BREAKAWAY (The Dartmouth Cobras) (2 page)

Demyan stood. "I think he gets the point."

Holding out his hand, Luke shook his head. "No, let her finish. Guys who don't look like what?"

"Carter—Luke. I'm sorry. Maybe it sounds shallow, but when people look at you, they see a rough hockey player. Damn it, you don't even have all you teeth and you're only twenty-two! What are you going to look like ten years from now?" She rubbed her hands over her face. "My parents asked to meet you. Can you just imagine what they would think?"

Luke traced the scar that ran down from his lip to his chin with trembling fingers. He touched his partials—which temporarily replaced two teeth he'd lost—with the tip of his tongue. All this time he'd been worried about her finding out about how he craved dominance, how much he enjoyed using ropes to tie a woman, how hot it got him to use a flogger to turn her ass nice and red. He'd stopped all that for her because she was as vanilla as a person could be, even though it meant the sex wasn't all that great for him. But fuck, he loved her. He would have given up everything except the game for her.

Even if he
had
been willing to give that up, it wouldn’t have made a difference. He was damaged. Flawed. He saw it whenever he looked in the mirror. It had been pretty stupid to expect her not to.

"How long have you stayed because you felt sorry for me?"

"Luke—"

"How. Long?"

She folded her arms over her stomach. "Two months."

Jesus fucking Christ.
He sucked his teeth and nodded. "Get out."

"I'm so sorry—"

He reached behind him and threw the door open. "I said get out!"

Not waiting to see her leave, Luke walked to the kitchen, opened the fridge, and got himself a beer. He drank half while leaning into the fridge. And sighed when he heard Demyan step up behind him.

“I’m surprised you didn’t go after her.” The bottle hit Luke’s teeth as he gave Demyan a tight smile. “She’s your type.”

“That she is. Shallow, selfish, and stupid. An asshole like me doesn’t aim any higher.”

“You expect me to feel sorry for you?”

“Fuck no. The stuff I told you while I was fucking plastered wasn’t for pity.” Demyan shrugged, staring at the wall behind Luke. “I just thought you knew me better, that’s all.”

Damn it, busting up the man’s pretty face would make him feel real good, but he
did
know him better. And they didn't need this shit messing up the way they gelled on the ice. "She just threw herself at you, didn't she?"

Demyan reached around him to grab a beer. "Yeah, after sitting beside me and telling me how horrible she felt wanting to break up with you while your mom's sick and all. I
kinda
patted her back and told her she needed to tell you what she was telling me. Then she heard you pull up and just climbed on top of me and took off her shirt."

"Fuck me."

"My words exactly. Hell, with my reputation, I didn't expect you to believe me if I told you I hadn't done anything. And I didn't expect her to come clean."

Luke's whole body ached worse than when their fucking Captain, Sloan Callahan, put them through their paces the morning after a bad loss. His heart felt like it had fallen victim to a sledgehammer. Why the hell had he gotten all wrapped up in a relationship anyway? They never worked out, his parents were living proof of that.

"I'm
gonna
head to the club, I haven't been there in awhile." Luke finished off his beer and stepped back to close the fridge. "You
wanna
come?"

"Sure. As long as I don't need to be packing up my shit?"

"Hey, you know what they say." Luke clinked his empty bottle to Demyan's still half full one. "Bros before hoes."

"They do say that." Demyan tipped his beer to his lips, not coming up for air until he was finished. Then he belched and laughed. "But
they
never mean it."

"Well I do." Luke set his bottle on the counter and headed for the door. "From now fucking on."

* * * *

Pink and blue flashing lights. The sweet, slick perfume of sex. Two pairs of naked breasts pressed together as red lips met in a passionate kiss. A stage full of lust for a handful of cash.

Luke leaned forward and slipped a hundred dollar bill into the curvy blonde's g-string. She glanced down and gave him a sultry smile before bending down to suck on her 'dance' partners nice big nipples, one after the other. His dick jabbed at the inside of his zipper, throbbing with the kind of pain he craved when he needed to feel enough for his brain to shut the fuck up.

Not enough though. Not yet. He shifted as the women resumed fondling one another.

And I gave this up for her?
His lips curled away from his teeth in a sneer. Good thing he'd come to the club on a night when the ladies were scheduled to put on a show. Something Silver Delgado, the club owner's girlfriend and partial owner of the Dartmouth Cobras, had come up with a few months back to up the club's income. And he’d missed out on all this while trying to be the relationship kind of guy.

Not because he suddenly wanted to settle down. No, it was for his mom. She'd just found out she had an inoperable brain tumor. Since his dad left them, all they’d had was each other. She was scared that she’d die and he’d be alone. So she’d asked the impossible of him. She desperately needed to live to see him get married, and her doctors said she only had a year or two left. His shock had changed her tone pretty fast, and before he had a chance to say a word she'd whispered 'Can you at least find a girl who you might want to marry, one day?'

He’d thought he could. He’d thought he had. It hadn't been horrible either. Teresa had been cool to have around when he wasn't on the road. She'd met his mom who absolutely loved her.

I loved her.

His stupid brain was going into overdrive. He shook as he pictured her all over Demyan, as he heard her telling him his fucked up face disgusted her—fine, not in exactly those words, but—

Shut up!

He smashed the bottle in his hand against the side of the stage. The neck snapped off in his fist, cutting his palm. He drew in air and pain and shoveled the depressing thoughts into the back of his head. Teresa didn’t matter. All that mattered was what his mom, what she expected from him.

Sitting on the edge of her hospital bed at the end of the All Star break in January, Luke had held her cold hands between his. "I don't have to go, mom. They can bring up someone else to—"

"They need you. You won't do any good hanging around here while I'm getting tests. I'm not going to stop living and I don't want you to either." She brought her hand up before he could argue. "My sister is coming to stay with me. I'll be fine."

