His Dangerous Love On Ice

Chapter 9: ZANE's POV

I sat on the balcony, cigarette between my fingers, half-listening to the guys lose their minds over tomorrow's game.

The team had decided to throw a party the night before our biggest match of the season. Because apparently, getting drunk and high before a championship game was peak athletic performance.

Idiots.

Nike was going on about how this was his first big paycheck. How he was going to buy his mom a new car and pay off his sister's college tuition. Noble. Cute. Boring as fuck.

I took a drag and let the smoke fill my lungs, eyes fixed on the city lights stretching out below us.

The last thing I wanted was to be here.

But I had to be. Had to play the part. Had to sit here with these boys and pretend I gave a shit about their dreams and their families and their fucking first paychecks.

Because if I didn't, I'd do something stupid.

Like walk into her suite. Climb through her window. Press her against the wall and make her understand exactly why rejecting me was the worst decision she'd ever made.

Three days.

I'd given her three days to come crawling back.

And she hadn't.

Stubborn little thing.

I smirked, ashing the cigarette over the railing.

She thought she could walk away from me. Thought she could stand there in that hotel room, all fire and fury, and tell me to "find someone else to play chess with."

Like I was just some bored rich boy looking for entertainment.

She had no idea what game she'd walked into.

The door to the suite opened, and the room went silent.

I didn't even have to look to know who it was. I felt the shift in the air-the way tension crawled up everyone's spine when he walked in.

Hunter Sinclair.

The kid whose slot I'd bought with a single conversation. The one who'd sold out his sister for a chance to play in the big leagues.

I remembered how I'd arranged a meeting with him. How he'd frozen when he saw the very man he couldn't withstand. How I'd offered him that proposition, ensuring he knew I gave no fucks about him and all I was interested in was his stepsister.

How he'd accepted with trembling hands. So quick. So fast. So easy.

I glanced over my shoulder.

He stood in the doorway, jaw clenched, eyes locked on me like he wanted to put his fist through my face.

I raised my cigarette in a mock salute.

His jaw tightened further.

Yeah. He still hated me.

Good.

Beside him, another figure stepped into the room, and my smirk faded.

Cole Maddox.

The walking, talking embodiment of everything I despised. The kind of man who slithered his way into women's lives, used them, and discarded them the second someone more useful came along.

The kind of man who'd destroyed my mother.

And now he had his claws in my sister.

Cole's eyes lit up the second he saw me. Like a fucking puppy seeing its owner. He nudged past Hunter, settling onto the couch with an eagerness that made my stomach turn.

He wanted my approval. Wanted to be close to me. Wanted to prove he belonged.

But I wanted to drag him to the underground club and let my boys work him over until he confessed why the fuck he was still sniffing around Sophia.

But not here.

Not yet.

I turned back to the balcony, taking another drag.

"Okay, men." Ryan's voice cut through the tension, loud and obnoxious as always. "We need to talk about women."

I rolled my eyes. Of course we did.

Ryan was my cousin by blood, but I'd disown him if I could. The kid had been handed everything-his slot on this team, his trust fund, his entire fucking life-and still acted like he'd earned it.

My father had only brought him on because Ryan's mother-my aunt-had begged. Said her son needed a "real opportunity."

What he needed was a personality transplant.

"So I met this woman," Ryan continued, leaning forward like he was about to share state secrets. "A very hot-ass woman."

The guys leaned in, grinning. Someone passed him a joint.

I stayed on the balcony, but I was listening now.

"And I made a bet with her." Ryan took a hit, exhaling slowly. "If she can't get the attention of someone in this room, I get to do whatever I want with her. And I mean whatever."

The room erupted. Guys cheering, slapping Ryan's back, laughing like he'd just told the funniest joke in the world.

My hand tightened around the cigarette.

"So who is she?" someone called out.

Ryan paused, his eyes flicking to me.

And something in his expression made my blood run cold.

That little shit.

"Can't say her name yet," Ryan said, grinning wider. "She's new around here. But God, she's sexy as fuck. Dark hair. Green eyes. Ass so perfect that if she sat on your face, you'd cum every day for the rest of your life."

My cigarette snapped between my fingers.

Dark hair. Green eyes.

I turned slowly, eyes locked on Ryan.

He was still talking, describing her like she was a piece of meat he'd won at a fucking carnival. And the guys were eating it up, howling and making crude gestures.

But I wasn't listening anymore.

Because my eyes found Hunter.

And Hunter looked like he'd been punched in the stomach.

His face had gone pale. His jaw slack. His eyes wide with horror as he stared at Ryan.

He knew.

Hunter knew exactly who Ryan was talking about.

Olive.

Ryan had made a bet. With Olive.

Suddenly, my phone buzzed in my pocket.

I pulled it out, and my chest tightened.

Olive Monroe.

She was calling me.

I stared at the screen, watching her name flash over and over.

She'd rejected me three days ago. Told me she didn't need my help. Didn't want my games. Walked out of that hotel room like I was nothing.

And now she was calling.

Which meant something had changed.

Which meant she was desperate.

I should answer. Should pick up and hear that fire in her voice, that desperation she was probably trying to hide.

Feel how the desperation would make my cock rock hard.

But I didn't.

I let it ring.

Once. Twice. Three times.

Then I swiped to decline.

Because I'd given her three days, and she'd wasted them.

Now she'd have to earn it.

Ryan was still talking, describing her body, her eyes, her attitude. And the guys were laughing, imagining what they'd do if they won a bet like that.

I stood, crushing the broken cigarette under my boot.

Hunter's eyes snapped to me, wide and panicked.

And I smiled.

Not the polite smile I used for press conferences or charity events.

The smile I used in the underground club when someone owed me money. When someone had fucked up. When someone was about to learn exactly who they were dealing with.

Because Olive had just walked into a game she didn't understand.

And Ryan-stupid, arrogant Ryan-had handed her to me on a silver platter.

She'd rejected my deal.

But now she needed me.

And this time, I wasn't going to make it easy.

I slipped my phone back into my pocket and walked past Ryan, past Hunter, past Cole.

"Leaving already?" someone called out.

I didn't answer.

I had work to do.

And a very stubborn woman to teach a lesson.