3. Zayn
CHAPTER 3
ZAYN
The club was alive, but I wasn’t really paying attention to the screens.
Elixir thrived under the low lighting and the pounding bass that made conversation a choice, not a necessity. The VIP booths were full of Gracemont’s elite—some legal, some barely skirting the law. It was exactly how I liked it.
Controlled chaos.
But I wasn’t in the mood tonight. I sat in my office, a bottle of water in my hand, staring at the monitors without really seeing anything. Knowing that I should be. This was a live stream of my empire. I needed to be paying attention, but this evening, something was off.
A tension I couldn’t shake, a weight pressing down on me like an omen. I wasn’t a superstitious guy, but it I felt like I was waiting for something to happen.
Isla texted me for the first time in weeks, wanting to know if she could come see me. I told her I wasn’t here and then sent a follow-up text. She hadn’t replied to either.
I looked at my phone, disgusted with myself that I was checking it again, in case I had missed her text, even though my phone was never on silent.
What had she wanted to see me for? And why hadn’t she replied? Had she moved on? My hand curled into a fist at the very thought of another guy hearing that low sigh of contentment she made when the back of her neck was kissed.
“It’s been weeks,” I reminded myself bitterly. “Move on already.”
I wanted to. She had made it clear I was not for her. That the way I lived was not for her. But… I missed her. God, I was so glad Rye wasn’t here right now. He would take one look at me, declare me as “still moping,” and roll his eyes.
I was sick of his amateur dramatics.
I was tired of sulking as well. I felt just like a lovesick teenager. When it came to her, I barely recognized myself anymore.
I missed her in my bed. I missed being in her bed.
I missed her .
“You’re pathetic.” Twisting open my bottle of water, I took a drink, wondering if it was too early to start drinking, seriously drinking. Maybe if I got shit-faced, I could fuck someone else and get Isla out of my system.
The very idea of touching someone else was repugnant.
My office door got hammered on. My attention shifted from my inner wallowing to the screen, and I saw Julian outside. I hadn’t even seen him come up the stairs, which was another warning I wasn’t paying attention when that was all I should be doing when my club was open.
I pressed the button to let him in, and the door burst open with enough force it banged off the wall. Julian stormed in like a man who had just seen death up close.
His hair was a mess, his collar was crooked, and his shirt sleeves were wrinkled and uneven like he’d been pulling at them in frustration—or fear. His usual easygoing manner was nowhere to be found. Instead, his eyes burned with desperation, his jaw locked so tight it could crack.
Bad fucking sign.
I barely moved. Just leaned back in my chair, casually turning the bottle of water in my hand. I suspected why he was here. I wasn’t in the mood for his gambling bullshit. “You knock on my door like that again, and I’ll break your hands.”
Julian didn’t even flinch. Worse sign.
His chest rose and fell in quick, sharp bursts, and I noticed his hands were shaking.
That was when I knew—this wasn’t about him. My attention sharpened, looking at him closer.
I set the bottle of water down. “Talk.”
“I’ll pay,” he rasped. “The whole thing. Every fucking dollar, every cent. I’ll pay you back.”
My brow lifted. I’d heard this before. “You don’t have it.”
“I’ll get it.” His breathing was getting shorter. More ragged. He was gulping for air. “Zayn—” He dragged both of his hands through his hair, his eyes fixed on mine, filled with desperation. “They have her.”
The room froze around me.
Everything inside me went still.
Her .
I knew who before he even said her name.
I felt like my brain had to catch up with my body, had to process the weight of those words before the rage settled in. Before the world turned red.
I sat forward, the weight in my chest snapping tight. “Who took her?” My voice was calm, but my fingers curled into fists on the desk.
I stood slowly. Julian stepped back.
I didn’t blame him .
“I asked you a fucking question.” My voice was calm. Dangerous. “Who?”
Julian’s jaw clenched. “The people I owe.”
“Which ones?” I saw him wince. Yeah, I knew he owed more than one.
“Delaney.”
Fucking hell .
I exhaled sharply, tilting my head towards the ceiling for a second before dragging my gaze back to his. He looked ready to bolt. Again, I didn’t blame him.
“You stupid, reckless son of a bitch,” I muttered, stepping around my desk. My jaw was so tight my teeth ached. “I told you to stop playing in places you didn’t belong.” Rage was surfing through me, black and suffocating. “How much, Julian?”
He swallowed. “Two fifty.” He took a shaky breath. “Plus interest.”
Plus interest . Depending on how long he’d been in debt, it could be a million dollars. Or more.
I should’ve seen it coming. I’d paid his debt before, but he had always paid me back. I knew that I wasn’t helping when I paid it. That I was only enabling him. Which was why I told him last time it was the last time.
