. Them from murder hockey, me from fuckfaceRowan’s fists. Becks is the only one who’s escaped unscathed, which is half to do with him being a goalie, and half to do with him being a scary motherfucker. Turns out, even the gooniest of hockey goons don’t want to fuck with him.
Kane skates away, and Rowan enters the rink, my brother in tow as if he’s the puppy someone left him in charge of. He’s not wearing the mask, though. Thank fuck. And the knot in my chest loosens. He’s got dark bags under his eyes, and he’s curled into himself, but otherwise he looks well. His hair’s growing back. He’ll be allowed to do the standard military fade. I stare in his direction, hoping he’ll acknowledge me, but it’s as if he’s purposefully avoiding the ice.
Did that dick weasel threaten him? Tell him he’s not even allowed to look at me? One day, I’m gonna kill Rowan Jarvis.Hell, why get my hands dirty? Maybe I’ll get my rich husband to do it.
You did not just think of Tate as your rich husband.But now I wanna know if he’d murder for me. Not that I’d actually get him to do it. I just wanna know if he’d do it.
Rowan leans over, speaking into my brother’s ear. Griff nods, lips tight. What’s he saying to him? Is he threatening him? That’s fucking it.
A wide stick stops me before I can tear off the ice. “Don’t do it,” Beck says. “He deserves it, but wait until there are fewer witnesses around, eh?”
Just like Rowan did to me. Not that I was planning on reporting him, I’m not a rat, but even if I wanted to, I had zero proof. “I’m going to eviscerate him.”
“And I’ll help. Another time,” Rhys Beckett says in that calm voice of his. It’s a deceiving voice—one you can fall asleep to and one that’ll find you in nightmares. I’m glad we’re best friends. Wouldn’t want him as an enemy. He pats me on the shoulder. “Good talk.”
Practice is the usual avalanche of torture via grueling drills. Coach is a sadist, has to be. How does he still have a voice with all that yelling? We’re coming up to the exhibition game against Shadowridge this weekend, and he won’t accept a loss, even though it doesn’t count toward the season.
I face off with Rowan during the scrimmage and get the cartoon-villain sneer from him. The whole thing’s fucking ridiculous, but it doesn’t stop me from wanting to choke the life out of him. He takes off with the puck. Kane bolts from outta nowhere, skating hard toward him, shoulder-to-shoulder, slamming him into the boards.
Something in my memory sparks, but before I can grab at it, Rowan goes down hard, his right knee buckles, and Kane’s large ass topples on top of him.
Oooooh.Ow. Yeah. A knee is not supposed to fucking bend that way. And a knee bent that way isn’t supposed to have over two hundred pounds of man meat fall on it. Coach’s whistle echoes off the boards. Rowan’s on his stomach, alternating between pounding the ice with his gloved fists and curling into himself.
“You did that on purpose—fuck!”
“Sorry, my bad, Jarvis,” Kane says, hopping to his feet.
“Skate … blade … fucker.” The words come in agonizing pants. Medics roll the stretcher onto the ice. “You … did this!”
Rowan points in my direction. I look behind me as if he must be looking at someone else, back to him, and spread my arms. I’ve been over here the whole time.
“Yes, you, Savage. You put them up to this.”
