Page 5 of Unhinged Obsession

I win the face-off because of course I do.

The other player barely has time to react before I’m around him, cutting across the ice toward the offensive zone. The crowd surges to its feet as I drive toward the net. A defenseman on my own team moves to intercept me, but I lower my shoulder and send him stumbling backward.

The hit earns another whistle.

The arena erupts in a bunch of fucking noise, and I don’t know if they’re cheering or booing me anymore. I don’t really give a shit. People either like that I’m attached to the last name Moretti and all the benefits that come with that, or they hate me because they can’t get close enough to me to reap any of them.

The defenseman I flattened pushes himself off the ice. Oops, it’s Bradford Harris.

Of course, it’s Bradford. When is it not Bradford on my ass about something?

He rips off his helmet long enough to glare at me. "What the hell is wrong with you?"

I laugh because he started it. He tried to take the puck from me, and we’re on the same damn team. I don’t particularly care about hockey; this team specifically can go chew on rocks as far as I’m concerned, but he certainly does. Bradford Harris, heir of the Harris legacy, son of the vice president of The Saints of the Black Crown Society, cares about a whole hell of a lot.

And he hates me and my brothers because we’re the sons of the President.

The refs separate us before I can murder him in front of most of the St. Augustine campus.

Bradford lets them push him back a few feet, then skates away with that same smug grin.

“Are you just worked up because your little princess, Blair, is back on campus?”

The words hit me like a body check.

My stomach drops because she’s my one sore spot, the one button literally anyone can push, and I’ll go nuclear.

And judging by the way Bradford’s expression changes, my face gives everything away.

He slows, fake sympathy twisting his features as he says, “Aw. You didn’t know she was back, did you? Whatever happened between you two must have been awful. What did you do to her? Or is it what you wouldn’t do?”

I don’t move, don’t blink, don’t even breathe as the words settle over me. My face feels numb, but my fingers are tingling as they bunch into fists. When did I toss my gloves? I’m pretty sure I’m blacking out with rage right now.

“She didn’t tell you she was leaving, and she didn’t tell you she’s back for the Choosing Ceremony?” He presses a hand dramatically to his chest. “That must hurt since she’s your—” he makes exaggerated air quotes, “’best friend,’ huh?”

Rage floods my veins, but for the first time in my life I’m not impulsively swinging. I feel like I can’t move; my skates feel like they’re buried in quicksand. I want to scream at him, tell him to shut the fuck up, but no words will come out.

“What is it they always say about her?” he asks loudly. “She’s the only bitch who can calm your ass down? No wonder you’re ready to snap.”

Something inside me snaps, and I lunge for him, but my brother, Noah, is there to yank me back. I let out a frustrated grunt because my two brothers are the only ones on this damn ice that are any match for me.

“Okay, killer, we can’t be going down in history as the only Black Crown legacies to get expelled for fucking with a dipshit like Harris.”

I glare at him, and he grins lazily at me, because that’s just how Noah is. Lazy. He points toward the penalty box, then gives me a look as if to ask whether Bradford is worth it.

The answer is fucking yes.

I want to kill the bastard, and I don’t care how many people watch me do it.

My other brother, Ben, skates up with a frown. He’s about to say some shit I don’t want to hear because that’s all that ever comes out of his mouth. “Don’t give The Society a reason to punish you and us because we look like you.” Being an identical triplet has its perks and downfalls, that’s for sure. Ben doesn’t like dealing with any kind of drama or people in general, and I’m angry enough to want to fight every fucking person who dares to look at me.

I bark out a humorless laugh. Blair is gone, my brothers and I are sitting on the secret of the century, and our kingdom is one gust of wind away from crumbling around us. The Society has plenty of reasons to punish me, and my beating the fuck out of the vice president’s son is the least of them.

Around us, the game continues, but I don’t hear any of it. Don’t give a fuck about any of this shit. All I can think about is Blair. If she’s really back. Where the hell she’s been. Why she hasn’t come to me? More importantly, what I’m going to do to make sure she never leaves my side again. I could handcuff her to myself. No, that would cause a spectacle. Actually... after all the nights I’ve spent roaming the streets looking for her, a spectacle sounds exactly right.

Bradford better hope he’s not fucking with me. Actually, I’m going to hurt him either way.

Ben shakes his head in mock disappointment. “We would have already won this game if you weren’t so worried about what Blair Winthrop is doing.”