Page 29

Twenty Nine

Logan

W hen I got back to the rink, Darren still wasn’t at practice.

Not in the locker room. Not in the weight room. Not even on the goddamn scratch list.

I tried not to let the panic set in too fast. Maybe he was late. Maybe he slept through his alarm, or maybe—

“Anyone hear from Rivers?” Connor’s voice cut through the tension already brewing in the locker room. He stood in the middle of the room, arms crossed, his usual calm slipping at the edges.

I pulled out my phone, dialing Darren’s number again. Straight to voicemail. “Nothing,” I muttered, shoving it back into my pocket.

Jaymie frowned, leaning against his stall. “Didn’t answer my texts either.”

I grabbed my stick and slammed it against the floor, frustration buzzing through me. “We need to find him.”

Connor nodded, already pulling on his jacket. “We check his place first.”

Jaymie was right behind us. “And if he’s not there?”

I didn’t have an answer for that.

Darren’s apartment was a mess.

The lights were off, blinds drawn, and the entire place smelled stale, like he hadn’t been home in days. The kitchen counter was cluttered with takeout containers, and his couch had a pile of laundry he’d clearly never gotten around to folding. It wasn’t wrecked, but something about it felt... abandoned. I knocked on the bedroom door before pushing it open. The bed was unmade, sheets twisted up like he’d barely slept in them. His duffel bag was still in the corner, his skates resting beside it. If he’d planned on leaving, he hadn’t packed.

Jaymie was the first to speak. “This is bad.”

No shit.

Connor pulled out his phone. “I’m calling his mom, maybe he went home.”

I didn’t tell him it was useless. I already knew how this was going to go.

Connor’s expression darkened as he listened to the line ring. When she finally picked up, I could hear the concern in her voice from across the room. “Mrs. Rivers, hey, it’s Connor Maddox... No, no, nothing’s wrong, I just—” He cut himself off, exhaling sharply. “Actually, I’m looking for Darren. Have you talked to him?”

Silence. Then Connor’s face changed, his jaw tightening. “Alright. Yeah, if he calls, can you— Yeah, okay. Thanks.” He hung up and turned to us. “She hasn’t heard from him since yesterday afternoon. His sister is texting me his last find my friends location ping.”

Jaymie let out a low whistle looking at his phone screen, “That’s not good.”

No. It wasn’t.

***

The motel was a dump, the kind of place people went when they didn’t want to be found. The flickering neon vacancy sign cast a sickly glow over the cracked pavement, and the stench of stale cigarettes and cheap beer clung to the damp air. We knocked. No answer.

“Darren,” I called, rapping my knuckles against the door again, harder this time. “Open the door.”

Nothing.

Logan exhaled sharply beside me, his patience wearing thin. “Fuck this.” He turned the handle. It was unlocked. How stupidly dangerous, the kid really was at the end of his rope.

The second we stepped inside, the stifling air hit us, a suffocating mix of sweat, booze, and something distinctly hopeless. Darren sat on the edge of the bed, shoulders slumped, a half-empty bottle dangling loosely from his fingers. His hoodie was wrinkled, his hair a tangled mess, and his eyes—red-rimmed and glassy—barely registered us.

“Jesus,” Connor muttered, stepping inside, his voice laced with concern. “Darren, what the hell, man?”

Darren let out a dry, humorless laugh but didn’t look up. “Took you long enough.”

I crossed the room in two strides, yanking the bottle from his hand and chucking it into the trash. The clatter of glass against metal barely made him flinch. “What the fuck are you doing?” I demanded, anger and fear twisting together in my chest.

He didn’t fight me. Didn’t even try. Just ran a shaky hand through his hair and stared blankly at the stained carpet.

Jaymie crouched in front of him, voice softer than mine. “Why’d you run, kid?”

Darren sucked in a shuddering breath, the rise and fall of his chest unsteady. “Because they knew.”

A chill ran down my spine. “Who?”

“Them.” Darren’s voice cracked, and for the first time, he looked up at us. “Before the article even dropped. They knew we were talking.”

The room went silent.

I glanced at Connor, at Jaymie, at Logan. We were all thinking the same thing, someone had warned them. Someone inside the team.

Darren was too wrecked to be alone, and there was no way in hell I was leaving him in that motel another second. I got him into my car, gripping the wheel tightly as I pulled onto the freeway. He sat slouched in the passenger seat, staring out the window like he wasn’t sure if he was relieved or just more terrified. The streetlights washed over his face in brief intervals, painting his features in flickers of light and shadow.

I swallowed hard and kept my voice even. “Who knew, Darren?”

