Total pages in book: 126
Estimated words: 120031 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 600(@200wpm)___ 480(@250wpm)___ 400(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 120031 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 600(@200wpm)___ 480(@250wpm)___ 400(@300wpm)
The Washington Weasels—God, Adrian was so right about it being a dumb name—had sure kept the Hounds on their toes. The Weasels were focused and highly skilled, and their teamwork was faultless.
Each team had scored two goals so far, and there were twenty minutes left before the final whistle would blow. Both teams were so desperate to score another goal that they’d been trying a little too hard, which was why they were repeatedly slipping up and committing more fouls than usual. And now the Weasels had been awarded yet another free kick. That wouldn’t have made her so nervous if the free kick wasn’t happening so close to the goal area.
Blowing out a breath, Casey rolled back her shoulders. Adrenaline pumped through her, keeping her sharp even as tiredness began to settle in. They were all tiring, and that lethargy was made worse by the baking heat. The air was so dry and humid that it seemed to saw at her dry throat like sandpaper.
She almost winced as a foot stepped on hers. The line of players that had formed in front of the goal nudged and jostled each other, all jockeying to—depending on which team they were playing for—either block the ball or help it pass and hit the net.
Casey’s eyes narrowed as the striker up ahead of them ran on her toes toward the ball, speeding up as she got closer to it. Then, executing one hell of an impressive kick, she sent the ball sailing through the air toward the net.
Heart beating hard in her chest, Casey jumped to block it. Missed. Shit. But then a hard headbutt from Kristin redirected the ball and sent it hurtling toward another Hound.
Fucking yes! Adrenaline once more spiking through her, Casey sprinted toward the opposition’s goal. Her teammate passed the ball to her without hesitance and, with a clear shot to the net, Casey brought her leg back and volleyed the ball hard … only a second before a foot mercilessly slammed into her outstretched leg. Son of a bitch!
Casey sucked in a breath as white-hot pain streaked up her leg. She felt and heard a nauseating crack, and her stomach rolled. She landed awkwardly on her hurt leg, and a blinding pain exploded in her ankle. Stars burst behind her eyelids, and her knees would have given way from the agony alone if she hadn’t already been sprawled on the turf.
She blinked, trying to clear the spots from her vision. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”
She was distantly aware that Kristin and Emma were yelling at one of the Weasels while the other Hounds gathered around Casey protectively. The spectators on her team’s side of the bleachers were booing and roaring angry insults at the offending player. Casey knew Eli would be one of them. She could feel his fury as if it were her own.
“Out of the way!” ordered Donahue as she and Dennis shouldered through the crowd.
“Did I score?” asked Casey, her voice thick with pain.
“Yes—and it was a beautiful shot.” Crouching beside her, Dennis winced as he examined her leg. “That ankle’s broken for sure.”
Donahue cursed. “You’re gonna have to sit the rest of the game out, Frost.”
It was automatic for Casey to try voicing a protest—she did it without thinking.
“Don’t tell me you can still play,” said Donahue. “There’s no way you can hobble around on that field with this injury. Dennis will get you healed, and then you can watch from the bench. I’m sorry, Frost, but that’s the way it has to be.” She turned to the ref, who was gazing down at Casey’s leg. “If you don’t red-card the shit out of this situation, you’re gonna have a riot on your hands.”
His mouth tightened. He spun without a word and stalked away.
Emma appeared. “Fuck, that looks really bad.” She bent over and whispered, “We’ll get the bitch for you, Case, if she’s not sent off the field.”
Gritting her teeth against the agony still racking her, Casey gave her teammate a solemn nod. Dennis soothing energy moved through her, healing the injury, but it didn’t entirely ease the pain. That was the annoying thing about being a mink—for some unknown reason, the pain of their injuries lingered a little after they were healed.
“You played well,” said Dennis as he helped her stand. “At least you have the comfort that you scored.”
Casey only grunted, flexing her ankle, her nostrils flaring at the throbbing ache. Satisfied that she was fine, her teammates gave her nods and pats on the back—all looked hungry for vengeance. And she knew they’d target the bitch who’d hurt Casey if the ref didn’t do something.
Her mink certainly wanted to do something. Hissing and lashing her tail, the animal demanded freedom so that she could hunt down and maul her attacker.
Just then, there was a distinct shift in the spectators. The boos turned to contended cheers, but the other half of the spectators jumped to their feet and yelled their displeasure.