Page 18
Chapter 18 of "Tempting Venom" kicks off with thrilling moments: No. No one knows. Itās impossible.And yet as Osborn glides across the ice, hyping up... Read more!
No. No one knows. Itās impossible.
And yet as Osborn glides across the ice, hyping up their crowd with his mere presence, my stomach heaves, bile pressing at the back of my throat.
Iām itching to run my thumb along my lip, bite down until blood pours out.
The rest of the game continues in a blur.
I donāt even register half of it, and my head is so not in it, I donāt remember what the fuck Coach Slater and Kane yap about.
I can only focus on one thing.
Osborn.
He makes me his fucking target. Whether on defense or offenseāheās there like a goddamn shadow I canāt shake off.
As theyāre attacking, he says, āYou sure you donāt want to give my cock a go?ā
And I lose it. There are no thoughts in my head as I slam him against the boards, which break into pieces.
He laughs as Iām sent to the box for the full five minutes.
For the first time in my hockey career.
I may have done the occasional two minutes, but never five.
And during those five fucking minutes, I have to watch the prick.
Thereās something I notice. Osborn moves like heās been skating since birth. Every glide is measured, economical, like heās figured out how to waste nothingānot breath, not energy, not attention.
And Iām wasting all three on him.
Because, you see, I wasnāt kidding. Iāll kill the bastard.
Torture him first, make his life hell, then skin him alive and drink his blood vampire style.
No one gets to know aboutthat.
No one.
Iām practically useless for the rest of the game. When the buzzer cuts through, announcing the Wolvesā win, I slam my stick against the boards as Jude wraps an arm around my shoulders.
āYou okay?ā
I hate that tone. The worry, the way heās watching me as if Iām made of glass.
Or Iāll collapse any second.
āNever been better,ā I grunt.
āDonāt lie to me.ā
āDonāt annoy me.ā I elbow him in the side, ignoring his furrowed brow and the fuck ton of questions heāll ask me once weāre out of here.
As Jude slips ahead of me into the dim tunnel, I throw a glance behind me.
Osborn is being patted and hugged and praised all the way to Sunday by his teammates. Treated like a fucking god. And yes, sure, it makes sense. He stopped me, and that gave the Wolves their win. Itās as easy as thatācripple the Vipersā left wingāmy highnessāand it all goes to shit.
In the midst of the celebratory fuck-fest, Osborn catches my eye, and thereās that grin againāsmall, private, like weāre sharing a joke no one else gets.