Shattered Ice

The midnight air bit through my thin winter coat. The campus was dead and silent. The victory parties had finally died down. The only sound was the crunch of my boots on the frozen gravel. I stood outside the towering concrete structure of the State University ice arena. The building looked like a massive fortress. The tall walls cast long and intimidating shadows across the empty parking lot. My fingers were numb. I gripped the thick manila folder so tightly my knuckles ached. Thirty pages of damning evidence rested inside that folder. I took a shaky breath. A white cloud of fog plumed from my lips into the freezing night air. I was a pre law student. I was supposed to be logical. I was supposed to follow the rules and report any violations to the proper authorities. Instead, I was hunting a criminal in the dark. I pulled open the heavy side door. The rusty metal hinges groaned loudly in the quiet night. I slipped inside and let the door click shut behind me. The immediate drop in temperature hit my face like a physical slap. The thick smell of frozen water, pine tape, and sharp ammonia flooded my senses. The stadium was a cavern of deep shadows. The main overhead lights were turned off. Only the emergency backup bulbs illuminated the massive sheet of white ice in the center of the arena. I walked down the concrete tunnel. My heartbeat hammered a frantic rhythm against my ribs. Then I heard it. The violent, echoing crack of dense rubber hitting fiberglass. I stepped up to the edge of the bleachers. I hid behind the thick safety netting and peered down at the dimly lit rink. Leo Kincaid was alone on the ice. He was not running graceful offensive drills tonight. He was punishing himself. He stood at the center red line with a massive pile of black pucks scattered at his skates. He was not wearing his bulky shoulder pads or his protective helmet. He wore fitted black track pants and a tight, sweat soaked gray t shirt that clung to his broad chest. He pulled a puck back with the blade of his composite stick. He wound up his muscular body. The torque in his hips was terrifying. He unleashed a brutal slap shot. The puck became a deadly blur. It slammed into the crossbar of the empty net with a deafening metallic clang. He did not pause. He dragged another puck into position. He fired again. Crack. The sound echoed through the fifty rows of empty plastic seats. It sounded like a gunshot. It sounded like raw, unfiltered rage. I watched him from the shadows. My breath hitched in my throat. This was not a man who was thrilled about a massive offshore payout. A greedy athlete would be out at the clubs right now. A greedy athlete would be celebrating a flawless financial crime. Leo looked like a man trying to shatter his own bones. He fired another puck. The force behind his swing was so violent his back skate lifted high off the ice. The rubber disc missed the net and slammed into the heavy plexiglass wall directly below my hiding spot. I flinched backward. Leo stopped. His chest heaved with heavy, ragged breaths. Sweat dripped from his dark, messy hair down his sharp jawline. He rested his gloved hands on his knees. He stared at the scratched surface of the ice. He looked broken. My chest tightened with a strange, uncomfortable ache. The strict legal boundaries in my mind began to blur. The prosecutor inside my head demanded justice. But the human part of me saw a boy drowning in a frozen ocean. I stepped out from behind the safety netting. My heavy boots hit the metal bleachers with a loud thud. Leo snapped his head up. His dark eyes locked onto my figure in the dim emergency lighting. The exhaustion vanished from his posture instantly. He straightened to his full, towering height. The dangerous, coiled energy returned to his massive frame. I walked down the steep metal stairs. My legs felt like lead. The sound of my footsteps echoed in the silent arena. I did not look away from him. I reached the bottom row. I stepped onto the thick rubber matting that surrounded the outer edge of the rink. The thick wall of scuffed plexiglass was the only thing separating us. Leo glided slowly across the ice toward me. He did not break eye contact. His gaze was lethal. He moved with a silent, predatory grace. The scrape of his steel blades was the only sound in the massive room. He stopped on the other side of the glass. He was standing less than two feet away from me. Up close, the sheer size of him was overwhelming. His broad shoulders blocked out the dim stadium lights. His dark eyes burned into mine. "You are a long way from the library, Caroline," he said. His voice was a low, rough rumble. It vibrated right through the thick glass. My name sounded different coming from him. It sounded like a warning. I swallowed hard to wet my dry throat. I forced myself to stand tall. I refused to let him see my terror. "I brought some reading material with me," I replied. My voice shook slightly, but I kept my chin held high. I lifted the heavy manila folder. I slammed it down onto the narrow ledge of the boards. Leo looked at the folder. A muscle feathered in his tight jaw. He looked back up at my face. "What is that?" he asked softly. The quiet tone of his voice was far more terrifying than a shout. "It is a detailed compliance report," I stated. I channeled every ounce of professional detachment I possessed. "It outlines three highly uncharacteristic hooking penalties. Four blown defensive assignments. Seven missed cross ice passes." Leo did not blink. He stared at me with an