Rookie (Seattle Sharks Book 4)

by Samantha Whiskey

  Or, Archer could follow through on his threats, and I’d lose my signing bonus, lose my job, and Mom would lose the traction she’d gained.

  Fuck. My. Life.

  My heart was barely cinched together by threads.

  “Who have you let between your legs?” he hissed. “Who have you let touch what is mine?”

  “I’ve never been yours.”

  A dark laugh tumbled from his lips. “Oh, that is where you’re wrong, Chloe.” He tsked me. “I’ve been inside you. I know what it feels like when you come. What you look like when you’re sleeping. You said yes. You are mine. You always will be.” He sighed, his finger idly tracing the rim of his coffee cup like he hadn’t just uttered those terrifying and wrong words.

  Adrenaline surged through my blood, my hands trembling.

  “You don’t own me. I don’t want to be with you,” I said. “I will never be yours.”

  He laughed again.

  He’ll never let it go.

  Fear coiled inside me, chipping away at my already overly sensitive nerves.

  This meeting was pointless.

  In fact, from the way his eyes studied me, patient and cold, it looked like he expected me to take one look at him and fall at his feet. Beg him to take me back. Take me home to Canada.

  Well, he was fucking wrong.

  Because my home was here.

  With the Sharks.

  Where my mother was safe and healthy and cared for.

  “I can’t believe I thought you’d actually see reason.” I scooted back in my chair. “That you’d realize we weren’t meant to be together. And that me leaving was permeant, not temporary.” I moved to stand, but his hand flashed out, gripping my wrist so hard I winced.

  “I’m not finished talking to you yet.”

  “Let. Me. Go.” I tugged on his grasp, unable to break free.

  Panic clawed up my throat—those dark eyes never flinching, no remorse as he knew he hurt me.

  “Archer,” I said, hating that my voice borderline begged. “Let go.” I clawed at his hand with my free one, but he simply secured it with the other, both my hands now pressed against the table.

  I whirled my head around, searching for the barista, another patron, someone who could help. But the place was empty.

  “You will listen to me,” he said, that tone so calm, so calculated. He’d never had to raise his voice before, why start now? “This little trip has gone on long enough. You promised yourself to me. And I will take what is mine.”

  Tears filled my eyes—anger coating my skin like flames.

  “I’m not yours,” I snapped, yanking my arms against his hold so much they barked in protest.

  “You are—”

  “Chloe?” Bentley’s voice was this side of angry as I snapped my eyes up to his.

  His bag slung over his shoulder, Warren, Gage, and Rory hung back a few feet behind him.

  “Bent,” I whispered, relief unleashing inside me.

  Except, he was staring at where Archer’s hands held me, and he couldn’t see.

  Couldn’t tell that it was painful, that it was unwanted.

  “You’re interrupting something,” Archer said, barely glancing at Bentley. “That’s rude, Shark.”

  Bentley ground his teeth, tilting his head at me.

  I shook my head, panic rippling over my body.

  “Chloe,” he said again, his tone wary, testing. “Can I talk to you a second?”

  “No,” Archer answered for me.

  “She can speak for herself,” Bent snapped.

  The trio took a few steps closer to him, hearing the strain in his voice.

  “It’s not nice to try and steal my fiancée away,” he said, and my eyes clenched shut, the pain pulsing around where his gripped tightened.

  “Your what?” Bent hissed.

  “Bent, please,” I said, my words clipped from the pain.

  Archer slashed his eyes from me to Bent and back again. “Is this him?” he seethed. “Is this the piece of shit you let between your legs? Let take a taste of my cunt.”

  I yelped from the force when he clamped down on me before he shoved me back so hard I nearly flipped out of my chair.

  “Fuck you say?” Bentley’s voice was raw, primal rage.

  In an instant, he hurled himself into Archer, taking him down, the table and coffee crashing from the blow.

  Then Gage’s arms were around me, lifting me from the seat I was frozen to. He carried me to Warren, who held most of my weight while I leaned against him, useless and shaking.