He shook his head, his fingers curling into the fabric of his hoodie. “I don’t know.”

“That’s not good enough,” I pressed, trying to keep the frustration out of my voice. “You’ve gotta give me something.”

Darren exhaled shakily, his voice barely more than a whisper. “They called me.”

My stomach twisted. “What?”

“Right before the article went live.” He swallowed hard. “A blocked number. Said they knew I’d talked. That it was too late.”

The hair on the back of my neck stood up.

“And then?”

“Then they said I should be careful.” Darren’s words came out brittle, like they hurt to say. “That accidents happen all the time.”

I tightened my grip on the steering wheel, my pulse hammering in my ears. This wasn’t just a warning. This was a fucking threat.

By the time we pulled up to my building, Darren looked like he was running on fumes. I got him inside, steering him toward the couch. He sank onto it without a word, his body sagging like he couldn’t hold himself up anymore.

“You’re staying here,” I said, my voice leaving no room for argument. “At least until we figure this out.”

Darren nodded numbly, but the exhaustion in his face told me everything I needed to know. He was wrecked—physically, mentally, emotionally. I turned away, pressing a hand to my forehead, my thoughts spiraling. Someone had tipped them off before the article even dropped. Someone inside the Hellblades had warned the syndicate. I had no idea who I could trust.

And if we didn’t figure it out fast, Darren wasn’t going to be the only one in danger.

Ava

I had a bad feeling. A really bad feeling. The kind that settled low in my stomach, making my chest feel too tight, my breath too shallow. I told myself Darren had just needed space, that after everything, disappearing for a little while made sense. But that wasn’t true, and I knew it. Darren vanishing wasn’t just panic. It wasn’t just guilt. It was something worse. And it was my fault.

I paced the length of my apartment, gripping my phone so hard my fingers ached. When Jake answered, his voice was dry, laced with exhaustion and the familiar exasperation he reserved just for me.

“You still tracking Riker’s accounts?” I asked, skipping any pretense of small talk.

Jake sighed. “Do I even have a choice? I assume you’re calling because something’s wrong.”

“Darren’s missing,” I said, the words rushing out too fast. “Logan and the team are looking, but… I don’t think he just ran. I think he knew something.”

Jake muttered a curse under his breath. I heard the faint rustle of paper, then the clatter of a keyboard as he started typing. “I’m going to regret this, aren’t I?”

“Probably,” I admitted. “What have you found?”

There was a pause. The sound of keys clicking filled the silence, a steady rhythm that sent my anxiety spiking with every passing second. Then—

“Oh, shit.”

The bottom dropped out of my stomach. “What?”

“There’s movement in Riker’s accounts.”

A cold sweat broke out along the back of my neck. “What do you mean, movement?”

“I mean money, Ava.” Jake’s voice sharpened, losing its usual teasing edge. “New deposits. Like, active ones. Whoever was paying him before? They haven’t stopped. The pattern is the same—laundered through a couple of shell companies, filtered offshore, but the timestamps… These are fresh. This isn’t just old dirt. This is happening right now .”

I gripped the edge of my kitchen counter, trying to steady myself as my thoughts raced. If Riker had been cut loose, if he was already out, then why was the money still moving? The syndicate should have been scrambling, covering their tracks. Instead, they were still running the same plays, barely changing the system at all. Like they weren’t worried. Like they knew they didn’t have to be.

Then it hit me.

“They knew,” I whispered, my mouth suddenly dry.

Jake hesitated. “What?”

I swallowed hard, forcing myself to say it out loud. “They knew before the article even dropped.” The truth settled over me, cold and suffocating. “They knew we were talking.”

The line went so silent I wasn’t sure if Jake had hung up. When he spoke again, his voice was grim. “Then Darren didn’t just run.”

“No,” I whispered. “He’s hiding.”

The walls of my apartment felt like they were closing in. If Darren had disappeared before my article went live, if he had been spiraling even before the league announced their investigation, then someone inside the team had warned them. Someone had tipped the others off that I was getting close.

And Darren—terrified, trapped Darren—had known he was already compromised.

My phone buzzed again in my hand, and I nearly dropped it. Logan’s name flashed across the screen. I fumbled to answer. “Logan?”

“We found him.”

I exhaled sharply, relief slamming into me too fast, mixing with the panic still crawling under my skin. “Where?”

“Some shitty motel on the edge of the city.” Logan’s voice was tight, controlled, but I could hear the undercurrent of tension beneath it. “It’s bad, Ava.”

I was already grabbing my coat. “I’m coming.”