Chapter 2

Amaya Turner POV:

I twisted my arm hard to break free from Davey's grip, but the humiliation in the dining room had turned him feral. His fingers dug into the bones of my wrist, bruising the skin.

Carlene didn't lift a finger to help me. Instead, she glared at me and barked, "Amaya, stop making a scene and apologize to Davey right this second! Look at what you did to his suit!"

A sharp ache shot up my arm, making me gasp. I drove my heel down toward Davey's leather shoe, but he yanked his foot back just in time and twisted my arm harder.

"Apologize? Not a chance!" I gritted my teeth, glaring into his blotchy, furious face. "Let go of me right now, or I'm screaming for security and calling the police!"

Davey let out a nasty laugh and yanked me a step closer to his wet chest, his sour breath hitting my face.

"The police? Do you really think Boston cops care about a lover's quarrel?" he sneered. "Carlene already agreed to this match. Tonight, I'm going to teach you some manners in the back of my car."

"Get your hands off me! I already have a boyfriend!"

The desperate lie tore out of my throat before I could think.

The hallway went dead silent. Both Carlene and Davey froze.

Carlene narrowed her eyes first, her gaze razor-sharp and full of suspicion. "What nonsense are you spouting now? You spend every single day either locked in that attic room or running to job interviews. Where on earth would you get a boyfriend?"

Davey recovered a second later and barked out a mocking laugh, though he finally loosened his grip enough for me to wrench my bruised wrist free.

"A boyfriend? Who, Brodie?" Davey wiped a drop of water off his chin, looking thoroughly disgusted. "Stop flattering yourself, Amaya. Everyone knows you're just desperate to climb into your foster brother's bed."

My back hit the cold patterned wallpaper of the corridor. I rubbed my throbbing wrist against my chest, my heart hammering against my ribs.

"It's not Brodie!" I panted, my voice trembling with rage. "I wouldn't touch Brodie—or you—with a ten-foot pole! My boyfriend is a hundred times the man you'll ever be!"

Davey crossed his arms over his damp pinstriped jacket, looking entertained as he blocked my exit.

"Oh, really? A hundred times better than me? Then where is he, princess? Call him up right now. Let's see what kind of loser would actually claim Carlene's charity case."

"Amaya, stop lying right now," Carlene threatened, stepping in close to my other side so I was completely boxed in.

"If you made up a fake man just to ruin the arrangement I worked so hard to set up for you, don't bother coming back to Cambridge tonight. I will throw every last one of your bags onto the curb before midnight!"

Cold sweat broke out across my palms. I had fifty-two dollars in my checking account, nowhere to go in the freezing cold, and no boyfriend coming through that door to save me.

Davey saw the panic flash across my face and grinned uglily. "That's what I thought. Just a pathetic liar. Now come here—"

At that exact moment, the heavy mahogany doors of the private VIP dining room at the end of the hall swung open. Low, deep male voices drifted out into the corridor.

I turned my head instinctively.

Walking toward us under the warm glow of the wall sconces was a man in a custom-tailored black three-piece suit.

He stood well over six-foot-two, with the broad, powerful shoulders of a pro athlete and a commanding presence that made the narrow hallway feel suffocatingly small. As he drew closer, the light caught the sharp cut of his jaw, high cheekbones, and a faint, pale scar slicing through his right eyebrow.

Knox Leonard.

He was my late foster father Richard's greatest hockey prodigy, the alternate captain of Boston's NHL team, and the billionaire head of Apex Capital.

I hadn't seen him since Richard's funeral two years ago, where he had stood in the pouring rain in a black coat, too untouchable and intimidating for me to say more than two words to.

Knox had one hand shoved casually into his trouser pocket, his dark brows drawn together in slight impatience as he listened to thesuited assistant walking half a step behind him.

Beside me, Davey reached out his meaty hand to grab my shoulder again. "Quit stalling and walk, Amaya!"

Panic completely short-circuited my brain. Driven by pure survival instinct, I ducked under Davey's arm and bolted forward, running straight toward the most dangerous, untouchable man in Boston.

"Knox!" I cried out, my voice cracking.

Everyone in the hallway froze.

Knox stopped dead in his tracks. His piercing, gray-blue eyes shifted from his assistant and locked straight onto my face.

His assistant immediately stepped forward with an arm raised to intercept me, thinking I was some crazed fan, but Knox lifted a hand, halting him without breaking eye contact with me.

Before I could lose my nerve, I ran right up to Knox's chest and grabbed the crisp sleeve of his tailored suit jacket with trembling fingers. Up close, the heat radiating off his tall frame and the sharp scent of cedarwood and winter mint hit me all at once.

"Honey, your meeting finally ended," I blurted out, loud enough for the whole corridor to hear. "I've been waiting for you outside."

Knox's rock-solid arm stiffened beneath my fingertips. He slowly looked down at my pale knuckles clutching his expensive wool sleeve, then back up to my terrified eyes, his expression dark and completely unreadable.

Behind me, Davey let out a shrill, barking laugh. "Amaya, are you seriously grabbing some random guy in the hallway and calling him 'honey'? How pathetic can you get?"

Carlene hurried forward, her heels clicking as she bowed her head apologetically toward Knox, not yet recognizing his face in the dim hallway light. "Sir, I am terribly sorry! My foster daughter is having a tantrum because I arranged a date for her. Let go of the gentleman's coat this instant, Amaya!"

My fingers were shaking so badly I could barely hold onto his fabric. If Knox shook me off right now and said he didn't know me, Davey would drag me out to the parking lot and Carlene would lock me out in the cold.

I tilted my head up, staring straight into Knox's cold gray-blue eyes. My throat burned as I whispered so quietly only he could hear over the pounding in my ears, "For Coach Richard's sake... please. Help me."

Knox didn't say a word.

His sharp gaze dropped from my desperate eyes straight down to my right wrist, where ugly red finger marks were already blooming against my pale skin. Then, his eyes cut slowly past my shoulder, taking in Davey's dripping wet suit and Carlene's twisted, furious face in two seconds flat.

Every second of his silence felt like a heavy stone pressing down on my chest. My heart sank to my stomach. We were practically strangers. Why would a billionaire NHL star get involved in my messy family drama? I braced myself for the humiliation of him stepping back and brushing my hand away.

Instead, Knox slowly turned his wrist. His large, calloused hand closed firmly around mine, his warm fingers carefully avoiding the fresh bruises Davey had left on my skin.

With a single effortless pull, he drew me half a step behind the shield of his broad shoulders and leveled a stare at Davey that could freeze blood.

"You got a problem?" Knox asked, his voice a low, dangerous rumble.

Davey took an instinctive half-step back, the smug grin vanishing from his face.

Knox didn't even spare him a second glance. He looked down at my stunned face, his thumb brushing once against the back of my freezing hand, and the corner of his mouth curved slightly.

"Sorry to keep you waiting, sweetheart."