Page 87 of Play Dirty

No whistle.

“ARE YOU KIDDING ME!?” I shouted, half-climbing over the boards.

Solomon didn’t even pretend otherwise. He just skated past Zack, who was still trying to get up, and clapped his stick against the ice like he’d just made a highlight reel play.

Seconds later—

Goal.

7-4.

The arena erupted, and the resounding cheers peeled even more paint off the walls. I stood there frozen, staring at the scoreboard, willing it to burst into flames. Then—

Crack.

Ares.

He’d brought his stick down hard against the ice, snapping it clean in half. The sound cut through everything.

It also made Solomon’s smile even wider.

Luckily, Ares didn’t see that. He skated in for a new stick; jaw tight, eyes burning.

“Let me talk to him?” I nudged Mercer.

The coach responded with a grunt and a nod.

I called Ares over. Begrudgingly, he slowed to a halt in front of me.

“Hey,” I said.

He leaned in, breathing hard, sweat dripping down his temple.

“Know how I’m always telling you to keep penalties down,” I said, “and not chase anyone out of your zone?”

He scowled. Spat on the ice.

“Yeah.”

I leaned even further over the boards. Close enough so that only he could hear me.

“Forget all that,” I said, keeping my voice low and sharp. “Go kill that fucking guy.”

For a split second — nothing. Then—

Ares smiled.

It wasn’t a normal smile, either. It was twisted. Sharp. Almost feral.

He didn’t say anything, as he pushed off.

I felt something twist low in my stomach as I watched him go. Something dark. Something I probably shouldn’t have felt.

I also shouldn’t have liked it so much.

The next shift lasted maybe ten seconds. Solomon took the puck along the boards, still riding high from his goal, still jawing, still—

Ares hit him.