Chapter 6 The leverage

My fist slammed into the metal locker. It echoed through the corridor like a gunshot. My hand burned, but I didn’t care. The rage was too loud in my head.

“You think this is a game?” I snapped, spinning around so quickly my skates slipped on the rubber floor. I grabbed a bench to steady myself, but my balance was off. Everything felt wrong.

Roland just smirked. He was standing there in his compression shorts, arms crossed over his chest, looking bored. He seemed like he’d been waiting all day for me to lose it. Like he’d planned it.

It stopped being a game the moment you put on your brother’s jersey, little omega,” he said, his voice smooth and calm. “Now it’s about leverage.” My blood ran cold. “What did you say?” He stepped closer, invading my space. “One word from me to the league, and I can destroy everything. Your fake identity. The impersonation. Your chances with the team. I can ruin your pack, kill your sponsorships, and trash your father’s legacy. All because you couldn’t let Lucien go.” Every word hit like a punch to the stomach. I felt sick. Lies stacked on lies. Sleepless nights. The pressure of being the ‘golden son’ for a family that never cared about me until I was useful. It was all falling apart because of this arrogant jerk. “You wouldn’t,” I whispered, my voice cracking. Roland’s eyes gleamed. “Try me,” he said softly. “I own you now, Jeffery. Every nervous breath. Every time your heart races when I stand too close. I own all of it.” Something inside me snapped. I didn’t hesitate; I just pushed him. I struck that wall of muscle in his chest with everything I had. He staggered back, genuinely shocked for once. He caught himself against the wall, but it was too late. Flash. Marcus, one of Roland’s henchmen, stood in the corner. His phone was up, the red light blinking. “Shit,” Marcus muttered, trying to step back. “Delete that!” I shouted, lunging at him. But Roland was quicker. He grabbed my arm and yanked me back against his chest so hard the air escaped from my lungs. “Let it run,” Roland whispered into my ear, sounding way too happy. “The world is about to see who you really are.”

By evening, the video was everywhere.

“TEAM CAPTAIN ASSAULTED BY TEAMMATE” was the headline on every single app. The video caught the whole thing—my shove, his shocked face, the pure hate between us.

The comments were brutal. People called me unstable, dangerous, a liability. They were siding with Roland, calling him the “patient captain” putting up with a crazy teammate.

At 2 a.m., my phone buzzed. Dominic. I picked up, my hands shaking.

“You selfish piece of trash,” Dominic barked. No hello, just straight to the hate. “Did you really push the captain on camera? Are you trying to destroy Lucien’s reputation? Because you’re too weak to handle the pressure?”

“I was trying to protect us!” I argued. “Save it! Everyone saw it. Sponsors are already calling. You were supposed to be the perfect one. Now you’re just some emotional omega who can’t control himself.” The ‘O-word’ hit me like a slap. He didn’t know the full story—he didn’t know what Roland was doing to me—but it still cut deep. “Fix this,” Dominic hissed. “Or I’ll tell the pack exactly how your drama is killing everything Lucien worked for.” Click. He hung up. I sat in the dark, my knuckles white as I gripped my phone. The nausea was back, heavy and cold in my stomach. The next morning, the summons arrived. Coach’s office. 9 a.m. I reached there first, feeling like I was carrying a ton of bricks. Roland followed two minutes later, smirking as if he’d already won the lottery. The room was packed. Coach sat at his desk, flanked by two corporate-looking sponsors in expensive suits. The air was thick with tension. I could barely breathe. “Explain,” Coach said, skipping the small talk. Roland leaned against the wall, looking completely relaxed. “Just a little locker room disagreement. Got a bit heated. You know how it is.” “That video makes us look like a disaster,” one of the sponsors snapped, throwing a printout of the video on the desk. “Sponsors are backing out. The fans are turning on us. We can’t have this.” My throat felt like sandpaper. I sensed Roland’s eyes on me—watching, waiting, loving every second of my misery. “It was my fault,” I blurted out. I tasted ash. “I lost my temper. Roland didn’t do anything wrong.” Roland raised an eyebrow, genuinely surprised for a split second. Coach rubbed his temples. “We invested a lot in you. The team needs to trust you. One more incident, and you’re benched. Maybe even fired.” The warning was crystal clear. As they kept discussing contracts and “damage control,” I felt Roland move behind me. No one else noticed when his fingers brushed the back of my neck. It felt like a trap closing shut. “See what happens when you push back?” he whispered. His voice was a low, dangerous vibration against my skin. “Now everyone is watching. And I haven’t even told them the best part yet.” My breath hitched. My face went hot. “The best part?” I whispered, terrified. “That every time I touch you,” he leaned in closer, his voice a ghost of a sound, “you get hard for me.” The sponsors kept talking about money, but the world had stopped for me. Roland’s presence felt like a storm about to break, and there was nowhere left to hide.