by Mia Moon
I could smell the whiskey on his breath, and by the way his jaw ground from side to side, I knew he’d snorted a few lines. Or more than a few.
My ears rung from being struck, but something in me welled up. I wasn’t going to die without a fight. He caged me against the wall with both arms.
“At least they fucking care about me,” I screamed, slapping him in the face.
Zack was bigger and stronger than me, of course. His nostrils flared. That’s when I noticed that he’d shaved his head and it made his eyes look bigger, more menacing.
More insane.
“I’m the only one who will ever care about you, and you shit on me,” he said in a low growl while pulling my hair.
I screamed, loud. Louder than I’d ever screamed. When he slapped me again, I fell to the floor, landing on the suitcase I’d just packed, and blacked out.
Chapter Eleven
TAYLOR
“I can’t get ahold of her,” I said to Shaun.
He sighed. “Fuck. I can’t either. Wait, Rex just texted me. Hang on.”
I ran a hand through my hair. I was in my office, ready to leave for the day and was trying to find out what Samantha, Shaun and Rex had planned for the night.
“He can’t reach her, either.”
I let out a strangled groan. “Do you think she’s upset about what happened last night? Did we scare her off? Offend her? Do you think she feels guilty or ashamed?”
“Christ, I hope not. I don’t think so, though. Sam is a woman who knows what she wants. She was totally sober last night. I’m worried about her, though. I’m worried that asshole ex of hers somehow is bothering her.”
“Fuck.”
“Let’s meet at her house. We’ll start there.”
I grabbed my keys and all but ran out of the bank, firing up my BMW and roaring off.
San Marcos wasn’t that big, and it didn’t take me long to get to the address. I ignored the feeling of anger when I saw her cottage — Sam lived here, in this neighborhood, because she had to get away from her ex?
Shaun and Rex pulled up within minutes. The three of us exchanged serious, grave glances as we stared at the house. The front door was open, and I took off my suit jacket and threw it in the car.
Walking to the door, I rolled up my sleeves, feeling a pit in my stomach. Whatever was inside, the three of us could handle it. There was no question about that. We’d go through walls, fire, war, for that woman.
I walked in first and I heard the muffled scream.
“Sam!” I shouted.
Shaun, Rex and I made a run down the hall toward the noise. When we got into the bedroom and saw her sprawled like a discarded doll on the bed — blood running out of her nose, her clothes torn — everything happened in slow motion.
There was a guy with a shaved head standing there, his hands on his belt buckle. I tackled him, taking him to the ground. I rained punches to his face, blind with anger.
He tried to fight back, but between my blows and the way Rex kicked him in the side, he stilled.
Shaun was at Samantha’s side, cradling her, telling her it was going to be okay, that we wouldn’t ever let her get hurt again.
As Rex called the cops, I punched the guy again for good measure, so hard that he blacked out with a gurgle. Samantha moaned and shuddered a sob. I looked up at her, trying to choke back emotion at seeing her in such pain.
“We will never let anyone do this to you, ever again,” I whispered fiercely. I wanted to go to her, soothe her, love her. But I didn’t want the guy — her ex, I assumed — to wake up and slip away. I pressed a knee to his chest and spit in his face.
“Mr. Grimes, Samantha suffered a broken orbital bone, a broken rib and has some internal bleeding. Right now she’s resting comfortably. She’ll need to be in the hospital for a couple of days. After that, does she have someone who can care for her? Family? Friends? A boyfriend?”
Rex, Shaun and I glanced at each other. She’s got three of them, as far as we’re concerned.
“We’re her close friends,” I said to the doctor in a clipped tone. “We’ll take care of her.”
The doctor, an older woman with kind brown eyes, touched my shoulder. “I heard from the officers about how you boys found her. Most women aren’t so lucky. I’m glad she has friends like you.”
“Can we see her? Just for a few minutes, doc? Just to make sure she’s okay?” Shaun piped up.
