Chapter Eight
THE DAY BEFORE.
“What’s taking so long?” I huff and strain my head to look through the reception window. I knew letting Garrett go in alone was a mistake. Not that he gave us much of a choice. When deciding who’d be the most charming to head in and find out which dorm Meg occupies, he stormed in before we had time to talk it through.
“This is fucking stupid,” Huxley leans against the lamppost, arms crossed, his jaw tight with frustration. “If she’d just answer her damn phone, we wouldn’t have needed to drive all the way up here.” I bite my tongue, refusing to get into this fight again. Meg might not be in a position to answer her phone, but stating that won’t help ease the tension between us. The fury rolling off Hux already has everyone on edge.
“If the police had taken us seriously, we wouldn’t have needed to drive all the way up here,” Axel corrects. He’s sitting on the curb, knees drawn up, absently spinning Avery’s compass bracelet on his wrist. It’s true, the police brushed off our concerns. Apparently they checked in on Fredrick and found nothing of concern, which ultimately lost us a few days of twiddling our thumbs. I turn away, angling myself to spot Garrett through the glass .
Spotting his head of shaggy dark hair, I track the way he’s leaning over the desk, tattooed arms on full show. The girl behind appears to be politely refusing him with small shakes of her head. I drop my head back to look at the night’s sky. Somewhere out there, Avery is beneath the same sky. I hope for Wyatt’s sake that he’s keeping to his word, his letter burning a hole in my pocket.
Meg’s the next target. Protect her, leave Avery’s safety to me.
It seems, much like the rest of Wyatt’s plans, the note was hastily put together. The night we returned to the frat house from Midnight Madness, it looked like an atomic bomb had gone off in both Wyatt and Avery’s rooms. In fact, if it wasn’t for the letter Garrett found on the dining table and the text I noticed on Avery’s phone, we’d have thought Fredrick took them both.
After hours of talking Huxley down from a ledge and convincing Axel it wasn’t his fault for sleeping through the entire ordeal, we came to the conclusion to trust Wyatt. He’s our leader, and we used to follow his word blindly. Now that he’s carrying our precious cargo, it’s harder for some to take his orders so easily.
“I’m going to fucking kill him,” Hux mutters, not for the first time. At present, I’m not sure which ‘him’ he’s referring to, as Garrett skips down the outer steps.
“Receptionist isn’t budging on her GDPR rules. She must be into girls,” he shrugs. His conclusion spurs Hux to stride forward, and I quickly put myself in the way.
“Focus. We don’t have time for this.” I raise my hands and stare Hux down until he grunts and turns away. Garrett drops onto the curb, hugging Axel to him. I frown, worried about our fragile friend. Axel continues to blame himself; his nightmares are an every night occurrence, and he doesn’t bother hiding his wince when he pulls too hard on his ribs now. I suppose he doesn’t feel the need to put on a strong front anymore. Catching Garrett’s eye, a rare moment of worry slips through. Someone needs to do something. Without Avery to keep our spirits up, we really need a win right now.
“Gare, stay with him. Hux, let’s go.” I don’t hang around for more arguments on how we should and shouldn’t do things, but I breathe a sigh of relief when I hear footsteps following. Rounding the reception building, I find a cut-through that leads into a maze of pathways. The campus is quiet, even for this time of day.
At Waversea, students would be hustling from dorms to the library, the canteen to the gym. All the night owls who can’t rest until their minds and bodies are exhausted. At Hollowbrook, it’s eerily quiet, as if there’s a curfew that no one dares to break.
The university layout feels like a cage, with twisting alleys that are framed by huge structures that block out the moon’s light and leering windows that are too dark to see inside. Shadows hang like thick drapes, leaving us exposed in too many places. I suppress a shudder, but my eyes are flicking from one potential alcove to the next in a bid to remain on high alert. The dim lights from the lampposts do little to help.
Eventually, we resurface in a courtyard with a tall building looming in the background. It’s a tall, rectangular monolith of pale bricks and the only one with almost every light on. I’d be willing to bet that’s where the dorm rooms are. We seem to share the same thought, as Huxley's long strides quicken. We cut through overgrown hedges, pass by a cluster of bicycles haphazardly chained to a rack near the entrance, and slip inside.
So, this is where all the people are.
