Page 14 of His Last Will

Pushing him would be useless given the angle I am currently hanging in the air, so I do the next best thing. Without giving a fuck about the consequences, I spit in his face.

Aiden opens his eyes and looks momentarily stunned. Like he never expected me to have the nerve to do that. Feeling smug that I could shock him, I smirk. “The only thing that’s going to be hugging your cock on our wedding night is your hand. Might as well get used to it, reaper.”

The bastard knows how to play, though. With his tongue, he licks the spit from his cheek that landed right above his lips. And to piss me off further, he practically moans as he does it. “Tastes so sweet, unlike you.”

With that evil sentiment, he unceremoniously drops me and skates backward, never looking away from me.

But I am not letting him get away without getting some answers.

“Wait.” The word feels sour on my tongue because I have to ask about the ring.

He stops where he’s at and leans against his stick again. Standing there on the ice, he looks like a dark angel. More like a demon if I am being totally honest. Tall and imposing, with dark curls, a pierced eyebrow, arm tattoos, and enough muscle mass to knock someone out. Which he does frequently during games because it is the only time he can even show a little bit of his true self to the public.

Making someone bleed in front of an audience is one of his kinks, and hockey was the best sport for that. The crowd even cheers him on while he does it. Everyone seems to relish his specific style on the ice. His smile gives people a false sense of security and lures them in before he attacks.

Dropping my chin, I look down at my ring. My newfound source of discomfort. The oval-cut white diamond contrasts beautifully with the black from the intricate web design on the band. I would never admit it out loud, but it really is the perfect ring.

“The ring…care to explain?” He stiffens, removing his weight from the stick and pulling the cage back over his face.

“No.” Turning, he skates back to center ice. Making it clear that this discussion is over.

CHAPTER

FOUR

ARI

The pop of the gunshot still rings in my ears even as the sound of car tires screech against the pavement. The high-pitched squeal is swallowed up by the night air. Silence descends. The chill in the air is overwhelming, making my entire body shiver.

He is still.

Unmoving.

Unblinking.

“Come on, we need to get up and get Ashton. He can stop the bleeding so that you can go bludgeon whoever took the shot later. Or whatever other awful thing you now have planned for your revenge,” I joke, trying not to lean into the panic I feel. If it were me, I would just use a gun. Less messy that way. Easier to clean up. But Brodie is all about making statements and sending messages. Real mafia coded this one. If he could hang his enemies outside the house as a warning, he would. But he would have to answer too many questions for that.

“Brodie?”

“Come on, this isn’t funny.”

But he doesn’t respond as the silence threatens to choke me.

I am beginning to crack. This has to be some sort of dream, a nightmare come to life. The panic inside me crescendos the longer he takes to respond. I slam my fist against his chest. “Get up! We need to get out of here.”

He begins to cough, a little blood dripping down the side of his mouth. “Ari,” he wheezes, struggling to get my name out.

“Baby, I’m here. I’m here. We need to get you up and find cover.” He grunts, his blonde curls drenched in sweat, as he lies on the ground, unmoving. “I’m calling Gage.”

The phone rings, but no one picks up and my call goes to voicemail. I try three more times without success.

“Sweetheart, it’s no use.” He says wearily as he opens his eyes to look at me. Brodie’s skin is pale, and his hand visibly shakes as he reaches for me.

My vision becomes blurry as I realize what he is about to do. “No, I know what you’re thinking right now. We are not doing this. There is no goodbye for us, Brodie Araneae, do you hear me?” A deep tugging feeling in the bottom of my stomach has me struggling to breathe. He doesn’t respond and looks almost sad at my response. Like he is giving up. But I’m not. I won’t let this be the last of us.

If Gage won’t answer, I know who will. It’s the thick, dark liquid beginning to cool and congeal around his waist that makes the decision for me. The phone is ringing again before I can second-guess myself.

“You will not leave me. Promise me.” My voice breaks as I beg him to stay with me.