Puck Me Harder: A Stepbrother Romance [BL]

Damon’s POV

I pulled my car to a stop, staring through the windshield at the darkened sports arena. The campus felt miles away, and this entire sector was practically deserted at this hour. I couldn’t help but wonder what was waiting for me inside. Was Noah going to break my jaw the second I stepped through the door, or was he going to try and spill my guts across the rink?

I squeezed the steering wheel, taking a steadying breath to suppress the nervous knot in my stomach. Whatever happens, I’ll find out soon enough.

Stepping out into the biting evening air, my eyes automatically scanned the corners of the exterior building. The security cameras were mounted everywhere, but their little indicator lights weren’t blinking red. The psycho had completely wiped the system clean and killed the feed.

I pushed the heavy doors open and slipped inside, the hollow echo of my boots against the concrete sending a chill down my spine. Guided by a faint glow, I made my way down the hallway until I reached the main rink.

The vast arena was shrouded in pitch-black shadow, except for a single spotlight beaming down on the exact center of the ice. Standing right in the middle of that pale circle of light was Noah. He was holding a hockey stick, his posture imposing and rigid as a statue.

I glanced to my side near the bench. Resting against the barrier were a high-end hockey stick and a pair of skates in my exact size.

He had set everything out for me. How thoughtfully twisted.

I laced up the skates without a word, glided smoothly onto the ice, and let the cold air hit my face as I carved toward the center.

"Where is he?" Noah asked, his voice flat. He didn’t even bother turning his head to look at me.

"Micah?" I smirked, halting a few feet away. "I thought you’d already know, considering how obsessively you stalk his every move."

His jaw clenched tightly, a sudden, violent spark of irritation flashing in his eyes. Without warning, he struck the rubber puck with terrifying force. It flew across the ice like a stray bullet, the speed making it a black blur.

Instinct took over... I reacted barely in time, snapping my stick down to trap the puck right before it could shatter my ankle. That crazy bastard!

"I should have broken his damn phone when I had the chance," Noah muttered under his breath, his knuckles turning white around his grip.

"That’s completely insane, captain," I said, scoffing as I adjusted my stance. "What, are you trying to turn your innocent younger brother into a complete hermit?"

"Hermit or not, if he doesn’t have a phone, he can’t reach you," he replied coldly, his piercing eyes dropping down to trace the puck at my feet.

Looking at him standing there in the dim light, a sudden thought crossed my mind. Maybe this wasn’t the worst moment to pry into my dear captain’s bizarre, deeply unsettling obsession with Micah. They were supposedly stepbrothers. It was an open secret that Pastor Bernard Miller had adopted Noah years ago since the two shared zero physical resemblance. So, technically, his bond with Micah was...

Honestly, screw it. I don’t care about their family tree, I just care about keeping Micah safe.

I flicked my wrist, pushing the puck gently back toward him. Noah trapped it effortlessly under his blade.

"About Micah..." I began, ready to force a real answer out of him, but before I could finish the sentence, Noah reeled back and slammed his stick forward.

The puck didn’t stay on the ice this time. It shot up like a missile, striking me straight between the legs.

"FUCK!"

An agonizing explosion of pain shot straight through my groin up into my stomach. My breath was forcefully sucked from my lungs, my eyes watering instantly as my knees violently slammed onto the frozen surface. The cold ice stung through my pants, but I could barely register it over theblinding agony throbbing through my lower half.

This fucking sociopath was literally trying to castrate me.

I curled in on myself, clutching at my front, desperate to scream, curse his ancestors, and rip his eyes out of his socket—but I couldn’t even form a coherent word. Pain squeezed my lungs like a vice.

"How... how the hell do you feel... after pulling a cheap shot like that, huh?" I choked out, a strained, miserable laugh escaping my lips as I fought back tears of pure agony.

Noah opened his mouth to reply, but a sharp beep-beep-beep suddenly cut through the air. He glanced down at the sleek smartwatch on his wrist. His expression instantly shifted from dark annoyance to a chilling stillness.

He turned on his skates, heading straight for the dark locker room corridor.

"If you can stand, run," he tossed over his shoulder, his tone completely flat.

"Run? What the hell do you mean...?"

Before I could even drag myself up, the heavy entrance doors to the arena creaked open. Distant, muffled voices echoed from the main concourse.

Are those... people? At this hour?