Students linger in small groups, some lounging on mismatched sofas near the stairs, others perched on the edges of tables, laughing softly or scrolling through their phones. A girl with bright pink hair glances up as we pass, her eyes narrowing slightly before she goes back to her conversation. Most of the faces are disinterested, but there’s a subtle shift as a pair of outsiders stroll into their midst.
The lobby is well used, with scuffed tiles and walls plastered with faded posters for campus events. Along one wall, vending machines hum in a low, almost comforting rhythm, their flickering lights casting uneven glows. Opposite them, a wide staircase curls up toward the dorms above, its banister polished in patches where countless hands have gripped it over time. A faint scent of sweat, laundry detergent, and something vaguely greasy hangs in the air, clinging to the space like an unwelcome guest. Speaking of unwelcome guests…
Beside me, Huxley shifts his weight impatiently, crossing his arms over his chest as his sharp gaze darts around the room. His jaw clenches and unclenches, and I can feel the frustration radiating off him. “So, what now?” he mutters, voice low and taut. “Are we just going to knock on every door until we find her?”
I roll my eyes and suppress a sigh, shrugging off his sour mood. “Relax,” I say, forcing a tight smile. “I’ll figure it out.” Hux snorts quietly, clearly unconvinced, but doesn’t argue further. I pull Avery’s phone from my pocket and tap it awake to pull up a photo of Meg.
A group of students lounges there, sprawled out in various states of relaxation. “Excuse me guys, sorry to interrupt.” I step up to the sofas, halting the conversations happening within the room instantly. Every set of eyes turns to me, the air thick with curiosity and mild annoyance. “Does anyone know where I can find this girl?”
“Who’s asking?” A girl with a buzzcut snaps closed a battered textbook, while another two others whisper quietly, their eyes not leaving my face.
“Just a friend. I really need to talk to her.”
A lanky guy with curly hair who is draped over one armrest squints at the screen, then leans back with a dismissive snort. “Nice phone, dude,” he says, a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. A quiet laugh bubbles up from the other end of the sofa. I lower the pink device and stuff it back in my pocket. This is pointless.
Hux shifts behind me, the weight of his glare enough to make the group fidget. Before he can step in with whatever sharp comment is brewing on his tongue, one of the quieter students, a girl with glasses perched low on her nose, clears her throat. “You’re looking for Meg?” she asks, her voice soft but clear.
I turn to her, nodding quickly. “Yeah. It’s important. Do you know where she is?” The girl hesitates, glancing at her companions before speaking.
“She’ll probably be at the stadium, running lacrosse drills. She’s usually there this time of night.” I didn’t anticipate the flood of relief that hits me. A physical weight lifts from my shoulders. Meg is here; people have seen her. I couldn’t fight the niggling worry that was creeping in, but now I don’t feel as helpless. I can protect Meg, just like Avery would want me to do.
Hastily typing out the directions, I thank Glasses Girl and head out to find Garrett and Axel. They’re waiting just outside the entrance, passing the time by passing saliva. I manage to break up their lip-lock and usher them back to the main parking lot.
Now comes the hard part. Convincing Meg to pack up and leave with us. We discussed the plan on the way over, which gave us a break from arguing over who drove Wyatt’s sports Nissan. I won in the end, too worried that Huxley would total the car in revenge for Wyatt stealing his SUV. We’ve already lost precious time waiting for a replacement key to arrive, so Meg is our only priority right now. First we ensure she’s under our protection, then Hux can do whatever he likes with Wyatt’s car.
Following the directions to a tee, we roll up to the stadium and stride inside, finding the place conveniently unlocked. Garrett doesn’t miss a beat, planting himself at the front of our small group.
“Axel, hang back. You’re not in any fit state for this,” he states. Axel chuckles, devoid of all humor, and steps into Garrett’s side.
“Like fuck. I’m not weak,” he flashes a heated glare out of the corner of his eye. Garrett’s tensed jaw loosens, his head whipping aside.
“I know that, but you’re injured. I promised to not let anything happen to you again.” Hux grunts, as if he doesn’t really believe Garrett’s sentiment, but it goes ignored. Turning into Axel’s body, Gare reaches up to clasp the back of his lover’s neck. “I can’t go into this if I’m worrying about you. Be our lookout, but the first sign of trouble, I want you to get in that damn car and floor it out of here. Promise me.” Pressing their foreheads together, Axel sighs, tightening his lips.
“No.”
