Fake Dating My Ex's Hockey Star Brother (Maya Scott) novel Chapter 117

KATY’S POV

He grabs my chin, forcing my face up and I don’t know if the liquid dripping down my nose is blood or something else. My head is still spinning, my ears ringing, and his grip only makes it worse.

His glare is cold and I can tell he hates being told how stupid he is, not that I needed confirmation after the slap. I can also tell this isn’t the first time someone’s said it to him. And he fucking hates that too.

His next words prove me right.

“I planned everything,” he boasts, his fingers still digging into my jaw. “Down to convincing some board members to join me.”

This is his moment to gloat over his so-called perfect plan, and of course, I’m right about that too. “No one will care what happens to him,” he continues. “You want to know why?” His mouth curves. “Because people don’t care about drug addicts who die driving eighty-five miles per hour.”

My eyes widen before I can stop them as something clicks into place. That’s why Braydon isn’t responding. That’s why he hasn’t moved. He’s been injected with something.

“What did you do to him?” I force out and my throat burns. “He’s an athlete. He can’t be on drugs. No one will believe you.”

“I wish you could stay alive long enough for me to prove you wrong,” he says with a smirk. ” But I do promise you this. After a severe crash that leaves you both charred, everything becomes believable.”

My mouth opens to respond when he signals to one of the men.

“Wake him up.”

I try to twist in the chair, desperate to get a look at Braydon, to stop whatever they’re about to do, but it’s useless. One of the men steps forward with a syringe. I watch, helpless, as he injects Braydon with it.

Two minutes pass, then Braydon jolts awake, gasping loudly, and his whole body jerking against the restraints. Panic flashes through him, and the man immediately presses him back down into the chair, holding him there despite his struggles.

“Braydon,” I call out and he instantly stiffens.

“Katy?” he says after a few seconds.

“It’s me,” I whisper. I want to reach for him. I want to feel his hand, his skin so I cling to the thought that the cops are already on their way, and that this isn’t over yet.

“What are you doing here?” he slurs, the drug still heavy in his system.

“I’m-”

“Get them set up in the car just like I showed you,” Mr. Cooper orders.

Everything happens too fast after that. Before I can react, a gag is shoved into my mouth. Braydon, already disoriented again, is dragged to his feet. Whatever they gave him has him chuckling as he’s led away, lifting his hand in a weak wave like he thinks this is funny. Like he doesn’t understand what’s happening.

I’m yanked up next, forced to follow despite my struggles, despite the scream building in my chest with nowhere to go.

This can’t be it.

I can’t die this way.

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