A wave of dread washed over my pain-riddled body. Forcing my adrenaline to override the throbbing agony in my groin, I dragged myself to my feet, clutching my aching lower half, and skated frantically toward the shadow of the locker room.

I burst through the doorway into the pitch-black locker room just as Noah was silently stripping off his skates in the dark.

"What’s happening?" I whispered harshly, leaning against the wall for support. "Who’s coming out there?"

The fool completely ignored me, continuing his swift, silent movements. I quickly kicked off my own skates and crept toward the heavy wooden door, peering through the small glass viewing panel set into the center. The glass gave us a clear, wide view of the illuminated rink. The entire arena was deathly quiet, meaning even a whisper out there would bounce off the walls and echo straight to us.

Two figures walked under the center light.

"Are you absolutely sure this place is empty?" a deep, authoritative voice demanded. "Whose cars are parked outside?"

"It’s empty enough for our purposes, and that’s all that matters," a woman’s voice replied coldly.

"Let’s just get this whole damn thing over with," another deeply familiar voice chimed in.

Beside me in the dark, I felt Noah’s entire frame go rigid. He clenched his fists so tightly his bones cracked. I pressed my face closer to the glass, my chest tightening as my eyes adjusted to the light.

Walking onto the ice were Pastor Bernard Miller, the university’s Vice Chancellor, and...

My breath caught completely in my throat. I gasped softly.

The Prime Minister.

Following closely behind them were three or four other high-profile, extremely wealthy figures from the city’s elite power circle. A knot of terror tied itself in my stomach. What the hell was this? Why were the most powerful men in the region holding a secret midnight meeting at an empty hockey rink?

Noah suddenly lifted his wrist, bringing his smartwatch mere inches from his lips.

"Activate the rink’s internal camera system. Record every single frame," he whispered into the mic, his eyes glinting with a terrifying, mechanical coldness.

A realization hit me... did he know this meeting was happening all along? Did he bring me here to be his witness?

"Why on earth are we holding this meeting here?" one of the businessmen grumbled, crossing his arms against the cold. "The last time, it was the school cafeteria at midnight on a Sunday! Now a freezing ice rink?"

"I’m starting to deeply despise the location and the timing of these gatherings," another muttered.

The complaints bubbled up until the Prime Minister abruptly raised his hand, his face twisted in raw, agonizing grief and rage.

"My daughter was murdered!" he roared, his voice booming off the empty bleachers.

The group instantly fell into a dead, suffocating silence.

"An accident?! Fuck you all! My daughter was pushed!" the Prime Minister spat, his breath fogging heavily in the freezing air. "If she actually fell on her own like the police claim, the security footage would have proven it! But the damn culprit wiped every single video file from the server!"

A shudder ran through my core. The Prime Minister wasn’t stupid. He knew. I slowly turned my head in the dark to glance at Noah. He was the exact culprit who had erased those files. But his face remained completely deadpan, devoid of a single drop of remorse.

"That tragic situation is one of the key items we’re here to discuss tonight," a grey-haired man in an expensive tailored coat spoke up, stepping forward. "However, the second item on our list... is your son, Miller."

Pastor Miller’s son?

My heart did a violent flip in my chest. What the hell do these monsters want with Micah?! Why him?!

"It’s been sixteen years already," the grey-haired man continued, his tone chillingly detached. "Isn’t it long past time we finally eliminate him?"

Beside me, Noah silently stood up straight, his shadow towering over me as he pressed his face closer to the glass window. I instinctively shuffled sideways, giving him space as cold sweat broke out across my back.

"Can we please not bring this up again?" Bernard Miller replied, his voice maintaining that fake, holy confidence he always put on in public. "I’ve already accepted Noah as my child."

The grey-haired man let out a harsh, disgusted bark of laughter.

"That horrifying thing isn’t your child, Bernard!" the man snarled, pointing an accusing finger at Miller. "Sixteen years ago, he would have been a cold, forgotten corpse if you had just done your damn job properly!!"

WHAT?!

The horror of the revelation hit my brain like a freight train. A sharp, violent gasp tore from my throat—

Before the sound could even leave my mouth, Noah’s hand shot through the pitch-black air of the locker room. His large, iron grip slammed ruthlessly over my mouth and nose, cutting off my air supply and violently pinning my head backward against the shoulder.

His dark, icy face leaned down until his lips were resting right against my ear, his breath burning hot against my skin as he whispered a lethal, terrifying promise into the dark:

"If you make a single sound... I will slaughter you right here."