The doctor nodded. “Come this way.”
She led us down a corridor and pauses in front of a salmon-colored door. “Just don’t be alarmed by all the tubes. It’s worse than it looks.”
The doctor pushed the door open and pointed inside, indicating that the three of us could file in. We do, and it took all I could muster not to sink to my knees in both anger and gratitude.
Anger that Samantha’s ex husband would hurt her to this degree. Gratitude that he was behind bars now, that she lived, that we were there to save her, that she was in our lives to begin with.
Rex was clenching his jaw so tight that I can see the muscles in his face bunch up. Shaun’s hands were balled into fists and he inhales long.
“I’ll give you a moment,” the doctor said. “Please don’t wake her.”
The three of us stood there, staring at our beautiful, broken angel. Her golden hair was spread over the white hospital pillow, and a nasty purple bruise had bloomed around her right eye. Her arm was attached to an IV drip and other unidentifiable tubes.
“We need to take care of her,” Rex said quietly.
Shaun nodded.
“I’ll do anything,” I said.
“Do you think…” Shaun’s voice trailed off.
Rex and I looked at him and raised our eyebrows.
“If she wanted to, if you two wanted to, do you think we could all live at my place? At least try it out?” He stepped forward and stroked her left hand. “I think it would be good for her.”
“I’d be willing to try,” Rex said. “We’ll have to set some ground rules.”
I took a breath. “It’s not what I anticipated a relationship would look like. But I’m also willing to give it a shot. I love her. I know you two love her. We always have.”
They nodded in tandem.
“Love her so much,” Shaun whispered.
“Agreed. And I feel this need to protect her,” Rex said.
Just then, Samantha stirred. “Mmmph,” she groaned, her eyes fluttering open.
We all clustered around her, lightly touching her frail, bruised arm. “Shh,” I said. “We’re here. We’re not going to leave you. Ever.”
Epilogue
three years later
Samantha
It was our anniversary, and we were in Taylor’s Mercedes SUV, having just finished the most delicious meal at the hottest steakhouse in Austin.
As always, I was in the passenger seat — no matter whose car we were in, I always rode shotgun — and I was buzzed, not from wine, but from the romantic weekend they’d planned.
I’d never anticipated being the girlfriend of three men. Hell, after my ex, I never dreamed I’d even meet one decent guy. But ever since the day I was attacked and put in the hospital, Taylor, Shaun and Rex hadn’t left my side. They’d been there when I graduated from college, and had sat with me in court while I watched Zack get sentenced to a twenty-five year prison term.
They’d cooked dinner when I’d gotten the full-time job doing art therapy at a battered women’s shelter in a nearby town.
We’d all moved into Shaun’s big house. It should’ve been weird and awkward, should have been strange and foreign. But it wasn’t. Somehow, everything worked smoothly. Oh, there were times that our schedules clashed or someone was a bit jealous, but we’d set some house rules.
We all had our own bedrooms. I slept with a different guy every night, and the fourth night was mine alone. The fifth night, if I wanted, was the time we all played together.
Night Five, we called it.
Ton
ight, our anniversary, was a Night Five.
And we were headed to an expensive suite at a boutique hotel in downtown Austin. When the four of us stepped in the packed elevator, my panties were already wet thinking about what we’d do when we got to the penthouse.
We filed into the suite, one by one, and tonight, they had their plan.
Rex blindfolded me. Shaun took off my red dress and literally tore my underwear off my body. The ripping sound of the fabric made my pussy gush like a waterfall, and I looked longingly at the giant bed draped in red and black satin.
“Bed, now,” growled Taylor, and someone carried me to it.
My hands went over my head and I felt the silk ties around my wrists. My legs were spread and my ankles anchored with more silk ties.
One man penetrated my cunt, while another eased into my tight, puckered back hole. It was hours of hands, tongues, diamond-hard cocks. They filled me with sperm and love. Caresses and orgasms.
