being told what to do pissed me off like nobody’s business.
The whistle sounded over the din of the crowd, and the two jammers
barreled toward us and into the line of blockers. One of the wolves shoved
me aside, so I elbowed the bitch and pushed through the morass of sweaty
bodies, my sight laser-focused on Sam. Two of her teammates had managed
to open a space for her. Leaning low, I knocked one of them down and
smashed my shoulder into the other, planting my body in the gap that opened
in the line.
Sam plowed into me, pushing me back several feet. “I was wondering
when you’d come out to play.”
I growled through clenched teeth, locking one of my toe breaks. Though
she didn’t look it, Sam was a mass to be reckoned with and had rock-hard
abs. Where the F were my teammates?
Zara was caught in a shoving match with one of the biggest werewolves,
while another pink-jerseyed woman screamed as one of the wolves bit her.
Was that even allowed?
Pain shot through my side as Sam’s elbow rammed into my kidney.
Before I had time to shout, she spun around me and broke through the line.
Shit.
I used my weight to slam into the muddle of bodies surrounding Rayne,
and using my ass—since hands weren’t allowed—I managed to make a gap
for her to pass. She shot through and booked it after Sam, who was several
seconds ahead.
Pushing and shoving the other team, we followed our jammer. The
Bitches with Bite were several points up on us and would likely win, which
made me want to play extra dirty.
Like a pack of entangled ferrets, we rounded a bend in the rink, and I
shunted one of the shifters. She hurtled into the padded railing, and the crowd
went wild.
One down. But not the one I had my sights on.