Page 55 of Ice-Cold Obsession

When I find his door, I knock. For a moment, nothing happens, so I knock again, harder this time.

The door opens. Zyair is in his sweatpants and a t-shirt, and his eyes widen when he sees me. "Gabriel? What are you doing here? I thought you were sick."

"I need to talk to you."

He studies my face and then steps aside. "Come in."

I close the door behind me. The room is a mess, with clothes scattered on the floor and textbooks lying everywhere. Zyair sits on his bed, his eyebrows raised and his mouth pressed into a tight line.

"What's going on, man? You look like hell,” he says.

I take a deep breath. "There's something I should've told you a long time ago."

"Okay..."

"My family owned a shop in a rough part of town. One day the mafia came in, demanding we pay for protection. My dad refused." I swallow hard. "They came back and trashed the place. Broke everything. We couldn't afford the repairs, so we started paying them. But by then, we were already drowning in debt."

Zyair leans forward, his jaw going slack.

"We tried to go to the cops, but the mafia came to our house." My voice gets quieter. "They opened fire. My brother was in the wrong place at the wrong time. He died right in front of me."

"Fuck," Zyair whispers.

"After that, they owned us. My parents had to start moving product for them and running whatever jobs the mafia needed done. Eventually my parents got busted in a different city and went to prison. The debt became mine. And the mafia has connections everywhere, so if I step out of line, my parents are the ones who suffer."

Zyair's face has gone pale. "What the fuck, man?"

"They needed someone in the hockey world because of gambling. That's where I come in. I throw games, manipulate scores, and make sure the right team wins. And I have to take out anyone who gets in the way of their bets. Sometimes those bets aren’t even hockey-related, but are more like a popularity contest."

His jaw tightens. "So... me?"

"Yeah, they ordered me to sabotage you and get you off the team. I’m not sure why, because they never explain anything."

"And what happens if you don't play along?"

"One time I accidentally scored when I wasn't supposed to, so they sent my dad to the hospital with broken ribs. Every time I mess up, they punish my parents or me. Do you know why I sometimes stay on the ice after practice or why I wait until everyone’s out of the locker room? Because I have to hide the bruises."

Zyair's mouth opens slightly, and he runs his hand over his face. "That’s insane."

"There was another student last year. Carla. Maybe you remember her. They used her to plant stories and control what got published. She ended up dead. Officially, it’s a suicide, and I guess she couldn’t deal with the pressure, but who knows."

"Holy shit," Zyair breathes.

"Now they've got their eyes on Scarlett. They saw us together and realized she'd be perfect for them. A photographer who can shape how things look and control what people believe. They ordered me to get close to her and make it official. I would've wanted to anyway, but they forced the timeline."

Zyair gets to his feet. "I don’t know what to say. That’s beyond fucked up."

"I need your help," I say. "Scarlett and I faked a kidnapping video to try to get free of the mafia. We sent it to them and made it look like their rival got me. But now Scarlett’s gone. She left hours ago and she hasn't come back. I think they took her."

His eyes bulge. "Okay. Okay, let's get the whole team to help. This is about all of us. If they're controlling you, they could be controlling other people too. And if they took Scarlett, we need to find her."

I nod.

"We'll call everyone, get them here, and figure out a plan."

"What if they don't believe me?"

"They'll believe you. Look at you, man. You're a mess. No one fakes this."