“We don’t have time for this,” I huff, rolling my eyes. Tapping Huxley’s shoulder, I jerk my head to step around the two, embracing each other, leaving them to quarrel about who should do what and creep through the building. The long hallway is framed by darkened windows either side; the low hum of vending machines met with the buzzing lights overhead. At the far end, a pair of double fire doors gleam, slightly ajar for a harsh wind to slip inside and curl around my spine. Low, gruff voices can be heard amongst the muffled sound of resistance.
Huxley curses under his breath but follows as I press myself against the cold wall, peering through the gap. Outside, a dimly lit pitch is shrouded by shadows, overlooked by empty stands. Three men are clustered near the stadium steps, crowding around a female figure as they successfully gag her with what might be a kneehigh sock. One tightly grips Meg’s arm, her face pale and tear-streaked, her sports uniform twisted and torn. She’s put up one hell of a fight, but it wasn’t enough. Her other hand is clenched around her phone, which one of the men snatches away with a growl.
“Bit too late for that, don’t you think?” He tosses the phone to the ground and stamps on it, shattering the screen. The other two laugh menacingly, dragging Meg away by her arm and hair. The other hangs back, placing a quick call in which he calls his mission a success, before following through another exit.
Hux and I wait for the quiet to settle before ducking out onto the pitch, keeping close to the stands as our feet move swiftly. Garrett and Axel are right behind, our heated breaths creating clouds of pale smoke in the air. I manage to catch the far door just before it slams closed, a jolt of pain crunching along my fingers that I ignore for now.
The moment we step inside, the coppery tang of blood hits me. It’s faint but unmistakable, mingling with the sterile scent of fresh paint and old wood. My stomach drops. Red streaks skid across the polished floor, scuffed with a struggle. They’ve hurt her.
A labyrinth of cold concrete hallways stretches ahead, each turn blindly leading us into a stilted darkness. The faint sound of Meg’s muffled cries bounces off the walls, haunting and disorienting like a cruel game of hide-and-seek.
Huxley stays close to my side, his eyes sharp and scanning, every muscle in his body coiled tight like a spring ready to snap. Garrett and Axel trail behind us, their hushed footsteps falling in sync with ours. No one speaks. The weight of the silence presses down on us, heavier with every hallway we pass, the sound of Meg’s cries growing faint and then vanishing altogether.
Slowly, the reddened scuffs on the floor become a singular line, and I can almost pinpoint where Meg has passed out, forcing her to be dragged the rest of the way. The coppery scent increases, leading us to a metal door labeled Locker Room A. My heart thunders in my ears as I share a small nod with Hux, reaching out for the door handle.
Suddenly, a door to our left bursts open, slamming against the wall with a thunderous crack. Four men step out of the next locker room, their necks branded with thick, black numbers. Prison tattoos. One carries a crowbar, its metal glinting under the flickering fluorescent lights behind them. Grins are plastered across their scarred faces. They knew we were here.
“Looks like we’ve got company,” Crowbar sneers, his voice rough and guttural. His gaze rakes over us, landing on Garrett when he steps in front of Axel. “Back down, kid. We’ve got what we came for.”
“Where have you taken her?” Garrett’s tone is dangerous, his fists already clenched. I’m glad he can pretend we’re not hugely out of our depth, because the tremble to my sore fingers wouldn’t have managed it. The man with the crowbar chuckles, tapping the weapon against his palm.
“Too late. She’s ours now. But you can join her if you’re feeling brave.”
I don’t know if Garrett is still riding the high of being Axel’s protector or if he felt the need to prove a point. But something causes him to lunge first, his fist colliding with the man’s jaw in a loud crunch. The crowbar is dropped, skidding away as Garrett is half dragged into the room, their bodies grappling for control. The distinctive slam of bodies hitting metal sounds as Axel kneels to pick the crowbar up, feeling the weight in his hands. When he blinks up at the man slamming Garrett into the lockers again, there’s a deadly determination to his hazel eyes.
I barely have time to react as another guy charges me. He’s massive, his shoulders wide enough to block out the light. I duck under his first swing, his meaty fist whistling past my ear. Using his momentum, I drive my shoulder into his ribs, but it’s like hitting a brick wall. He snarls, grabbing the back of my jacket and carrying me into the locker room, effectively cornering us inside before tossing me into a nearby bench.
