Bang. Crash

The sound of glass shattering has my head snapping up at the speed of light and I’m slightly concerned I gave myself whiplash. Aside from my Mercedes, the only other car in the gym parking belonged to Abel Thorne—the striker for the BC Raptors, AKA, the same bastard who shoved me onto the ice so bad I nearly shattered my knees. He’s was a right old steroid junkie but he also had crazy good management that managed to keep him from being dismissed from the Raptors.

Another symphony of shattering catches my attention and this time the perpetrator to the destruction was within eye-range. It was a girl, she was wearing baggy black clothes and haphazardly hitting the black SUV with nothing more than a stick of some sorts and I fight back the urge to smile.

Looks like I’m not the only one with a vendetta against Mr Thorne.

Before I can register my body move, I get up out the drivers seat and find myself walking towards her. My internal radar flares immediately, yelling at me to Turn. The. Fuck. Back. but nope, I keep going.

“Hey!” I call out and she flinches like I’m going to reprimand her or something—as if. “Uh…I’ve got hockey sticks in my boot if you want to do serious damage.”