Page 19

Zane

I slam my palm against the steering wheel, the sharp sting barely registering through the frustration coursing through me.

“Fucking hell, Myla,” I grit out, pressing on the gas.

I don’t need to check the location Katie sent me because I already know where I’m going. Keaton. Alpha Nu. The one place she shouldn’t be.

The muscles in my jaw flex as I swipe to my contacts and hit Colter’s name. He picks up on the second ring.

“Yeah?”

“Are you home?” I growl, already shifting gears, my foot slamming against the pedal.

“Yeah. Beckham took the girls to the store to grab stuff for dinner. I’m just chillin’ with Hayes. What’s up?”

“I hate to do this, man, but I need to steal you for an hour.”

There’s a beat of silence before his tone sharpens. “What’s wrong? Did something happen?”

“It’s Myla.” My grip tightens around the steering wheel. “Her friend Katie just called. They were at a party, and Myla’s gone. Katie can’t find her, and she has Myla’s fucking phone. I need to head there now.”

“Shit.” His chair creaks in the background like he’s already moving. “Yeah, come get me. We’ll ride together.”

My tires screech as I take the corner onto his street. “I’m pulling up now.”

The call ends just as I turn into their driveway, and the second my car comes to a stop, Colter and Hayes step onto the porch. Reed is right behind them, shoving his arms through his jacket as he skips the stairs entirely, landing on the sidewalk and jogging toward me.

Hayes and Reed slide into the back seat while Colter climbs into the passenger side. The second the door slams shut, I’m peeling out of the driveway.

“Where are we headed?” Reed asks.

“Keaton. Alpha Nu,” I grit out.

“What the fuck is she doing there?” Colter barks, his posture stiffening.

I cut him a sharp look. “We could ask your sister the same damn thing.”

His jaw clenches, but he doesn’t argue. We both know the reason Wyatt showed up at my place a couple of weeks ago, pissed as hell that I might’ve ratted her out about her walk of shame. She wanted me to stay out of her business, but now I’m the one caught in the middle of the chaos again.

I don’t give a fuck if I break every speed limit getting there. If a cop pulls me over, I’ll tell him exactly where I’m going and why, and he can either lead the way or get the hell out of mine.

The second we reach the house, I don’t bother with a parking spot. I cut across the curb, pulling straight onto the grass, blocking half the sidewalk.

Drunk idiots spill onto the lawn, staggering out of the way as I slam my door shut. One guy throws his hands up, cursing like I almost hit him. I wasn’t even close.

Then I spot Katie.

She’s already running toward me. Her mascara streaks down her cheeks, and she has Myla’s phone clenched in her trembling hand.

“Where did you last see her?” I demand.

“She—” Her breath hitches, voice breaking. “She went to the bathroom. I waited for her, but I went looking when she didn’t return after thirty minutes. I checked everywhere, but she’s gone.”

A cold, tight feeling coils in my gut.

Without another word, I take off toward the house, Colter and Reed right beside me.

The second I step inside, the smell of stale beer and cigarette smoke slams into me. The place is packed—shoulder to shoulder with bodies, music vibrating through the walls, alcohol sloshing from red Solo cups.

But I don’t give a shit about any of them.

I just need to find Myla. And God help whoever gets in my way.

The floor is sticky beneath my shoes, each step peeling away from the ground as I push through the crowd in the entryway. The air reeks of sweat, stale beer, and something sickly sweet.

“Cut the music,” I bark at Reed.

“On it,” he calls back.

I don’t need to look at him to know he’s already pushing through bodies to find the speaker. The bass cuts out a few seconds later, the sudden silence making the weight in my chest heavier. Conversations hush, and the buzz of attention shifts toward me.

Every instinct in my body tells me I’m in the right place. After that dirty hit Calloway pulled in our game last week, I have a feeling he’s behind this shit. He’s the type to poke the bear, thinking he’s in control—thinking he’s the predator. But I know better. You want to lure a shark? You bait them. You make them believe they have the upper hand.