  Rory and Gage flanked Bentley, but didn’t pull him off Archer.

  No, they let the pair scramble on the ground.

  Hit and punch and crack and smack.

  I flinched and cried out when Archer somehow gained the upper hand, his fingers going for Bent’s neck.

  God, he would kill him.

  But Bentley was livid and massive.

  A wild, feral animal as he thrashed, landing a firm blow to Archer’s temple.

  Stunned, he went down, toppling off of Bent in one clunky move.

  Bent didn’t stop, didn’t let up, as he pounded his fists against Archer’s face.

  “Bentley!” I screamed, not because I gave two shits about Archer, but because I didn’t want him to cross a line he’d never come back from.

  Wiggling free from Warren’s grasp, I pushed past Rory and Gage’s attempts at calling Bent off, and I dropped to my knees enough to catch those rage-filled eyes.

  “Bent, please,” I said, tears in my eyes.

  Something broke inside him, and he scrambled backward, off of Archer, who was regaining his solidity after the stunning hit.

  “You,” Bentley panted, standing, his knuckles cracked and bleeding. “You’re engaged to this asshole?”

  I shook my head and stepped toward him. “No.”

  He retreated from me.

  Like I was the threat.

  Gage and Rory were there, a hand on his chest, his shoulder, urging him back.

  “This,” he spat, pointing at Archer who was shoving himself to a sitting position, spitting blood on the floor. “This is what you were hiding. That you had someone waiting for you in Canada. That you were engaged?”

  I choked back a sob, the adrenaline and fear and heartbreak shaking my brain.

  “No,” I said. “I mean, yes, this is what I kept from you. But, Bentley, I ended it before I moved here. He won’t stop—”

  “What in the blue hell?” Coach’s voice cut me off as he rounded the corner, the vein in his forehead already popped out and throbbing as he took in the scene. “Rogers! My office, now.” He glanced at me before flipping out his cell phone and typing something extra fast.

  Bentley shook off Gage and Rory, his hands curled into fists as he stomped past me, never once looking back.

  Five minutes later, Ontario’s coach was there, hauling Archer out of sight.

  He, thankfully, didn’t look at me either, and I had to wonder if tonight’s events would finally make him leave me alone, or if it only made him want to sink his claws in further.

  “Chloe,” Gage said, a gentle hand on my shoulder, confusion flickering in his eyes. “Come on. We’ll drive you home.”

  I swiped at the tears on my face.

  “I want to wait for Bentley.”

  Gage tucked me into his side, Rory sticking close to my opposite side, Warren leading the way.

  “We both know that isn’t a good idea,” Gage said, and eyed Warren.

  He nodded and said, “I’ll wait for him.”

  I sighed, knowing they were right.

  Knowing I’d somehow made things worse between us, broken us more than we already were.

  In a matter of minutes.

  I’d ruined us.

  The exact moment I’d been trying to free myself enough to become his.

  Defeat and exhaustion and regret unfurled within me—so quick and stark my vision fuzzed around the edges.

  So, I let
Gage and Rory walk me to the parking lot and tuck me into the backseat of Gage’s SUV.

  My throat was so raw from crying, I couldn’t find my voice. Not even when they’d bypassed the exit for my place and continued on to Rory’s.

  “The girls are there,” Gage said. “Think you could use some time.”

  Chapter 17

  Bentley

  Engaged?

  Knuckles raw and split and itching from the blood, I stomped to Coach’s office, shaking from rage.

  Her secret.

  Perhaps the real reason why she wanted to keep us a secret.

  The reason she was so accepting when I’d broken us both and bid her farewell with one last night together.

  Fucking hell.

  I sank into the seat on the other side of Coach’s desk, my head in my hands as I tried to catch my breath.

  No.

  It didn’t make sense.

  She hadn’t looked happy . . . she’d looked . . . terrified.

  Or was it simply because I’d caught her that she looked scared?

  No.