Pain blooms in my side as the wood splinters beneath me. He advances on me before I’ve got to my feet. A heavy boot slams into my gut, robbing my lungs of air. Around the tears springing to my eyes, I see him turn towards Axel.
“Wait-” I fumble with his ankle, feebly trying to cling onto his trousers. I can’t be sure my hand even closes into a fist, the pain splintering through my fingers and across my torso stealing all of my focus, but it’ s enough to garner his attention. He lifts me again, pinning me up against a metal grate to level punches into my side. I grunt, throwing rogue swings that don’t connect, all the while keeping the others in my eye line.
Huxley moves like a storm, fluid and unstoppable. He dodges a knife aimed at his stomach, twisting his attacker’s wrist with brutal precision until the blade clatters to the floor. Without missing a beat, he delivers a sharp elbow to the man’s temple, sending him crumpling to the ground. Behind him, Axel approaches the man struggling with Garrett, and with a wince, lifts the crowbar high into the air. It comes down with a sickening sound I don’t think I’ll ever be able to forget.
Metal meeting flesh, dull, wet, and final. The goon crumples to the floor with a thud, his body limp and unmoving, his head split and oozing around the crowbar still embedded in his skull. Axel’s hazel eyes widen, his breath hitching in sharp, shallow gasps. Blood splatters his face, masking the horror that blossoms underneath.
“Fuck. Holy fuck,” Axel’s voice is twinged with disbelief as he stares at his own hands, as if they’re foreign to him now. His chest heaves, and for a moment, it’s as though the world has frozen around him. This isn’t what we signed up for. We’re not killers; we’re basketball players for fuck’s sake.
The moment shatters when the man holding me up releases my jacket and roars in rage, his boot crashing into Axel’s side and sending him sprawling to the floor. “Axel!” Garrett shouts in protest, surging forward, but he’s intercepted by Huxley’s assailant, who drives a fist into his stomach and forces him to double over.
Huxley’s voice cuts through the chaos as he scrambles toward his friend, but the two goons left are on a warpath, not letting either him or Garrett close to a gasping Axel on the ground. A trembling hand hovers over his left ribs, not daring to touch himself through his hoodie. Fuck, his ribs. I army crawl across the tiled floor, outstretching my own hand. A heavy boot quickly stamps on my fingers, crushing them beneath the sole and twisting. I scream, the pop of bones reverberating through my entire arm.
Axel is hauled up by his shirt, delivering a brutal punch to his face. The impact sends him crashing into the lockers, his head bouncing off the unforgiving metal, and his body drops right in front of me. Within reaching distance, but I don’t dare try to touch him again. It’ll bring too much attention to both of us. Instead, we stare into each other’s eyes, Axel’s becoming more distant by the second. Blood trickles from his nose and the corner of his mouth, pooling beneath his face. His eyes flutter shut, and an eerie stillness settles over him.
“Enough,” a thick voice booms. Whoever has entered has enough authority to halt the goons in their revenge. “Leave them. It’s time to go.”
The assailants retreat as quickly as they’d appeared, leaving devastation in their wake. Garrett stumbles free of his attacker and collapses to his knees beside Axel. His hands shake as he reaches out, gently cradling Axel’s face. “Axel!” Garrett chokes, his voice breaking. Tears spill freely down his cheeks, landing on Axel’s bloodied shirt. “Come on, wake up. Please, just...just wake up.”
The room is eerily quiet now, the only sound being Garrett’s desperate pleas. He leans down, pressing his forehead to Axel’s, his shoulders shaking as sobs wrack his body. “You promised me,” he whispers, his voice trembling. “You promised you wouldn’t leave me.”
As I work to pull myself up into a sitting position, cradling my broken hand, Huxley kneels beside them, his expression grim as he checks Axel’s pulse. A flicker of relief crosses his face, but it’s fleeting. “He’s alive,” he murmurs. “But we need to get him out of here.” Garrett nods wordlessly, his grip on Axel tightening as if letting go would make him slip away for good. I wobble, attempting to stand and failing twice. The third time, Huxley’s there to hoist me up with his shoulder.
It provides little comfort. My sense of gravity was unbalanced, and my body was protesting against every tiny moment. But none of that matters. We failed. Meg is gone, and Axel is hurt. Our spirits are beaten, and we’ve lost more than we’ve gained. I wanted to be the man Avery could rely on when she’s not here to fight her own battles. I wanted to be her hero.