CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
VIKTORIYA
Now we’re coming to the end of the Games, security has been relaxed, not that American-Russian relations are any better following the US’s ice hockey win last night.
I wait for my chance, following Liam out of the athletes’ dining room and into the hallway, drawing him into the same alcove we were in at the start of the Games. It’s only been two weeks, but it feels like an eternity now.
I glance out into the hallway. We’re alone.
“Déjà vu,” says Liam, taking hold of my hips.
I lift the gold medal off his chest. “How does it feel?”
He shifts his neck around. “A little heavy, kind of clunky, actually.”
I let go of the medal and shove him against the wall. “You know what I mean.”
His face tightens, but he can’t stop the smile working its way over his lips. “Honestly? Fucking amazing. Sure, taking the gold is great, but seeing the look on Bogdan’s face when I handed his ass to him…” He takes hold of the medal. “I’d trade ten of these to see that look again.”
I nod solemnly. “The fans won’t take too kindly to the loss back home. You never want to lose at the Olympic Games, but you really don’t want to lose if you’re Russian.”
Liam laughs, playing with the bottom of my jacket. “I bet. Are you ready?”
“For tonight?” It’s hard to believe in only a few hours I’ll be skating for gold myself.
“Yes… and no. Are you ever really ready?”
“You’ll kill it out there. I know you will. The gold’s as good as yours.”
“If I don’t, how did you put it, get my ‘ass handed to me.’”
Liam’s hands slide around my hips, gripping my ass cheeks tight and bringing me forward against his erection. “You did promise I could have it.”
I place my lips against his ear, enjoying the way his stubble brushes against my cheek, the inviting masculine scent of his body. “If I win gold tonight, you can have any hole you want.”
He shakes his head as I pull back. “It’s a date.”
I step out into the hallway before I get any wetter. The last thing I need out there on the ice tonight is an image of a naked and very ready Liam ‘Mad Dog’ McCallum throwing off my performance.
“I’ll see you after the performance?” he says from the alcove.
“You will,” I call back, walking towards the dormitories and smiling so wide my mouth hurts.
*
I’m nervous waiting with Dimitri by the barrier. It’s a full house in here tonight at the Gangneung Ice Arena, the air electric. Aliona Savchenko and Robin Szolkowy from Germany are wrapping up their routine. They’re our biggest competition, and as much as I hate to say it, their routine is flawless.
Well, almost.
The judges find deductions, enough to provide a small margin for Dimitri and me to seize upon, but it’s going to be tight.
I notice Dimitri’s eyes are red. He swallows back two pills in his hand, clearing his throat.
“Are you sure you’re okay?” I ask.
He looks at me smiling. “Of course! Never better.”
Still, I can’t help the flicker of concern that crosses my face as I smile back.
Our names are called. Dimitri extends his hand. “Are you ready?”
I’m never ready. You’d think after all these years of skating I would have found a way to tamp down the nerves, but they’re here regardless. Helena says it’s good, that it proves I’m not some inhuman robot.
Thoughts of Liam push to the front of my mind. I picture his chest, his arms, his bulging cock…
Yep. Definitely not a robot.
We take to the ice, the applause thunderous.
One part of the audience is cheering louder than most. I look up and see Liam and his part of the US Ice Hockey Team in the upper stands shouting and clapping wildly. I have no idea how they got seats, but it’s great to have their support.
I take up position with Dimitri and feel a tremor run through his hand.
Forget about it. It will be fine.
I smile, the spotlights drawing onto us and with it the prickly heat that follows.
The music starts and we glide away. From that moment on everything is muscle memory. The nerves are gone and in their wake is pure, unaltered freedom.
The first carry lift goes well, our lines clean. The fan spiral has good extension.
Things couldn’t be better.
We come to the first triple Lutz and nail it. Dimitri is smiling, enjoying himself. He wants this as much as I do, to leave competition with a bang.
Everything is on track. We cover a lot of ice, bring great speed into the jumps, technique sharp and sure to bring a high Grade of Execution.
Side of by side, we prepare for the camel spin. I turn and bring my leg out, Dimitri doing likewise. We’ve done this literally thousands of times, but as soon as I spot-check Dimitri out the corner of my eye, I know something is wrong.
He’s too close, I think.
…Right before the edge of his blade connects with the side of my head.
The force of the contact is enough to send me spiraling off, my shoulder impacting the ice first followed by my wrist and then the same side of my head Dimitri’s skate hit. I slam down and slide, barely register the shocked gasp from the audience.
What the hell just happened?
I’m in shock, sitting there on my side as Dimitri skates towards me screaming “Viktoriya! Viktoriya!”
Somehow, though he’s shouting, his voice is muffled, quiet.
What’s going on?
I bring my fingers to the side of my head, wincing at the pain.
When I draw them away they’re hot and sticky, vibrant red with blood. I see it dripping onto the ice, tiny red blooms of it opening up beside me, and that’s it.
The entire stadium pulls into a pinprick. I can’t breathe, can’t see, letting the deep darkness swallow me whole.