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“Seriously, TG,” Axel says. “Reynolds we can deal with, but he’s not the one in the video. We have no clue what’s going on.”

“She’s my best friend.” I look between them. “I’m coming.”

Reese sighs and brings his hand to my face. “If shit goes sideways, you get out of there, understand?”

Axel and I hang back as Reese knocks on the door. Both guys are in their hockey jackets, and Axel has a split lip from taking a hit with a stick during the game. Nothing seems to faze him—probably part of being a goalie.

The door swings open and Brent takes up the entire opening. A baseball cap covers his head and he’s wearing an old Wittmore football T-shirt.

“Cain.” His eyes ping between us. He jerks his chin at Axel. “Rakestraw. What’s going on? Thought you guys were having a party tonight?”

“We are,” Reese says, shoving his hands in his pockets. “We heard that a friend of ours may be here.”

“Friend?” His forehead wrinkles. “No one is here, but me.”

Fucking liar. I step next to Reese. “Where’s Nadia?”

He looks down at me, lips curving slightly. “I thought you looked familiar. You’re Cain’s tutor.” The way he says “tutor” drips with sarcasm. “Sorry, babe, I don’t do homework on Saturday night.”

I have no fucking clue what he’s talking about and don’t care. “Is Nadia here? She texted me and said she was coming over here hours ago.”

He casually rubs the back of his neck. “Eh, I think she’s busy. I’ll tell her to call when she’s finished.”

“Well, tell her it’s an emergency,” Reese says. “Twyler needs to talk to her.”

“Look, man,” Brent starts, but Reese pushes past him. Axel goes next and I follow. The living room is to our left and a cluttered office to our right. There’s the faint scent of sweat and body spray, like the locker room, plus an added layer of something oily, like incense.

“We know she’s here,” Axel says. “Her phone tracks to the house. Whatever the fuck is going on here is starting to look shady as hell, Reynolds.”

I’m tired of waiting. “Nadia!” I call out. There’s a hallway that leads to the back of the house. “Is she back there? Are those the bedrooms?”

“Dude, you can’t just barge in here,” he says, more to Reese and Axel than me. “Call your little bitch off.”

“My what?” Reese’s voice turns deadly. He pushes at his jacket sleeves and balls his fist. “What did you call her?”

“You heard me,” Brent says, turning his cap around. “You need to leave.”

Thank God for Axel’s reflexes because he jumps between them before Reese makes contact.

“Reynolds,” Axel says, his voice level. “I don’t know what the fuck you’ve got going on in here, but we aren’t going to be satisfied until we locate her friend. The next step is to call the police.” His eyes slide to the coffee table littered with beer and alcohol bottles. I don’t miss the baggie of white powder either. “I don’t think you want that.”

“Call the police.” Brent shrugs and then folds his massive arms over his chest. “You think they’re going to arrest the quarterback of the football team? My coach’ll handle it.”

“They’ll care when they find out someone is running a live porn cam out of here.” I look up at him. “I need to know she’s okay.”

Brent, all six-two, two hundred and twenty-five pounds of him, makes no attempt to move from between me and the back of the house. “Nadia’s a big girl, sweetheart. No one is forcing her to do anything she wouldn’t do on her own.”

Sounds like a confirmation to me, and I get tired of waiting. I push past him, shouting, “Nadia! Are you here?” but he doesn’t let me get far, clamping his big hand on my shoulder and dragging me back. That’s when Reese explodes.

“I swear to God, you touch her again, and you’ll lose that million-dollar arm, Reynolds.” Reese’s voice is strained, his gray eyes wild. Brent drops his hand. “Twyler, go outside.”

“But—”

“Go.I promise I’ll bring her out, but I can’t deal with this asshole and keep you safe at the same time.” His eyes plead and I realize the situation is one second from escalating. I step back and he jerks his head at Axel. “Go find her.”

Axel doesn’t hesitate, pushing past us both. Brent doesn’t move, seemingly aware that he crossed a line when he touched me. I go out on the porch, pacing as I hear more shouts from inside.

“Is this what you’re doing, McMichael?” Axel yells. “Holding girls hostage and filming them?”