And right now? Calloway thinks he does.

As if on cue, the crowd parts. There he is, standing with a few of his buddies, beer in hand like he owns the place. A smug, lazy smirk tugs at his lips.

My fists curl at my sides, but I force myself to keep cool. Phones are already out, recording. One wrong move, and this turns into a headline: Braysen’s Golden Boy No More? Kinnick’s Reputation Takes a Hit After Brawl

I grind my teeth and take a breath.

“Where is she?” My voice comes out low and steady. I’m controlling my rage.

Calloway lifts his drink, taking a slow sip, dragging this out like he’s savoring the moment. His smirk sharpens, cutting like a blade. “You’re gonna have to be more specific.” He gestures lazily to the room, eyes gleaming with something dark. “Plenty of pretty little things come and go around here. Hard to keep track of them all.”

The way he says it—the way his eyes gleam with something dark and knowing—makes my stomach churn. He’s baiting me. Not just about Myla, but Wyatt too.

“My sister.”

Calloway exhales a slow, amused breath, his eyes gleaming with something cruel. “Yeah, I remember seeing her. But keeping track of where she ended up? That’s not really my job, now, is it?”

A muscle ticks in my jaw. I faintly hear Colter behind me asking what the hell is going on, but my blood roars too loud in my ears to focus on anything but Calloway.

Calloway drawls, his smirk curving into something razor-sharp. “Last I heard, she was sprawled out on one of my buddy’s bed upstairs.” He shrugs, his eyes gleaming with cruel satisfaction. “At least, that’s how he left her.”

The words barely register before my fist collides with his jaw. The force snaps his head to the side, but the fucker barely budges, that smirk still ghosting his lips.

It doesn’t matter. I’m not done.

I grab him by the shoulder, yanking him forward before driving my knee into his gut. He grunts, stumbling back, but he’s quick—his fist slams into my ribs, knocking the breath from my lungs for half a second before adrenaline drowns out the pain.

Movement flashes in my peripheral as one of his buddies lunges at Reed. Reed takes care of it in one punch, the guy crumpling to his knees, groaning as blood gushes from what’s probably a broken nose.

Colter is in it now, too. I can hear his grunts, the familiar sound of fists connecting with flesh. Coach is going to lose his goddamn mind when he finds out I dragged three of his starters into a brawl in enemy territory.

At least we left Beckham behind. The last thing we need is him messing up his throwing hand.

But right now? I don’t give a shit about the consequences.

All I care about is Myla.

And making Calloway bleed.

Luca lands another shot to my ribs, a sharp burst of pain ripping through me, followed by a brutal jab to my jaw. I shake it off and drive my knee into his gut, causing him to double over. When he stumbles back, I seize my opening—an uppercut that sends his head snapping back, his lip splitting wide open. Blood drips from his nose, staining the floor as he drops to one knee.

Even then, the bastard has the audacity to smile.

“Zane.” A voice cuts through the chaos.

Hayes.

“Found her,” he calls out, grabbing my shoulder. “She’s okay.”

The air leaves my lungs in a sharp exhale, but I don’t turn just yet. My fist curls tighter, still itching to land another blow—to make damn sure Calloway never even thinks about looking in Myla’s direction again. And if his teammates are smart, they’ll take the message just as clearly.

A small, trembling hand tugs at my arm, and I finally face Myla.

She’s a mess. Wide, frantic eyes locked onto mine, mascara streaked down her tearstained cheeks, lipstick smudged across her lips like she wiped at it in a hurry. My gut twists. I want to ask her what the hell happened, but the sheer number of cameras pointed at us tells me this isn’t the time or place.

Calloway chuckles behind me, the sound sharp, taunting. “Looks like you found her, Kinnick. We both know your old man always had a hard time leaving a warm bed behind.” His gaze flicks to Myla, smug. “Seems like she picked up the habit.”

I clench my jaw, every muscle in my body screaming to lunge at him again.