The whispered words of adoration and love, and the never-ending feeling that finally, finally, I’d found exactly what I was looking for, in my three best friends.
THE END
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POWER PLAY
A Hockey Romance
Chapter One
My eyes focused on my phone. The cell was a social crutch, and I felt better just holding it in my hand.
I could feel my old shyness bubbling up. The thumping of my heart, the anxiety in my veins. I was suddenly self-conscious of where I was, what I was wearing, my entire existence.
I was in the right place, right time, but it felt strange, off-kilter. I tucked the cell into my jacket pocket and tried to psych myself up by remembering why I was here.
Ken Miller.
I should be happy about this. And I was — but also nervous as hell. Just thinking his name made me shiver. The cute kid I’d crushed on so hard in high school was the sexy man I was here to see. The pro hockey player whose face graced magazine covers across the country. The guy I never dreamed I’d have a shot with…
Glancing left and right through the ice arena, I searched for a place to sit. Ken had suggested a certain section, but it looked crowded. Still, I maneuvered towards the seats, taking the middle in a three-wide gap of empty benches.
I hovered, hugging my knees anxiously. My long russet hair fell around my face, probably making me look like a crazy person while I tried to calm my nerves about seeing Ken for the first time in five years.
It didn’t help that I didn’t know a thing about hockey except that it was played on ice and required serious padding. And helmets. Sports weren’t part of my life. My teeth chattered, but they’d been doing that a lot since I’d moved to Denver.
Players circled the ice while I crossed my arms tightly over my chest, though I didn’t see Ken. Apparently, practices were open to watch and I was unprepared for how many people were here today. My anxiety was riding high and without a familiar face, I thought about leaving.
I didn’t belong here, surrounded by fans. I felt like some sort of impostor. A geek spy in the house of jocks.
“May I sit here?”
I looked up, and let out a little gasp. A stunning pair of gold-green eyes pierced through me, and I simply nodded. The stranger sat, somehow tucking his massive six-foot-plus form onto the bench beside me. He smiled all the while, dimples showing through the shadow of his sexy dark scruff. The pale eyes against the black hair was arresting.
He ran a hand through his thick hair and settled in. “Thanks,” his voice rumbled. “It’s unusually crowded today.”
I nodded again, dumbly. All I could do was stare at the way his black sweater clung to him, revealing that he was pure lean muscle from the neck down. It made me want a bear hug from him in the worst kind of way. Or more.
Yes, more.
“Everything okay?” he asked.
“Oh… uh.” I cleared my throat and looked away, glad I’d refrained from losing all common sense and checking out more of his body. Being out of my element was playing with my usual ability to ignore anyone and anything around me. “Yeah, sorry. I was just lost in thought.”
“Is it really okay?”
I looked back at him, staring blankly. Is what okay?
"I mean if you don't really want me to sit here—"
“No!” I interrupted, speaking way too enthusiastically. Dial it down, I chided myself. “I mean, yeah sure sit here that’s… not… a problem,” I rambled. I offered a smile while internally slapping myself on the cheeks. Get a hold of yourself, Violet! “Don’t mind me.”
He laughed softly and turned those stunning eyes to the rink. We watched together in silence, him seemingly sizing up the players while I wondered why I never learned to ice skate. Like any other sport, hockey didn’t interest me.
Probably driven by the way my high school had catered to sports over academics. The football team got new jerseys and practice equipment while the competitive math team had to raise our own money and share my mom’s minivan to attend regionals.
It seemed more important back then.
“You agree?” the man asked.
Huh? I looked over.
“Roy is stiff today,” he commented, pointing out over the ice.
I followed his finger at a trio of men gathered across the way. He might as well have been speaking Latin. “Which one is Roy?”
“He’s right next to Zubov.”
"I have no idea who either of those people is. Is Zubov a nickname?”