  I knew Chloe.

  Knew her like I knew my own heart.

  She’d been panicked.

  Like all those times I’d caught her by surprise, cell phone in hand.

  Flashes—his grip on her. Her eyes wide and filled with tears. The way she screamed my name when all I saw was red.

  Jolts of adrenaline crashed into my already over-pumping bloodstream.

  The door slammed, and I was on my feet in a blink.

  No thought, just instinct. Ready to finish what we started.

  “Sit down, Rogers,” Coach grumbled as he rounded his desk and sat in his chair.

  I blew out a breath.

  Fuck, I was losing it. I needed to get a grip, and fast.

  “What the hell was that about?” he asked after he’d folded his hands on his desk several times like he was trying to control his temper.

  I opened my mouth but shook my head.

  My girl, my heart, she was . . . in trouble?

  She had been, right?

  And when he’d spoken to her like that...like some piece of trash, a possession he wanted to control . . .

  I’d snapped.

  “We won,” Coach said. “I know our rivalry runs deeps with Ontario, but holy hell, Rogers. You helped win this game for us. What the hell happened?”

  I raked my fingers through my hair, trying so damn hard to slow my heart, to quell the sting biting every inch of my insides.

  I wanted answers, too, but not the ones Coach sought. Chloe should’ve told me whether she was engaged to that asshole or not.

  If she was in trouble or scared, she should’ve fucking told me.

  After all these years, she still didn’t trust me to help her.

  Not true. She said she needed time. Wanted to handle it on her own.

  I’d always been supportive of her choices . . . always. But with guys like Archer? Handling it on her own wasn’t an option.

  I could tell that much from the way he’d spoken to her, the firm grip he’d had on her wrists, the way her eyes had been ice-cold in terror.

  My knuckles cracked as I clenched my hands into fists again.

  I half-hoped Archer would be outside the rink, waiting for me whenever Coach let me go.

  Let me go.

  The words rang through my head, dropping my heart into my stomach.

  Finally grounded in the present, I snapped my eyes up to him.

  Was he going to kick me off the team?

  “He—” I clamped my lips shut and searched for words that wouldn’t get Chloe in trouble. “I have no excuse,” I said, blowing out a breath. “He said something, and I snapped. That’s it.”

  Coach narrowed his eyes, scanning my face like he didn’t buy it.

  I was a grinder—aggressive on the ice for the sake of my teammates—but I wasn’t the most active fighter. Rory used to be, before he mellowed out, but there were plenty of other guys whose fuses were much shorter than mine.

  Coach knew that. Knew it would take more for me to snap than a taunt from an Ontario player. But he wasn’t just any Ontario player.

  He was hers.

  The one she’d lived with in Canada.

  The one she’d said was her only serious relationship since me.

  And I fucking hated him for that on principle alone.

  But now? Now I wanted to end him. And that scared the shit out of me.

  “I told you I was proud of you,” he said, reminding me of our conversation a few weeks ago. “You think I hand that shit out easily?”

  I shook my head.

  “I don’t. That is earned.” He sighed, pressing his lips into a hard line.

  “It won’t happen again,” I muttered, not entirely sure the words were true.

  Because what if some other asshole shows up and runs his mouth at Chloe?

  Would I snap then?

  Would I make them eat their words?

  Or was it secluded to the fact that I’d felt Chloe’s fear and it transformed me into a primal beast?

  “Damn straight it won’t,” Coach said. “I see a real future for you on this team, Rogers. I’m talking past Gage’s retirement. But I expected better from you.”

  Shame rippled inside me, joining the rage pulsing on a low setting.

  Sure, I’d let Coach down. But I knew I’d do it again. Because I would always choose Chloe over everything else.

  Didn’t matter that we’d ended whatever it was between us.

  She was my heart.

  Always would be.

  “I’m benching you until further notice.”

  I flinched, my eyes flying wide.

  For one fight? I bit my tongue, refusing to utter the words.