Calloway’s bloody grin stretches wider as he sizes me up. “You throw punches like a guy who’s never had to take a real hit. Must be nice growing up spoiled, never wondering if you’d make the team or if you were actually good enough. You think you hate me now? Just wait. Ask dear old Dad what skeletons he's been shoving in the closet. See if he’s man enough to tell you the truth.”

Myla’s grip on me tightens.

“What the hell does that mean? You got something to say? Quit being a coward and fucking say it.”

Calloway’s smile doesn’t falter. If anything, it deepens. “Oh, you’ll find out soon enough.”

I step forward, but Colter moves between us, shoving a hand against my chest.

“We already know what he thinks he has on your dad,” he mutters. “He’s just stirring shit, trying to get in your head.”

“I don’t give a fuck. Let him say it.”

Reed steps in, voice tight with warning. “Not here, Z. Look at your sister. There are too many cameras. I won’t be able to stop this from getting out.”

“Please, Zane,” Myla whispers, tugging at my arm. “Let’s go.”

I don’t take my eyes off Calloway. This isn’t over. Not even close.

“Let’s go,” Colter echoes, pushing me toward the door. I turn just as Hayes steps into my path. He’s no stranger to making headlines. By tomorrow, I’ll be right there next to him, front and center on every major sports site.

Fucking perfect.

I sling an arm around Myla, pulling her close as we make our way outside. She’s shaking, though whether from cold or leftover fear, I’m not sure.

“What the hell, Z?” she huffs when we reach my car. Her eyes widen as she takes in how I’ve parked—half on the curb, blocking the entire sidewalk.

“Katie said she couldn’t find you, and I was worried you were hurt. Hunting for a parking spot was the last damn thing on my mind.”

“Hurt?” Myla scoffs, crossing her arms. “The only thing hurt right now is my pride.”

Katie steps forward, her voice soft. “I was just worried. You said you were going to the bathroom, and then you were just… gone. I didn’t know what else to do.”

Myla sighs, rubbing her temple. “The bathroom downstairs had a long line. The one upstairs was out of order. Luca said I could use the one in his room.”

I still.

“Oh, so it’s Luca now?”

Myla frowns. “Luca Calloway? Yeah. What—”

“I didn’t realize you two were buddy-buddy.”

“We’re not,” she snaps. “His friend flirted a little, and Luca was with him, but that was it.”

“Funny. Because he told me you were spread out on his buddy’s bed.”

Her mouth drops open. “He—what?”

Katie chimes in, voice shaking. “Oh my God. He actually said that?”

The color drains from Myla’s face. Her hands press to her temples like she’s physically trying to block out the reality of what just happened.

“And all those people…” she breathes, eyes flicking back toward the house. “With their cameras…”

“It’s too late,” I say. “The damage is already done.”

The front door swings open, and a group of guys steps onto the porch. Calloway is among them, his eyes locking onto mine. The fucker is still grinning. Still trying to get the last word.

Colter pulls a set of keys from his pocket, nodding to me. “Katie gave me her keys. I’ll drive her car back to your place. Figured she and Myla could crash there for the night.”

Without another word, Myla and Katie slide into my car with Hayes. Colter jogs across the street to where Katie’s car is parked.

I exhale, rolling my shoulders, trying to shake off the tension. It doesn’t work.

Reed lingers, glancing over at me. “Do you know what Calloway was talking about?”

I shake my head. “Probably nothing. He’s just stirring up drama.”

“Still… if you want me to look into it, let me know.”

I nod, clapping a hand on his shoulder. “Appreciate it.”

Colter flashes his headlights, signaling he’s ready to go. Reed jogs across the street to ride with him, and I climb into the driver’s seat.

My knuckles ache, blood dried against my skin. Tomorrow’s gonna be hell when Coach hears about this shit.

I don’t even want to check my phone. Don’t want to see the videos or the headlines.

All I want is to get back to Braysen.

Back home.

Back to Wyatt.