The Pucking Wrong Man: A Hockey Romance (The Pucking Wrong Series Book 4)
Chapter 6

“Anastasia,” a voice called, and chills immediately cascaded down my skin.

Michael.

Taking a deep breath, I slowly turned to replace him. He was leaning against the brick wall of the store next to the dance studio, his arms crossed in front of him.

Back in school, we’d once studied serial killers in psychology class. The teacher had taught us how they could blend in, how they were often attractive and agreeable, luring you in until it was too late.

My foster brother reminded me of that.

The charming teenager had become an even more charming man with his carefully parted hair, a handsome face, and a pleasant smile. When he talked to strangers, his voice was even a different pitch, unassuming, and unthreatening.

Not showing you who he was…until it was too late.

“What are you doing here?” I asked, keeping the fear out of my voice, because he’d always fed on it.

“Just a little visit for my favorite sister,” he said mockingly, his eyes tracking down my body in a way that made me want to peel off my skin. “I thought I would stop by to see when you were coming to dinner.”

My breath hitched at that. I wasn’t ever coming to dinner again. I could picture his little photography setup in my head, the blankets he would have spread out on the floor. The way his knife had felt scraping threateningly across my neck before I stripped.

Bile rose in my throat, and I was suddenly light-headed.

He’d forced me to the last dinner. I couldn’t let it happen again. I glanced around, hoping that other dancers had filed out behind me somehow. But no, I was out here alone. I’d had to stay later than usual to scrub the dance studio floors, so everyone must have left while I cleaned.

“I don’t have time for a visit tonight, I’m afraid,” I said, wincing inwardly as my voice trembled. Sometimes I wondered if he was even human or if demons were actually real, and there was one standing in front of me right then.

He sighed, shaking his head disappointedly at me as he pushed away from the wall and straightened. “No time for dinner. That’s over a month now where you’ve said that. I’m beginning to think you’re avoiding me, Ana.”

He was using the same light tone as I was—so why was I shaking at his words?

Spread your legs, Ana…just like that. I blinked, trying to push the last dinner out of my head. I needed to focus so I could get away from him.

“I’d never do that,” I said softly, desperate to keep him calm.

If I thought that his calm was scary…his anger was even worse.

Even in my fear, though, I had to resist the urge to correct him for the millionth time that I didn’t want him using that nickname.

It wouldn’t have done any good—I knew that from experience.

“We’ll catch up soon,” I lied. “I’ll go over to Mom and Dad’s house, and we can all have dinner.”

Calling them “mom and dad” felt like ash on my tongue. His parents had never been those words. They’d given me a roof over my head, yes, but they’d also let their monster of a son torture me for years. They’d turned a blind eye to everything he did to me…and others.

I hated them almost as much as I hated him.

Almost.

“Will you, though, Ana? Because I feel like you’ve told me that before.”

His blue eyes gleamed, and it was all I could do to hold in the terrified sob that wanted to squeak out.

He took a step toward me, and I didn’t bother trying to stand my ground. When something that evil comes toward you, it’s stupid to try and fight back.

The correct action is always to try and run.

The dying sun cast dark shadows across his face and across the concrete, making him seem even more sinister than usual. He was staring at me with dark possession, dark madness—a look that never faded no matter how much time had passed.

“There’s no getting away from your family, Ana. You’re a bad little girl for ever wanting to.” The word family dripped from his lips, heavy with sarcasm. Family was the last thing that Michael thought of me as.

“Of course,” I said appeasingly, as I continued to back away from him, side-eying my surroundings, desperate for someone to appear and save me. He usually behaved in public places, but this late, this part of town wasn’t very “public.”

Belatedly, I realized he’d backed me into a corner, nowhere to escape to thanks to the narrow spacing of the two buildings behind me. My hands fisted at my sides as his slow, steady…menacing steps grew closer.

“Say thank you to your brother for helping you to see the error of your ways, Ana.”

“Thank you,” I said automatically, trained from years of him forcing me to thank him for abusing me.