  He must’ve read the accusation in my eyes because he said, “I had to deal with too much bad press and small-jail-time with Jackson. I told him the same thing—if he didn’t straighten out, he’d be gone.”

  My brows raised. I remembered the season Rory’s anger had gotten the better of him—outside the rink as well as in—I just hadn’t realized it had been that bad.

  “And he pulled his shit together,” Coach continued. “He realized how important this team . . . this family was to him. Cut the boyish shit out. Got a lock on it.”

  Boyish shit.

  This wasn’t that.

  If Coach knew—if he’d seen how scared Chloe was—if he knew how much I loved her and heard what that prick said to her, he wouldn’t be so angry with me.

  There was a code among us—you don’t fuck with someone else’s girl.

  But if she was engaged to him then technically I broke the code.

  Fuck.

  A headache formed behind my eyes, my jaw aching from the lucky hits Archer had landed.

  The truth begged to be freed—let Coach know I wasn’t acting like a child. This wasn’t about some rivalry.

  But if I admitted to it—Chloe would lose her job, her bonus, and her mother would lose everything.

  Not to mention I’d lose my position, too.

  Fucking hell this was such a mess.

  This is why I wrecked us. Put an end to it.

  So that she would be protected.

  But I couldn’t protect her from what I didn’t know.

  What she kept from me.

  A low rumble resonated deep inside me, but I swallowed the war cry.

  Now I knew.

  I knew enough, and while I couldn’t have her, couldn’t claim her as my own, I could do something.

  “This family is important to me,” I finally said once I was certain the rage had cleared from my tone. “It won’t happen again.”

  At least not where anyone could see.

  Because I wasn’t letting this go.

  Not until I’d finished it.

  “Good,” Coach said. “Get your head straight and prove it to me. Then we’ll talk about getting back on the ice.”

  I nodded, rising at his dismal.<
br />
  My heart sank—I’d worked so hard to earn the time I’d recently been given on the ice. Not an easy feat when Gage was my competition.

  I flew through the locker room door, stomping into the hallway, my anger ratcheting up again.

  “Whoa.” Warren’s hands were on my chest, stopping my beeline for the parking lot. “Bentley,” he said, using his entire body to halt me.

  I huffed. “Did you see where he went?”

  Warren shook his head, but I saw the lie in his eyes. “You don’t want to do that, bro.”

  “I assure you, I do.”

  “What did Coach say?” he asked, trying to distract me.

  So, Archer was still close.

  Good.

  “I’m benched until further notice.” The words stung to say out loud.

  Warren flinched but quickly smoothed out his features. “You’ll be back on the ice soon,” he said. “As long you don’t do something stupid. Something you can’t come back from.”

  I rolled my neck, the anger rippling off me in waves.

  Lowering my voice to a whisper, I cut my eyes to him. “What would you do if it was Nine?”

  He narrowed his gaze.

  “I don’t know the full story and maybe it’s not my fucking place. But I know Chloe, and she was terrified of this asshole. She’s the strongest woman I know, and I know she can handle herself . . . but fuck, Warren. What would you do?”

  Warren dropped his hands from my chest, rubbing his palms over his face. “Fuck,” he hissed, but made no step to move.

  “I’ll try talking,” I said. “I swear. He just needs to know he’s fucking with the wrong girl.”

  My girl.

  “Damn it,” Warren snapped, holding up his finger while he pulled out his cell phone. After a fast text, he pocketed it again. “Wait.”

  There was an order to his tone I didn’t fucking care for.

  “Get out of my way, Kinley.”

  If he wouldn’t tell me where the prick was, I’d search every inch of the rink, the parking lot, and then resort to stalker levels to track him down.

  I’m sure there were a few bunnies following him—I’d start with the ones I knew. Call them until I got a lead.

  “I will tell you where he is,” Warren said, drawing me out of myself. “If you wait.”

  “For what?” I snapped.

  “For backup. Alibis.” Anger flashed in his eyes. “No one fucks with our family.”