The Billionaire Takes a Bride (Billionaires and Bridesmaids, #3)(4)

They pounded forearms, then, hooting and hollering, took their places on the track.

Chelsea was in the pack. As a blocker, she wasn’t one of the “stars” of the show. That was just fine. Blockers got the most physical on the track. While jammers skated ahead, trying to score points, and the pivots kept the pace, the blockers got to try and cause mayhem, and that was where Chelsea wanted to be. When the whistle blew, she immediately slammed herself into the Diamond next to her, then skated forward. She was known for being brutal on the track, and she put it all out there.

That was how she rolled, pun intended. For the next half hour, she blocked and cruised around the track, flinging herself at opponents and launching herself bodily when nothing else worked. She was going to have bruises aplenty in the morning, but all that mattered was the game. The Rag Queens were up by four points, but it was tight. One good jam and the Diamonds could pull ahead again. It made her lean in to her blocks a bit more, and she ended up slamming more than one girl out of bounds.

Then it was halftime, and the ladies retreated to their locker room. They crowded in, ready to discuss strategy for the second half, when all those bottles of water she’d drank before the game hit Chelsea at once. “Gotta pee,” Chelsea announced. “Don’t start play discussions without me.”

Cherry Fly groaned. “You gotta pee again? Jesus, Chesty.”

“Can’t help it. Blocking makes me have to go.”

Cherry paused. “You want company?”

Chelsea shook her head. It was just a quick trip to the john. She’d be fine. Chelsea winked and popped out her pink mouth guard, set it in its case, and then skated out of the locker room toward the restrooms. There was a toilet in the locker room, but it was under construction and smelled like Sandra Flea’s old knee pads, so she skated out to the public ones. There’d be a huge crowd there thanks to halftime, but people usually let a derby girl cut in line.

The halftime show must have been banging that night, because there was zero line at the restrooms. Probably a raffle, Chelsea mused, skating up to the door to the women’s restroom.

A hand tapped her shoulder. “Excuse me, miss?”

Her entire body froze. Her muscles locked. Blackness flicked at the edges of her eyes, and for a moment, Chelsea thought she was going to pass out.

No, no, no. You can’t. That’s when he can do whatever he wants.

Forcing herself to turn, Chelsea shrugged the man away. She didn’t know him. He was a stranger. Some guy in a concert T-shirt and a baseball cap. Looked like a frat boy.

The sight of him filled her with dread.

“You Chesty LaRude?” He held up one of her trading cards. “I’m a big fan. Can I have an autograph?”

Her mouth worked silently. She was frozen in fear. Normally Pisa, her derby wife, was at her side. She knew better than to leave Chelsea alone. But Chelsea’d been high on game endorphins and had left Pisa tightening the screws on her skates.

And now she was here alone in the hall with a strange man.

Her breathing rasped in her throat. Panic shot through her. She couldn’t breathe. Her sweaty hair stuck to her neck and she managed a small shake of her head. She didn’t think she could hold a pen at the moment if she tried.

His lip curled at her denial. “You think you’re too good for me? Fuck you.”

She wanted to say something. Protest. Tell him to go f*ck himself. But she couldn’t speak. Chelsea was utterly frozen.

She had to get away. Had to. She stumbled forward, crashing into the swinging door of the bathroom. “Leave me alone,” she managed to choke out.

“Fucking bitch,” he called after her.

She skated into the bathroom, her steps jarring, desperate.

A moment later, she heard the door crack open, and for a frantic second she thought he was going to come in after her.

It was going to be just like last time. Not again. Not again. No. Please.

The light flicked off and she heard a ridiculous juvenile laugh. The door swung shut again.

A prank. Nothing more. He was just trying to freak her out.

But the lights off was just as bad—maybe worse—than a stranger touching her. Chelsea whimpered and dropped to her knees, hugging them. Her skates rolled her forward and she gently bumped against the wall. She collapsed against it and hugged her knees tighter to her chest. Hot tears poured down her face.

The dark.

She hated the dark.

Someone had to find her. Help her. Please. I’m here. Someone find me. The words swirled in her mind but wouldn’t make it past her throat. It might have been ten minutes or a hundred. Chelsea sat there, unable to move, frozen in fear.

“Chesty? Chels?”

Pisa’s voice. But she couldn’t answer. She was frozen, just like before.

The lights in the bathroom flicked on. A moment later, Pisa skated in, her eyes wide. “Oh, my god, honey. Are you okay?”

“Someone turned the lights off,” Chelsea said in a small voice. She sniffed and rubbed a hand over her eyes. “I’m sorry.”

“Oh, sugar, it’s okay.” Pisa moved to her side and hugged Chelsea against her. “Everyone was wondering where you were. Did . . . did someone touch you?”

Pisa knew Chelsea’s secret. The reason why she froze in fear. The reason why she couldn’t stand the dark. She’d understand why Chelsea had just shut down in a stupid public restroom.