unreadable expression. I took a deep breath and delivered the fatal blow. "It also contains a detailed financial audit. I tracked the digital footprints. Your statistical anomalies are perfectly synchronized with high risk betting spreads originating from a series of anonymous shell companies in the Cayman Islands." Silence fell over the arena. It was a thick, suffocating silence. I waited for the denial. I waited for him to call me crazy. I waited for him to laugh and tell me my data was flawed. Leo did none of those things. He gripped the top of the plexiglass wall with his large, gloved hands. He leaned his face closer to the barrier. His dark eyes searched my face with a terrifying intensity. "Who else has seen this file?" he demanded. The calm facade was cracking. The raw panic was bleeding into his rough voice. "Just me," I lied. I needed him to think I held all the cards. I needed to control the interrogation. "But if I slide this folder under the door of the athletic director tomorrow morning, your career is over. You will be facing federal fraud charges by the end of the week." I wanted to see him sweat. I wanted to see if the threat of prison would break him. "You are throwing games for cash, Leo. You are selling out your own team so a syndicate can line their pockets." I let the harsh accusation hang in the freezing air. Leo let go of the glass. He spun around. He slammed his stick against the ice with a brutal, deafening crack. The composite shaft snapped in half. The violent sound made me jump backward. He threw the broken pieces across the rink. He skated hard toward the heavy rink door located a few feet to my left. He unlatched the heavy metal latch with a violent thrust of his arm. He stepped off the ice. He was wearing his steel blades on the thick rubber matting. The skates made him several inches taller. He towered over me like a furious giant. The plexiglass was no longer protecting me. My survival instincts screamed at me to run. I took a panicked step backward. I wanted to bolt toward the exit tunnel. I was too slow. Leo moved with terrifying, lethal speed. He crossed the short distance between us in a single stride. He did not hit me. He did not hurt me. But he used his massive body to cage me. He stepped directly into my personal space. He slammed his large hands onto the cold cinderblock wall behind my head, trapping me between his muscular arms. I gasped. My back hit the hard concrete. The scent of him wrapped around me. It was a dizzying mix of mint body wash, fresh sweat, and pure, burning adrenaline. His chest brushed against my winter coat as he leaned in. I stared up at his face. We were inches apart. His eyes were wild. The calculated captain was gone. The golden boy was dead. He was a desperate man fighting for his life. "You think this is about cash?" he hissed. His hot breath brushed against my cold cheeks. "You think I want to do this? You think I am getting rich while I watch my team lose?" My heart hammered against my ribs like a trapped bird. "Then why are you doing it?" I whispered. Leo leaned closer. His dark hair brushed against my forehead. The proximity was intoxicating and terrifying. I could feel the heat radiating from his skin. "Because if I score a goal tomorrow night, they are going to put my father in a hospital," he said. His voice broke on the last word. The raw agony in his tone shattered the remaining walls of my professional detachment. I stared up into his tortured eyes. The air vanished from my lungs. He was being blackmailed. My terrifying theory was correct. He was sacrificing his own future to save his family from physical violence. "Oh my god," I breathed. My hands shook. The manila folder slipped from my numb fingers. It hit the rubber matting with a dull thud. Leo looked down at the fallen folder. Then he looked back down at my pale, terrified face. The panic in his eyes suddenly shifted into something much darker. It was a fierce, lethal possessiveness. He shifted his weight, pressing his solid frame closer to mine. He caged me tighter against the concrete wall. "Do you have any idea what you just did, Caroline?" he whispered. His rough voice sent a violent shiver down my spine. "I was just trying to find the truth," I stammered. Leo raised his hand. He slowly pulled the blue crocheted beanie off my head. He tossed it onto the floor. He ran his thick fingers through my messy hair, gripping a fistful of strands to tilt my face up toward his. His touch was rough, but his thumb brushed softly across my cheekbone. It was a terrifying mixture of dominance and unexpected care. "The truth gets people killed in this game," Leo murmured. His dark eyes burned with a dangerous fire. "Those men watching the game footage. They track the network logins. They know someone accessed the backend financial files tonight." A fresh wave of terror crashed over me. The syndicate had digital watchers. "They know about me?" I whispered. "They will soon," Leo said. He leaned his face down until his lips were a fraction of an inch from my ear. "You just painted a massive target on your own back. You stepped right into my nightmare. And now I am the only thing standing between you and the men who want to bury us both." Author's Note: Hi everyone! The secret is finally out. Did you expect Leo to react that way? Now that Caroline is dragged into his dangerous world, what do you think he will do to keep her safe? Please let me know your thoughts in the comments. Don't forget to like and share if you loved this dramatic chapter!