“Tell me you’re not going to let me down anymore, little bunny,” he ordered in that scary, soft tone that always came before something really bad happened.

“Don’t call me that,” I said in a cracked voice as I took another step away from him, memories I did my best to bury coming to the surface.

“Little bunnnnny,” a voice whispered as something sharp slid down my arm.

I whimpered and woke up, blinking as I stared around the darkness, trying to figure out what was going on.

It took me a second to realize that I didn’t have any clothes on.

And I’d definitely had on leggings and a t-shirt before I’d fallen asleep.

I let out a whimper, my eyes searching the dark corners of the room as I grabbed for my sheet so I could cover myself.

I could hear his heavy breathing, but for some reason I was having trouble replaceing where he was. Maybe it was because of the adrenaline surging through my veins, clogging my throat and making me dizzy.

It felt like I was trapped in some kind of nightmare. And why was my arm still stinging?

Slapping my arm, I tried to stop the weird stinging sensation.

I gasped when I felt something warm, wet…and sticky.

He’d cut me.

“Little bunnny,” he whispered from somewhere close by again.

“But isn’t that what you are?” Michael asked, bringing me back from the horror-soaked past with a placid laugh that would sound normal to anyone else. They would miss the absolute evil threaded through its every decibel. “My little bunny? You really should stop delaying the inevitable, Ana. You belong to me, we both know it.” He extended his hand, and I’d never wanted something less.

“Stay away from me,” I told him, my spine straightening, resolve flooding my insides, even though I knew I was provoking him even more.

“You know I can’t do that,” he smirked, mockingly shaking his head.

His muscles tensed, and just as he was about to lunge, a girl came out of the dance studio. I’d never been more happy to see someone in my entire life.

“Lacey!” I called out, my voice sounding frantic and weird enough that she stared at me like I was insane. “Let me walk with you.”

We had literally said maybe ten words to each other during a class last year, so she was definitely thinking I’d gone crazy…but the alternative was staying here alone with Michael.

Lacey’s steps slowed, and her gaze bounced between Michael and me, hesitation and confusion all over her face.

Michael had paused at her appearance, his body stretched with tension as he stopped just an arms length away from me.

“Anastasia, I was just looking for you,” Lacey said in a flat, almost reluctant tone. She was eyeing Michael nervously now, obviously having felt that innate female intuition that told her he was someone to stay away from.

“Ana—” Michael warned, his arm reaching out to me.

I sidestepped him and hurried toward Lacey, fear hammering at my insides. Lacey held out her hand, and I grabbed it, shocked and immeasurably grateful as she hurried us down the streetlight-lit sidewalk. It was opposite the bus stop I usually took to get to my next job, but I didn’t care. Anywhere that was away from Michael would work for me.

We made it to the edge of the block, neither of us having said a word yet, and I glanced back at Michael.

He was standing in the shadows of the dance academy, in the same spot I’d left him.

Even from here, there was a dark promise in his gaze that spelled nothing but danger for me.

And in the back of my mind, pushed away so that I didn’t think about it, I wondered when he would make that promise come true.

I didn’t know how much longer I could keep this up. I was exhausted. The kind of exhaustion that felt like your body was dying, like you had no hope.

Wiping the table, I forced myself not to cry.

Just like always.

I couldn’t control anything that happened in my life, but I could control my reaction to it.

Or at least that’s what I always tried to tell myself.

I didn’t think any part of me actually believed it.

It would be easy to let that first tear fall, maybe it would even feel good. But it was what came after that first tear that I was truly afraid of.

I wasn’t sure I’d be able to stop once I started.

Sighing, I finished wiping the table and stacking the dishes in the plastic tub, and heaved them up so I could carry them back to the dishwashing station and get them cleaned.

Charlie had told me that if I bussed tables at his restaurant for a month, he would move me up to being a server.

Unfortunately, like most men, Charlie was a liar, and I’d now been bussing tables for six months with no end in sight.

