Allof me.
The motherfucker actually hauls me up by my collar and shakes me like I’m a snow globe, then cracks his helmet against mine. My sight is swimming in a blurry daze, but I still shove at him with everything I’ve got.
“Is that a no to my offer?” His rough words push past the chaos, the crowd’s noise, the screams of our coaches and teammates.
“Just so you know.” I’m grinning before I even register the metallic flash on my tongue. “I’m going to kill you, Osborn. I’ll chop you into tiny pieces, feed you to the sharks, and keep your skull on my nightstand as a candleholder.”
“Will that be before or after you bounce on my cock like a good little slut?”
I growl deep in my throat as I’m about to punch him, but he’s yanked back by none other than Jude.
Fuck this shit.
Soon enough, Jude and Osborn are at each other’s throats as both teams try to separate them.
I stand up, and the ref waves me off toward the fucking box.
“Seriously?Me?” I yell, then force myself to calm the hell down, because what in the ever-loving fuck is going on right now?
If someone could explain, that would be perfect, thanks.
At the lack of a satisfying reply, I skate toward the box, remove my helmet, and try as hard as fuck to be cool.
Breathe.
Just breathe, me. No, we’re not used to the box, but I need to chill the fuck out and not let that degenerate get into my head.
Isn’t it too late, though?
Shut it, demon of reason. No one needs your useless commentary.
I remove my mouthguard and swallow the metallic taste that’s flooding my senses. No, literally, I’m seeing fucking red.
“Everything all right, Pres?”
Kane’s the one who just spoke through the glass, although his attention is divided between me and Jude, who’s still trying to fight Osborn as the crowd goes wild.
“Never been better.” I lick my split lip, running my tongue across the cut over and over again.
Every sting of pain reminds me that I need to inflict it ten times worse.
Bring that bitch down.
Make him fuckingcrawl.
“Don’t clash with Osborn,” Kane says. “He doesn’t fall for provocations.”
“We’ll see about that.”
“Just leave him to me.”
“No, he’s mine. Stay out of it.”
Kane’s brows pinch together, but he’s distracted. Jude is being Jude, and the other team members can’t control him, so Kane skates to the middle of the brawl.
Letting out a grumble, I flop onto the bench in the box, chugging half a bottle of water.
Finally, the teams break Jude and Osborn apart, sending each toward his respective side.
