Sniper (Vegas Venom Book 6) by Colleen Charles

Author:Colleen Charles [Charles, Colleen]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2023-07-27T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter Fifteen

Ranger

The roar of the crowd is a muffled hum inside my helmet as I take my place inside the faceoff circle. The ice under my skates is slick and solid, a testament to the anticipation thrumming in the air. The Riot player across from me, Cole Fiorino, has a wolfish grin on his face, teeth gleaming white against the harsh overhead lights. We’re all hungry for the win, and the puck between us might as well be a chunk of raw meat.

The whistle shrieks through the arena, and we lunge. I win the faceoff, sending the puck skimming across the ice toward Anders. My pulse is a war drum in my ears, every beat marking the chase, the challenge, the thrill of the hunt.

“Anders, right!” I shout. My voice bounces off the ice, echoing off my half-shield.

With a quick flick of my wrist, I pass the puck to my linemate. Coach broke up the Beck/Newberry/Hale line when Cash retired and asked Anders to take Briggs and me under his wing. Anders is fast as fuck, and he’s one of the best goal-scorers in the league. When he speaks, I listen. He takes off, like a greyhound chasing a hare. He’s all raw speed and brute force, a blur of movement against the gleaming ice. That grace under fire is why he gets called a wheeler.

The Riot players are fast but not fast enough. Ealon Jones scrambles to intercept, but Anders weaves around him, the puck at the end of his stick like an extension of his arm. Then he sends the most perfect pass my way and I’m off like a rocket.

Briggs, a solid wall of muscle and determination on my left, breaks away from his defender. He hollers for the puck. His voice is lost in the frenzy, but I don’t need to hear him. I know the drill.

“Briggs!” I call, and without breaking stride, slap the puck toward him. It slides slick and fast, just as we’ve been practicing ever since he was called up.

His stick meets the puck with a sharp crack. He pushes forward, closing the distance to the Riot’s net with startling speed. The Riot goalie, Shredder Politski, zeroes in on him, but his focus is my opening. Anders is already there, perfectly positioned.

With a last, powerful push, Briggs sends the puck spiraling toward Anders. For a split second, the world slows down. The crowd holds its breath. Politski pivots, but it’s too late.

Anders meets the puck in mid-air with a thunderous slap. It rockets into the back of the net, tearing through the silence with the harsh rasp of twine against rubber.

The red light fires. The goal siren blares. The crowd explodes. But all I hear is the steady thump of my heart, the rush of adrenaline singing in my veins.

In the chaotic celebration that erupts on the ice after Anders slams the puck into the back of the net, I find myself instinctively searching the stands. As soon as I let go

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