Not only was bussing way more physically taxing than being a server, it also meant that I was being paid pennies because the servers had no interest in sharing their tips—even though they were supposed to.

I needed to replace another job. But the thought of going to the library to use the computer and submitting applications, or going from restaurant to restaurant, or store to store handing out my pitiful resume…well, I couldn’t quite comprehend it at the moment.

I might be twenty-one years old, but I hadn’t started working until I was eighteen—Michael’s parents had never allowed it. Some of the jobs after that were under the table, so I couldn’t even include them in my resume to begin with. It was hard trying to get someone to hire me when I looked like I had little to no experience.

“There’s another table that needs to be cleaned,” Poison said in a no-nonsense voice the second I’d set down the tub next to the huge industrial sinks where she was working on getting the grease off some bowls.

Poison was a pink-haired, sprite of a woman who’d evidently been working at the restaurant for over ten years. She never complained…and she never really talked except to tell me there was more work to do. She may have been the size of a pixie, but she was somehow one of the scariest women I’d ever met. Her name didn’t help with that. I still hadn’t gotten the nerve to ask her the story behind it.

“I’ll get on it,” I told her, giving her my fake dance smile which did absolutely nothing for her.

At least it worked for most people.

I quickly emptied the dishes from the bin and set them beside the sink, ignoring her annoyed look when one of the bowls fell into the sink with a loud plop, dousing the whole front of my white blouse with water.

Perfect.

Grabbing the bin, I limped back out to the dining area—my leg past the point of cooperation for the day. I’d danced for seven hours, cleaned the studio for an hour, and then hustled my way to Charlie’s Diner to do this job—with the unfortunate interlude of Michael along the way.

I needed a break.

Unfortunately, I didn’t qualify for a scholarship at this Company because of the liability that came with my leg—and I wasn’t moving back to my old hometown, no matter how nice the instructors had been. This Company was one of the premier studios in the country, but they didn’t start paying their performers liveable wages until you became a senior performer.

A saner woman would have just quit.

But I didn’t know how to give up on the only dream I’d ever had.

Caught in my own head, with my own thoughts, I completely missed the leg outstretched across the aisle.

I crashed to the floor, the bin going flying, and sharp jagged pain ripping through my wrists and knees as I caught myself. The bin slammed to the floor, dishes flying everywhere, the sound of glass shattering filling the entire restaurant.

I glanced up and saw the owner of the leg, a frat-looking boy with his three friends, had just sent me to my doom…laughing like a pack of hyenas.

“Sorry,” he snorted, obviously not meaning it. My face was burning with embarrassment as they stared at me, clearly amused at the situation.

I tried to get up, but my leg buckled with pain, sending me smacking back down to the floor. Blood filled my mouth as I bit down on my lip, trying to stop the cry that wanted to escape. I didn’t want to give them the satisfaction of hearing me.

Pushing up, I tried to baby my leg, and something sliced my palm. Fuck, one of the glass shards had embedded itself in my hand.

This was the moment I broke, right? This was where I just…gave up?

“Let’s get you up, little dancer,” a deep, familiar voice murmured. There was a soft caress against my cheek and then a strong pair of arms was literally lifting me off the ground like I weighed nothing.

I blinked in shock, glancing up at my savior.

Him.

Camden James.

Yes…I’d remembered his name. Like it was tattooed in my brain as a matter of fact. Like it had melded itself to my ribcage, destined to never be forgotten or ignored.

I’d also remembered that beautiful face. Obsessed over the fact that something so perfect existed and it didn’t belong to me.

As if someone like that could ever belong to anyone, though, let alone me. The idea was laughable.

I was pretty sure that men who looked like Camden James were just shooting stars in the sky that us mere mortals were destined to only be able to look at.

“Are you alright?” he asked in that same, smooth drawl that sent sparks skittering across my skin because it had just become my new favorite sound.

Where the hell were these kinds of thoughts coming from?

“Embarrassed mostly,” I whispered. There weren’t a lot of people in the restaurant tonight, but I could still feel plenty of eyes staring.

