Beg Me Like You Mean It, Captain

​Reid walked in, still wearing his standard track pants and a loose training shirt. The sharp, clean scent of his frozen pine pheromones filled the sterile room instantly, making my inner Omega give a small, involuntary pulse despite the throbbing pain.

​I gritted my teeth, keeping my eyes fixed straight ahead. "You should be out there doing post-game interviews. You got the game-winner."

​"Russo’s handling the press," Reid said smoothly, closing the door behind him and leaning against the frame with his arms crossed.

He looked at the massive bruise on my side, his smoky grey eyes darkening for a fraction of a second before that signature, snobbish smirk crept back onto his face.

​"You played a hell of a game, Cap," he murmured, stepping closer until he was standing right beside the examination table. "To be honest, you’ve got great strategy and great play. But before... I used to wonder how a weak Beta was pulling it all off in a locker room full of Alphas."

​I cut my eyes toward him, my expression hard as stone. "And now?"

​"Then I found out you’re not just a weak Beta," Reid said, his voice dropping into a low, intimate vibration as he leaned down slightly, his face entirely too close to mine. "You’re a fragile Omega, and yet you still pull it off out there. You take the hits, you command the ice, and you don’t break. I thought, wow. He’s really something. He’s incredible."

​I narrowed my eyes, a cold, dry chuckle escaping my throat, though the movement made my ribs ache. I wasn’t buying a single word of his sudden flattery.

​"Was that profound realization before or after you pinned me down and fucked me, knotting me continuously while we were in Lake Placid?" I asked, my voice dripping with pure venom.

​Reid’s smirk only widened, his eyes flashing with a lazy, arrogant confidence that made him look like the absolute demon he was. He leaned in another inch, his breath brushing against my ear.

​"It was after," he whispered, a dark amusement coloring his tone. "While you were sleeping."

​He straightened back up, looking down at me like a king admiring his favorite possession.

"You know, it feels so good hearing you beg me, Evans. You should really work more on your sincerity next time... because I know you want me to fill you with my cock again. Your body was practically screaming for it."

​I closed my eyes and let out a long, heavy sigh, my shoulders dropping as the familiar frustration settled deep into my bones.

​Right. I was an idiot for even wondering if he had changed. He was still the exact same snobbish, arrogant, perverted rookie who just wanted to see me break.

He didn’t respect me; he just liked the view from the top, and he was going to use every single piece of blackmail he had to keep me exactly where he wanted me.

​"Get out, McCoy," I muttered, not opening my eyes. "The doctor is coming back."

​"See you at practice tomorrow, Captain," he chuckled, his heavy footsteps fading toward the door as the invisible cage around my life tightened just a little bit more.

The door clicked shut behind Reid, the lingering trace of frozen pine slowly dissipating into the sterile smell of the clinic.

I opened my eyes and looked down at my chest, tracing the edge of the brutal, dark discoloration painting my skin.

​I won’t be able to practice like this.

​A grim sense of relief washed over the pain. In a messed-up way, this injury was exactly what I needed. It gave me a flawless excuse to skip the rink tomorrow, which meant I could finally take the medications sitting in the glove compartment of my car.

Vance had warned me that the high-dose interceptor would completely wreck my stamina and take me out for about twenty-four hours.

If I took it the second I got home tonight, the worst of the physical toll would pass by tomorrow midnight, and I wouldn’t have to face the team—or Reid—while feeling like my limbs were falling off.

​The heavy clinic door swung open again, and the team doctor walked back in, holding a digital tablet displaying the fresh gray-and-white images of my skeletal structure.

​"Well, Evans, luck is on your side tonight," the doctor said, scrolling through the scans with a professional squint. "Thankfully, there are no broken bones. No fractures at all. But that is a severe deep-tissue contusion. You’re going to be incredibly stiff, and your breathing is going to feel restricted for a few days. I want you completely off the ice tomorrow. No practice, no training room. Rest, apply ice regularly, and do not strain yourself."

​"Understood, Doc. Thanks," I muttered, carefully pulling my blue jersey back over my head. The simple movement made my jaw clench, but internally, I was celebrating. It was absolutely perfect.

​By the time I gathered my things and moved toward the main exit of the arena, Russo and Gerald intercepted me near the back parking lot.

​"Cap! What’s the verdict?" Russo asked, his face tight with concern. "We’re all heading out to the steakhouse for the victory dinner. You coming?"

​"Doctor’s orders, guys," I said, offering them a tired, convincing grimace as I gestured to my left side. "No broken bones, but I’m completely benched for the next two days. I can barely twist my torso. Go celebrate without me. I’m just going to head home, crash, and try to get some sleep."

​"Ah, damn. That sucks, Cap," Gerald sighed, patting my uninjured shoulder gently. "We’ll raise a glass for you. Get some rest. The team needs you back at 100 percent."

​"Will do. Good game tonight, boys," I said, waving them off.

​I didn’t see Reid on my way out, but it was for the best, I guess.

I walked out into the pouring Seattle rain, the cold drops stinging my face as I hurried to my car. I unlocked the glove compartment, my fingers wrapping around the cold, silver blister pack and the unlabeled plastic bottles Vance had traded for my cash.

Shoving them deep into my pocket, I started the engine and drove through the dark, slick streets of the city.

​The moment I unlocked the door to my apartment, the quiet safety of the space welcomed me. I didn’t bother making dinner this time. I walked straight to the kitchen, poured a massive glass of water, and popped the heavy silver interceptor pill out of its casing.

​I stared at the small tablet in my palm. This was the boundary line. Once I swallowed this, whether there was anything inside me, it would all be flushed clean from my system.

​I put the pill on my tongue, drank the entire glass of water, and prepared myself for the rough twenty-four hours ahead.