Sparks In The Dark
1668 Words
CHAPTER FOUR
The engine idled with a low, menacing rumble as Brian’s hands gripped the steering wheel so tight the leather groaned.
Through the windshield, Leo looked pathetic, pinned against the dented hood of the sedan while the larger of the two loan sharks kept a heavy palm shoved into his collarbone.
“Stay in the car, Riley,” Brian commanded, his voice dropping to a flat, lethal register.
“Brian, those guys look dangerous,” Riley said, her fingers instinctively locking around the door handle. “Don’t go out there alone.”
“I said stay in the car.”
He didn’t look at her.
He popped the glove box, pulled out a thick, rubber-banded stack of emergency cash, and shoved it into his jacket pocket.
“Lock the doors behind me.”
Before she could argue, Brian stepped out into the freezing air, slamming the door.
Riley immediately hit the central locking switch, her heart hammering against her ribs as she watched through the glass.
Her own life was burning down on social media, and now she was trapped in the middle of a literal street fight.
“Let him go,” Brian said, walking toward the men with a slow, measured stride.
The primary loan shark sneered, shoving Leo’s face into the cold metal of the hood one last time before stepping back.
“Well, look at the young big-shot coach. Took you long enough, Mercer. Your piece-of-s**t brother here put ten grand down on the Comets tonight. Imagine his surprise when your team shut them out.”
“I don’t care about his bets,” Brian growled, stopping three feet away.
He pulled the stack of cash from his pocket but didn’t hand it over.
“I told you the last time you tracked my car that if you came near my family again, we’d have a problem. Take the money and get the hell out of my sight.”
Leo whimpered, wiping his bloody nose on his sleeve.
“Brian, man, they were gonna kill me—”
“Shut up, Leo,” Brian snapped, throwing the cash directly at the leader’s chest.
“If I ever see your car on this block again, I’m not calling the cops. I’m handling it myself. Do we understand each other?”
The loan shark caught the stack, flipping through the bills with a greasy thumb before offering a mocking salute.
“Pleasure doing business with a professional, Coach. Keep your dog on a shorter leash.”
The two men climbed back into their sedan, reversing violently down the street before roaring away into the dark.
The moment they were gone, Brian turned on his brother, grabbing Leo by the front of his jacket and slamming him hard against the nearest brick wall.
“Brian! Stop! I didn’t have a choice!” Leo choked out, clawing at his brother’s hands.
“You used my name to secure a marker from syndicate bookies?” Brian’s voice was a terrifying whisper. “I am one bad headline away from losing my contract with the Sirens, Leo. If Natalie finds out you’re betting against our own organization, she will kill you herself.”
“I needed the cash! Dad took my entire paycheck for his tabs last week!” Leo yelled, tears welling in his eyes. “I’m drowning, Brian!”
Brian stared at his brother, disgust and exhaustion washing over his face.
He slowly released his grip, letting Leo slump against the wall.
“You’re only seventeen and you’re already drowning. Get out of here. If you come near my apartment or my rink again this month, you’re on your own. I’m done bailing you out.”
Without waiting for an answer, Brian marched back to his sports car, threw the door open, and climbed inside.
His knuckles were exposed, a small bead of blood forming where he had gripped Leo’s jacket.
He slammed the car into gear, the tires barking against the asphalt as he accelerated away from the curb, leaving his brother behind in the dark.
Riley sat in the passenger seat, her eyes wide as she stared at his bleeding hand.
“Are you alright?”
“I’m fine,” Brian said, his jaw locked so tight the muscle was twitching violently.
“That was your brother?”
“He’s a mistake I keep paying for,” Brian snapped, checking his rearview mirror as he navigated the dark city streets.
“Don’t look at me like that, Riley. I don’t need your commentary tonight. We both have enough disasters to manage.”
“Where are we going?” she asked, looking down at her phone as a fresh wave of notifications from the leaked medical files lit up her face. “You said the press is at my place, and I can’t go back to that restaurant.”
“The only place in this city where the media can’t get past the security gates,” Brian said, turning the car down a restricted service road.
