Sheltered By The Ruthless Hockey King

Eleanor POV:

"Grab her! If she gets lost, the Guy family will take away all our bonuses for this month!"

The shout cut through the roar of the rain like a blade, sharp enough to pierce the thunder overhead.

My bare feet slapped against the cold, slick asphalt of the back alley, each step a splash of icy water. The ruined hem of my wedding dress, heavy with rain, twisted around my legs; I tore it free, silk ripping, the sound swallowed by another clap of thunder. My lungs burned, a fire raging in my chest, but fear was a more potent fuel.

Behind me, the heavy footsteps of the two bodyguards echoed off the brick walls, closing in.

An image of my adoptive mother, Sharon Guy, flashed in my mind. Her perfectly manicured smile, the glint in her eyes as she said, "Eleanor, this is for the good of the family.If only you marry into their family, we can secure more financial backing from the Stephensons."

She had worn that same smile when she signed the marriage contract. That was how she pushed me into this hell. A sharp, physical ache of betrayal twisted in my gut, more painful than the burning in my lungs.

I risked a glance over my shoulder. They were too close. I pushed harder, spotting a dumpster blocking part of the path. I vaulted over it, but my left knee scraped hard against the rusted metal edge.

A raw, searing pain shot up my leg. I nearly buckled, a cry catching in my throat. I bit it back, tasting blood, and forced myself to keep moving. Blood, warm and slick, mixed with the cold rain running down my shin.

Up ahead, a sliver of brighter light. The end of the alley. The main street. My only hope.

Then, other men burst from a side passage, cutting me off. He stood there, blocking my only exit, a cruel grin spreading across his face.

Panic seized me. I spun around, desperate, and ran blindly in the other direction.

I slammed into something hard and unyielding. The impact sent a dull thud through the alley and a dizzying shockwave through my skull.

I stumbled backward, my vision swimming. It was a car. A black Rolls-Royce Phantom, parked silently at the mouth of the alley, its massive form like a panther waiting in the shadows.

Its headlights flared to life, blinding me, pinning me in their glare like a terrified animal. I instinctively threw a hand over my mouth, frozen.

The two bodyguards caught up, flanking me. The lead guard grabbed my bare arm, his fingers digging into my skin hard enough to bruise. I twisted, trying to break free, but he yanked me backward. Their expressions shifted from predatory confidence to something more cautious as they took in the car.

Then, the rear window glided down.

In the shadows of the backseat, I saw the profile of a man. His jawline was a sharp, clean line, as unforgiving as a blade.

For a fraction of a second, his hand rested on the armrest inside the door. Then his gaze found my face. His fingers curled, knuckles going white against the leather-a single, almost imperceptible tightening. Recognition. It was there and gone, crushed behind the ice in his eyes. His jaw locked.

A primal instinct for survival took over. I lunged toward the open window, my hands slapping against the cool, smooth glass.

"Please," I rasped, my voice raw. "Please, help me! Take me with you! I can't go back. I won't."

The man inside didn't move. His eyes, the color of ice, flickered over me, then to the men behind me. The cold indifference in that glance made my heart plummet.

One of the bodyguards stepped forward, impatient. He tried to grab my arm. "Sir, this is a family matter," he said gruffly. "Miss Guy is to be married tonight. Please don't interfere."

I flinched back, a wave of utter despair washing over me. This was it. I was trapped.

Just as his fingers were about to close around my arm, the driver's side door clicked open. A man in a tailored suit, Eric Hendrix, stepped out, holding a large black umbrella. He moved with swift, silent efficiency to the rear door.

He pulled it open respectfully.

A single, impeccably polished custom leather shoe emerged, landing in a puddle with a soft splash.

Then, a man of staggering height unfolded himself from the car. He took the umbrella from his assistant and simply stood there. His presence was so immense, so powerful, it seemed to suck the very air out of the alley.

It was the man from the backseat. Now, in the dim light, I could see his face. He was brutally handsome, but his ice-blue eyes held no warmth at all.

The bodyguards saw him and their faces paled. One of them stammered, "Mr. Osborne?"

Alessandro Osborne. The name hit me like a lightning strike. The famous hockey star. The heir to the Osborne family fortune.

He ignored the bodyguards. His gaze dropped to my soaked, torn wedding dress, then to my bleeding knee. His brow furrowed, a barely perceptible tightening. Then his eyes returned to my face, and for one heartbeat the mask slipped. His grip on the umbrella handle tightened until the tendons in his hand stood out.

The bodyguard tried to drag me away, still trying to justify himself. "Mr. Osborne, this is on our boss's orders..."

Alessandro took one step forward. It wasn't fast, but it was precise, placing his body directly between me and them. He was a wall, a fortress, blocking out all threat.

He didn't even look at them. His voice was flat, almost bored, but it carried an unnerving weight. "Let her go."

The sound was quiet, yet it held the absolute certainty of a command that would be obeyed.

The bodyguard's hand froze mid-air. The arrogance on his face curdled into fear. The other guard took a step back, as if the rain itself had turned to ice.

Alessandro turned his head, and those glacial blue eyes met mine. He spoke again, and this time, there was a flicker of something else in his tone, something I couldn't name. "Get in the car."

I stared, unable to process it.

Behind him, the other guard started to speak, but a single, cold glance from Alessandro silenced him. The lead guard opened his mouth, then closed it. No one moved.

I looked at the man in front of me. He was my only chance. I didn't hesitate. Ignoring the screaming pain in my knee, I scrambled around him and dove into the warm, dry sanctuary of the Rolls-Royce.

The door closed behind me, shutting out the storm and the hunters. I was safe. The tension that had held me together snapped.

A moment later, Alessandro Osborne slid into the seat beside me. I could smell the faint, clean scent of expensive cologne and rain on his clothes.

I lifted my head and met a pair of eyes, deep and cold as a frozen lake. Alessandro was watching me, his expression unfathomable. Then he pulled a brand-new, monogrammed handkerchief from his pocket and held it out to me.

"Where to?" he asked, his voice calm.