I was fine with that on the stage—when I’d embarrassed myself, not so much.

His gaze searched my face, that same look there as he’d had at the community kitchen when I’d passed through the line. Something that almost looked like shock…or awe.

Obviously, that was just wishful thinking.

Then I remembered. He’d seen me getting food at the community kitchen last week.

Now, my cheeks were even hotter with embarrassment.

There wasn’t anything wrong with needing extra help sometimes, but I didn’t exactly want Mr. Dreamboat McDreamy Pants seeing me there.

It made me feel…exposed. Like he was seeing all of my struggles.

I’d been burning with nervousness when he’d come up to me at my table to talk to me. I was worried he was going to mock me, or worse, pity me. I knew I needed to get away before I saw either of those reactions on his handsome face. But right now, he was just looking at me with an intensity that had nothing to do with mockery or pity.

Instead, I saw something in his eyes that I couldn’t quite name. It evoked a different kind of heat. This one, starting low in my stomach.

“Can you stand?” he asked, his hands still grasping my hips. One of the guys at the table made a noise and Camden shot them a dark look. “Fucking idiots,” he growled, and I heard one of them audibly choke.

“I’m fine. Thank you…I’m just going to get back to work,” I said quickly, forcing my legs to work, the urge to get away from this beautiful man hitting me hard. He kept seeing me in these less than glamorous situations. I didn’t know how it was possible for me to be any more embarrassed around him.

Camden turned his attention back to me, his features gentling into something so heartbreakingly caring…I had to yank my gaze away from him.

“Hey. Seriously. That was a hard fall. You should sit down. I’ll ask for some ice,” he pressed, one hand coming up to tip my chin so I had to meet his light-green gaze. Sparks lit up my skin at his touch, and I found myself leaning into his hand.

Wow. I’d never seen that eye color before, like the green sky before a tornado—flakes of gold whipping in the wind in that crazy, bright-green sky as the storm rolled in.

His fingers stroked across my skin, and it was all I could do to hold in a whimper. I’d never been touched like that before—I’d never reacted to anyone’s touch like that.

I blinked, trying to get ahold of the sudden heat spiking between my legs, trying to remind myself of the one universal truth I’d learned in my twenty-one years of life.

Men were trouble.

That included men so pretty you got an ache in your belly just from looking at them.

“No—” I said sharply, jerking out of his grasp. His face fell.

“Thank you,” I quickly added. “But I promise I’m fine. I can take care of myself.”

He didn’t look like he believed me, and there was a frown on his full lips as he took a step away, creating a distance I instantly wanted to fill.

“I’m sure you can, baby girl,” his voice a low, soothing murmur. “But it’s okay to have some help every once in a while.”

Oooh, this man was dangerous. One “baby girl” in that smooth southern drawl, and I was rethinking my whole life…that’s how powerful it was.

Especially that word coming from a man who looked like he knew how to take care of someone. His “daddy” energy was off the charts. It made me want to curl up against him and feel him wrap those muscled arms around me protectively.

I snorted to myself—I’d definitely never had that thought before.

Over his shoulder I could see Poison peeking out of the washroom—something she never did—her lips curled up over her teeth in a way that spelled trouble for me. I stepped away, even though I had to force myself to do it.

“I need to get back to work,” I said, skirting a table as I intentionally went the long way around him, just so I could avoid his intoxicating orbit.

His gaze was a caress as I walked, and I swore I could feel it weaving across my skin.

I wanted to soak it up, keep it with me forever.

Besides staying away from men, I also was a big believer in not letting them know they were getting to you.

Michael had made me a master at that.

Just thinking of him was enough to throw a bucket of water on the fluttery, glittery feeling Camden had given me. Poison’s glare of disapproval made sure it didn’t return.

At least while I was washing dishes.

But when I saw Camden hadn’t left the diner, those feelings came rushing right back.

Men were trouble.

But the question was, what kind of trouble was Camden James?

Even after I left work for the night, I couldn’t stop thinking about him.

And just for the night, I didn’t try.