Ten minutes later, the car glided through the iron gates of the Sirens’ private training facility.
The building was completely dark, the massive concrete structure casting a heavy shadow over the empty parking lot.
Brian killed the engine.
The sudden silence inside the car felt heavy and suffocating.
“The Sirens’ rink?” Riley questioned, turning to look at him. “If anyone sees the Vipers’ captain inside your facility during a tournament, the league will suspend both of us for structural fraternization.”
“The security guard is on my payroll, and the cameras in the main corridor are off for maintenance until 5:00 AM,” Brian said, opening his door. “Come inside, or stay out here and let the sports blogs pick your bones clean. It’s your choice.”
Riley swallowed the lump in her throat, opening her door and following him through the private side entrance.
The air inside the building was freezing, carrying the familiar, comforting scent of shaved ice, leather, and skate wax.
Brian led her down the darkened corridor, flipping a single switch that illuminated the main ice sheet under a solitary, brilliant overhead spotlight.
Riley walked up to the plexiglass, her chest aching.
The leaked journals on her phone were systematically dismantling her reputation, painting her as a mentally unstable athlete who shouldn’t be allowed on the ice, while her grandmother was holding a financial gun to her father’s head.
The pressure inside her chest built until she felt like she was going to choke.
She grabbed a stray hockey stick from the Sirens’ bench, stepping onto the ice in her civilian shoes.
Her soles slipped slightly, but she anchored her weight, pulling a stray puck from the tray.
With a sudden, brutal twist of her torso, she slammed the puck across the rink.
It struck the opposite boards with a deafening CRACK that echoed through the empty arena.
“Feel better?” Brian asked, stepping onto the ice fully geared in his skates, holding a stick of his own.
He moved smoothly, gliding across the blue line until he was stopping just a few feet from her.
“No,” Riley whispered, her voice cracking in the dark. “My ex is trying to ruin my career, my grandmother is trying to force me to retire by destroying my dad’s academy, and I feel like the walls are closing in.”
“Then stop thinking,” Brian muttered, his eyes locking onto hers with an intense, sudden heat.
He tapped his stick against the ice, dropping into a low defensive stance.
“Take the puck from me, Hart. Let’s see if that year and a half of recovery actually gave you some teeth, or if you’re just talk.”
The provocation worked instantly.
Riley’s eyes flashed with competitive rage.
She lunged forward, her shoes sliding on the ice as she tried to hook his stick, but Brian spun away flawlessly, puck-handling with a tight, mind-blowing control that defied his old wrist injury.
“Is that all you’ve got?” he taunted, skating a tight circle around her. “The Queen looks slow tonight.”
“Shut up, Mercer!” Riley yelled, throwing her entire body weight into a hard, physical check that caught him square in the chest.
The collision was heavy.
Her shoulder struck his chest as they both lost their balance.
They went down together, sliding across the cold, smooth surface of the ice until they slammed hard against the corner boards.
Riley ended up pinned flat on her back, her breath caught in her throat.
Brian was draped directly over her, his forearms planted on either side of her head, locking her into the space between his body and the plexiglass.
The collision of the drill evaporated instantly, replaced by electric silence.
They were both gasping for air, their hot breath mingling in the freezing air between their lips.
Riley looked up at his face, her gaze tracking the small cut on his knuckles, then moving up to his dark, obsessive eyes.
“You’re a bastard, Brian,” she breathed, her chest rising and falling heavily against his.
“I know,” Brian whispered, his gaze dropping to her mouth, his voice dropping to a dangerous, desperate growl. “But I’m the only one in this league who actually knows what it costs to keep you on this ice.”
Brian leaned down, his mouth crashing against hers with a bruising passion that shattered every rule in the sport.
She should push him away.
He was now the coach of her biggest rival team.
But Riley didn’t push him away; her fingers tangled into the fabric of his black coaching jacket, pulling him closer as the raw heat of the kiss burned through the freezing darkness of the arena.
Suddenly, a loud, heavy click echoed through the rafters.
The overhead stadium lights violently snapped on, flooding the entire arena in a blinding, white glare that exposed them completely.
- Writer
