Falling Forward ✔

Chapter Thirty-One - Reece

"Reece," Bas wheezes past the blood in his mouth.

The fight abandons him in a sudden rush, leaving him stunned. Russo and Bower lose their hold on him. Spencer keeps him pinned by the chest, dark eyes leering where Asher struggles to his feet.

"Get the fuck out of here," Spencer growls. "Or you'll wish I let him keep going."

Asher scowls, wipes the blood from his face with the sleeve of his sweatshirt, and stumbles unsteadily toward me. I lurch back, hit the brick wall as terror stirs in my veins.

"This ain't over, you little—"

"Actually," Johnson snaps, getting in his path. Asher swings out wildly, seemingly undeterred by the beating Bas just gave him. Johnson avoids the hit, catches his arm and cranks it behind his back, elbow locked around Asher's throat. Asher gives a surprised grunt, tries to wiggle out of the goalie's hold, but he's weakened, bloody, and feeling the burn from Bas's fists. "It is over."

Behind him, Bas fights Spencer, eager to continue where he left off. Spencer shoves him back, barks an order to Bower and Russo, who put hands on Bas when he starts struggling. Spencer mutters a curse, strides toward Johnson and Asher with a deadly gleam in his eyes.

"You stupid son of a bitch," Spencer growls, gripping the front of Asher's sweatshirt. "Let me tell you what happens next," he continues, jabbing a finger down the darkened alley. "You're going to get your sorry ass out of here, lick your wounds, and get on the first plane back to whatever hole you crawled out of. You're going to forget to ever met her," Spencer points at me, his voice dropping an octave, "because if I see your face again, I'll kill you and make it look like an accident."

"I'll help." Johnson adds, tightening his choke hold.

"Us too," Bower adds where he holds Bas. "My sister's a cop and knows all the best ways to bury a body."

Asher grunts, eyes flashing with fury. "Vete a la mierda—"

Spencer's palm comes down over Asher's mouth. He leans in close, meeting the bloodied man's eyes with equal rage. "Do you really think you can fight off an entire hockey team? Because if you try and fuck with her again, we'll all fuck with you. Do I make myself clear?"

Asher's gaze flicks around the alley, which, to my surprise is brimming with wound up Cyclones players. They're all tense, caught in different stages of attack. I hadn't realized we'd drawn such a crowd, hadn't noticed Bas's teammates make a defensive ring around us, blocking onlookers from seeing or hearing Spencer's threats. I hadn't even registered Kaila standing at my side, her blue hair a splash of light in this dark alley, her hands in fists at her sides like she too would land a blow to Asher if the situation allowed.

Until this moment, I'd figured my relationship with Bastien was of no consequence to his team. Now, I realize the truth behind Spencer's threat. Asher didn't just mess with Bastien when he came for me; he drew the wrath of a brotherhood.

Asher gulps, nods around Johnson's arm. Spencer backs off with a sharp gesture at his teammate. The goalie lets Asher go, practically shoving him to the ground. Asher coughs, spits a mouthful of blood onto the pavement. He gives me one more baleful look.

I've never seen his pretty face so bloodied, his resolve so shaken. When he turns away, it's resigned. He won't be coming back. Ever.

Only when Asher's out of sight does Bower and Russo let Bas stumble toward me. He looks so broken, his face and nose bleeding, his knuckles bruised and red. That scares me more than anything.

He slammed me against the wall, took Asher's hit. Then when I tried to stop him, his elbow clocked me straight in the nose. The metallic taste on my upper lip was enough. I was back in that house, back to cowering, back to fearing a man full of violence.