The stranger next to me shot me a quizzical look and somehow, for a split-second, seemed familiar. Like someone I’d passed before, maybe chatted with in a coffee-shop type of familiar. But I couldn’t place him.
“Zubov’s a trade. Vladimir Zubov. Russia.”
I blinked.
“Are you dating one of the players?” he asked.
“No.” My voice was a little too loud.
“Hunh. It’s just that no one comes to the practices except fans and girlfriends.”
I shrugged. “I’m here to see a friend. He thought I’d find it fun to watch a practice.”
He nodded slowly. “I see.” He held out his hand. “Well, I’m Nathan, and I guess for today I can teach you about the game.”
I shook his hand, feeling tiny. His warm hand swallowed my petite fingers. “I’m Violet.”
Tearing my gaze from his sparkling eyes, I searched the ice again.
“Just a friend?” he asked.
“Yeah,” I said, my cheeks feeling warm. “Known him since high school. Ken.”
“Ah. Miller. Nice guy. A beast, really, the guy you want watching your back. But that’s…” he trailed off, shaking his head. “What would you like to know?”
I murmured something about the puck, and Nathan launched into an explanation while I focused on the ice.
On Ken Miller.
I was here in this moment, sitting in a Denver ice arena, all because I’d drank too much wine one night last year and messaged Ken on Facebook.
That one message became the beginning of a renewed friendship. One where I felt on equal footing, or at least it seemed that way online.
Across the safety net of cyber chats—no video chats, I wasn’t that comfortable—I could joke and be subtly flirty. I could be clever and tease him about our long-lost high school days. When I'd struck up that conversation I didn’t think he’d respond.
I certainly didn’t predict that he’d remember me, or be so eager to reconnect.
Back when I’d first messaged Ken, I couldn’t have imagined taking a job offer in Colorado and ending up in his stomping grounds. But the new position was twenty thousand dollars more a year, in a place that wasn’t Silicon Valley expensive.
Ken was merely a bonus. So I accepted and moved from the Golden State to the Mile High City. Why not? I didn’t have anything to lose. I was young, single and a minimalist.
Of course I’d have to hang out with Ken. For old time�
��s sake. Never mind that my social skills were at their best behind a computer screen. Upon moving here, I’d waited several weeks before making a date with him, mostly out of nervousness.
Up close and personal, I had no idea how things would work out. This was Ken Miller, after all. High school hockey god, college hockey star, pro athlete with stellar stats (whatever that meant, I was going by what he’d told me).
Ken Miller with the sky-blue eyes.
Was I ready for any of this?
"How do you know so much?" I pointed at the ice. Nathan had an impressive wealth of knowledge. He’d spouted stats at first, then seeing my perplexed expression, slowly explained the drills and why the professional team was only using half the rink to practice. For the most part, I just listened, fascinated.
I knew my way around a computer. Hockey stats, not at all.
I’d finally located Ken on the ice, and it was hard to keep my eyes on him in the midst of matching jerseys zooming around. Plus I was distracted by the passion in Nathan’s voice. I could ask one question and it spurred a million answers, but I didn’t mind. He had a low, buzzy voice, and I enjoyed listening to it.
“Once upon a time, I played,” he said with a sigh.
“Oh.” I didn’t know if I should pry. It would be rude to assume he wasn’t good enough to play pro, right?
“It wasn’t meant to be,” he continued. “Tore my ACL and MCL, and two surgeries in they realized I had developed a heart murmur.”
I placed my hand on his leg and turned to him, shocked at his admission. “What?”
“I’ll live, obviously, but that was it for my career. Barely three seasons under my belt.” He frowned but tried to smile. “Lady luck wasn’t on my side.”
“I’m so sorry, I had no idea.”
His big hand covered mine and gave it a squeeze. “I’m fine. I didn’t mean to be a downer. Most of the time I’m fine with it, and then there’s that 5% chance I’ll drift off and hate my body for failing me.”