"
Iwon't
be able to play good."

"Lucas Isaiah Carter, you better play good." She laughed when he winced at her use of his full name. Then she touched his cheek and whispered. "Don't dwell on this. Give me a reason to cheer each and every game. I'll be watching you."

His mom didn't ask him for much and this was something he could do. At first he'd felt guilty, acting all normal with her still in the hospital, but every time he called she seemed stronger and finally she got to go home. And the act became real. Hell, people lived longer than doctors said they would all the time. Maybe she'd get better.

She still wants to see me happily married though.

Well, she didn't need to know he wasn't with Teresa. Not yet anyway. He could do that much for her, let her live with the illusion that her only child would one day give her grandbabies.

The heat from the cut on his palm spread and he frowned as blood dripped on his shoe. Then he glared at Demyan who was shaking him, snapping out nonsensical words.

Fingers raked into Luke's hair and his head was jerked back. A hot minty breath flowed over his face as Chicklet, his mentor at the club, moved in close. "Come with me. Now."

He didn't even consider arguing with her. Then again, no one argued with Chicklet—not even Dean Richter, the Cobras general manager and owner of the club. She was the kind of
Domme
that could make even the most dominant man submit to some extent.

Not that Luke would
ever
submit to
anyone.

She shoved him onto a leather sofa near the bar and went to the bar for a towel. After wrapping his hand tight, she straightened and put her hands on her hips. "What's up with you? You
wanna
hurt, you know I'll hurt you." She jutted her chin at his hand. "And I won't fuck up your stick handling when I do it."

Luke clenched his fist around the towel and shrugged. "It was an accident."

"Maybe so. But you took your sweet time taking care of it. And you weren't hearing Demyan when he told you your hand was bleeding all over the place." Her eyes narrowed as she studied him. "Where's your head at kid? You completely zoned out."

"Just broke up with my girlfriend—no big deal." He gave Chicklet his most charming smile, even though he knew it wouldn't work on her. She had two subs—one of them his roommate, Tyler Vanek, and even that angel-faced SOB got the Full Metal Jacket treatment when he pissed Chicklet off. But he had to try. "You
wanna
know what I was thinking? Tyler's gone for a little while, trying to get his brain fixed." Wiggling his eyebrows, he let his gaze roam over her curvy, leather clad body. "He won't mind if we have some fun while he's gone, will he?"

Chicklet's lips drew into a hard, mean line. "No, I don't think he'll mind at all. Stand up, boy."

Boy?
He rolled his eyes and stood. "Chicklet, I
ain't
a sub—you know that, right?"

She smirked and glanced over to the right. "Wayne, you mind holding him for me?"

"Not at all." The huge bouncer came up behind Luke and shackled his wrists in big, beefy hands, jerking them back until his shoulders ached from the strain. "Where do you want him?"

"Get him in the upright stocks. The steel ones."

Twisting his wrists, Luke stared at Chicklet. "Whoa, wait a second—"

"You know the club
safeword
, boy." Chicklet arched a brow. "Ready to use it already?"

"No I'm not ready to use it. I'm also not letting you put me in the fucking stocks."

"Not letting me?" Chuckling, Chicklet motioned for Wayne to go. "Try to stop me, it'll be fun to watch."

Ignoring Luke's snarling protests, Wayne dragged him to the stocks, twisting his arm when he refused to bend down to them. The stocks were T-shaped, with metal cuffs built in at the ends which were quickly snapped around Luke's wrists, spreading his arms wide. At the end of the V base, shackles on short chains welded into the steel were set up to restrain his ankles. He fought harder to keep Wayne from getting them on him, but the man muscled him into position easily and slapped his thigh when he tried to kick him.

"Behave, boy," Wayne said in the same tone he used with his slave.

Rage pooled up from Luke's guts to his throat, lava hot and thick enough to choke on. "Don't call me boy, you big ugly gorilla."

The brisk click of Chicklet's boot heels drew his attention just long enough for Wayne to lock the last shackle. Chicklet used the end of a riding crop to tip Luke's chin up. "Wayne gets five in for the insult,
boy.
I suggest you think before you open your mouth again."

Eyes narrowed, Luke watched Chicklet set a big white medical kit on the floor. "What the hell do you think you're doing, woman?"

Chicklet straightened. "Mistress."

"Are you serious? You've never made me call you Mistress before."

"Very observant."

How the hell was he supposed to have a reasonable conversation in this ridiculous position? He tugged until his wounded hand, still wrapped in the towel, pulsed as though he had his heart in his fist. "So why now?"

Lips pursed, Chicklet paced in front of him, checking his restrained wrists, running her hands over his shoulders and testing the muscles with her fingertips. Finally she stopped in front of him and squared her shoulders. "Because you need it. I feel like an idiot for not seeing it before, for easing off after giving you a little taste of submission."

"I'm not a submissive." He closed his eyes after another tug and took a deep breath. "Let me go, Chicklet. I get that you're trying to help, but you're wrong about me. I don't need this."

"Don't you?" Leaving one hand on his shoulder, Chicklet leaned close enough for her lips to brush his ear. "Let go for a moment and let yourself feel the restraints. Stop thinking about being a Dom. About what you
should
need. You don't get to decide that now."

Her soft tone soothed him, and he almost relaxed, almost admitted that not having to decide anything felt
kinda
good. But then he opened his eyes and saw people staring. Demyan, who'd given up watching the dancers. Wayne's slave who distractedly served the people at the bar. Laura, Chicklet's other sub, kneeling by a bar stool with a calm expression on her face as though she saw her Mistress handle men like this all the time.