Page 22 of Ice-Cold Obsession

Gabriel is still responsible for Carla’s death. He’s still the person who manipulated her and made her feel worthless enough that she decided to end it all. The fact that he lost his brother doesn’t erase what he did.

I can’t let myself feel sorry for him or let this distract me from why I’m here.

Gabriel doesn’t deserve my sympathy. He doesn’t deserve anything other than exactly what I’m giving him.

Turning away from the grave, I force myself not to look back. I move quickly and don’t slow down until I’m out of the cemetery and back on the street.

But the image of the headstone stays with me, along with the way Gabriel stood there with his shoulders shaking.

I push it all out of my mind. Gabriel is still my target, and I’m going to destroy him.

No matter what.

Chapter 11

GABRIEL

I CAN’T STOP THINKINGabout Scarlett and how she slammed me against the wall. All I can see is the look in her eyes when she grabbed my wrist and spun me around. I thought I could intimidate her or at least get some reaction, but she turned it around on me before I could blink. One second I was leaning over her, and the next, my back was against the wall and her hand was on my throat.

When I felt her fingers pressing against my skin, something jolted through me. Heat spread from her touch all the way down to my gut, and my pulse jumped under her hand in a way I couldn’t control.

I wanted her to kiss me.

I wanted her to press her lips against mine.

For a second, she was going to close the distance, and I was totally ready for it.

But then she let go and stepped back, and the moment was gone.

I’ve never felt anything like it before. Not with anyone.

I roll over and grab my phone off the nightstand. No new messages. Not that I expected any.

But I have bigger problems than Scarlett right now.

I cross to my desk, where the packet lies. The small, clear bags are filled with white powder and pills, neatly organized and ready to be sold. The sight of them makes my stomach turn, but I can’t afford to think about that right now.

I’m not playing this week because everyone’s mad at me. The team hates me, Coach doesn’t trust me, and I don’t know how to fix it, which means I have to sell. I have to make up for the games I’m missing, and I have to prove I’m still useful.

I grab the packet and shove it into my jacket pocket, then head out.

THE PARTY IS AT SOMEoff-campus house I’ve never been to before. It’s one of those places that’s falling apart but still gets full every weekend because the guy who lives here doesn’t care what happens to it.

I slip through the crowd, keeping my head down and my hands in my pockets. People are everywhere, drinking and shouting over the noise.

There are whispers as I pass. I can hear my name mixed in with the noise and see people glancing at me before quickly looking away when I meet their eyes.

They know.

Everyone knows what I did to Zyair. The recording spread fast, and now the whole campus thinks I’m a liar and a manipulator who threw his own teammate under the bus.

And I am.

But I’m not here to socialize. I’m here to work.

I find a group near the back patio. I’ve sold to those guys before. They’re loud and drunk, laughing about something I don’t care about. One of them sees me and nods, and I pull him aside into a quieter corner.

“You got it?” he asks, his words slurred.