I should’ve known that one day he’d be so far over his head that his luck would run out. And now, Isla was the one paying for it.
Rye stepped into the office, his face unreadable as he took in the tension in the room. “Everything okay?”
I grabbed my jacket off the chair from where I’d dropped it earlier. “Get the car.”
Rye’s brows lifted at my tone, but he didn’t hesitate. He was gone in seconds .
Julian let out a shaky breath, watching me like he didn’t know whether to be relieved or terrified. Good.
“You’ll pay it?” he asked, voice tight.
I took two steps towards him, invading his space, letting him see the full weight of my fury. “Yes, Julian. I’m cleaning up your fucking mess.”
His throat bobbed. “I didn’t have a choice.”
“Like hell you didn’t,” I snarled, letting the words burn between us. I took a slow step back. I had to focus.
“Where is she?” His face turned paler. “Julian! Where did they take her?”
“I don’t know.” He backed up hastily when he saw my anger. “He said I had something of his and he took something of mine.”
“She isn’t yours,” I snapped.
“Should we wait?” he asked me quietly. “For him to call?”
“Wait?”
I grabbed my phone and dialed a number. I wasn’t fucking waiting.
Julian watched me carefully. “Who are you calling?”
I shot him a look as the line clicked. “Where’s the girl?” I asked, my voice a quiet, deadly thing.
A pause. Then, a deep chuckle. “You have skin in this game?” Patrick Delaney sounded positively delighted at this development. “Interesting.”
The line went dead.
I exhaled through my nose, forcing myself to stay calm and restraining myself from throwing Julian through the nearest wall. Though God knew I wanted to. Instead, I turned to him, my voice sharp and cold. “Congratulations. You may have just started a war.”
Julian blanched .
I stepped past him, but fury gripped me, and I turned quickly and lashed out. My fist connected squarely with his jaw, and the sight of him falling to the office floor did nothing to calm my rage. He looked up at me in fear as I stood over him. I resisted the urge to hit him again and stalked out the door.
If they thought they could take her and walk away unscathed, they had no idea who the fuck they were dealing with.
That only made the anger rise. Delaney thought I’d play by his rules. That I’d sit back and negotiate like a man with something to lose.
He didn’t know me at all.
I moved quickly down the stairs, heading to the garage, my pulse thrumming with one singular purpose.
When I got there, Rye was leaning against the car. He’d wisely picked his own SUV. The driver’s door was open, as if unsure whether he was coming or not, but he was ready either way. He walked a few steps to meet me as I approached.
“What’s happening?” he asked as I sidestepped him.
“Delaney took Isla.”
Rye’s hand shot out and grabbed my arm. “Say that again?” He pulled at my elbow, making me slow down. I didn’t have time for this. I broke free of his hold, but he knew me well and wasn’t scared of getting punched. “Zayn! Take a minute to think.”
I turned so quickly that my hand was at his throat, pushing him away from me before he could brace himself for my assault. “Think?” I asked him, stalking forward. “I don’t have a minute to think . They took Isla!”
“Where is she?” he asked me calmly, ignoring the fact his shirt was bunched from where I’d grabbed him.
“He doesn’t know. ”
“And does Patrick know you know?”
“I called him.” When Rye swore, I turned to look at him. “What?”
“You played that card too early,” he said as he moved me away from the driver’s door. “I’ll drive. You’re not thinking straight.” He tapped the side of his head. “Cool head, Zayn. Lose it when you’ve got her back.”
I inhaled loudly through my nose, sucking my teeth as the weight of his words settled like lead in my chest. “I’m going to kill him.”
“No problem.” Rye didn’t even flinch as he got into the SUV. “But first, think with your head, not your heart. Don’t be a fucking pussy.”
A storm was brewing beneath my skin, slow and rolling, dark and inevitable.
He had her.
He had Isla.
I flexed my hands, curling them into fists before forcing them open again. Rye was right. I couldn’t lose my temper—not yet. Not until I had something to break.
Some one to break.
“I’ll pay him,” I told Rye as I walked around the SUV, getting into the passenger side. “It’s another business transaction. Like any other.”
Rye nodded. “It’s not personal.”
It was very fucking personal.
“Did you know he kidnaps loved ones to get his debts paid?” I asked as I straightened my jacket.
“No, but then kidnapping doesn’t come up often in conversation.”
I laughed. Low and dark. Humorless.
“Do we wait for Julian?” Rye asked, turning the car on .
“If he knows what’s good for him, he’ll stay the fuck out of my way.”
“So, no. Got it.” Rye hesitated. “And…where are we going?”
“I don’t know.” I leaned back in the seat. “But I can’t sit and wait. Who would know where the fucker would take her?” I turned to look at Rye. “Vega might know.”
Rye nodded slowly. “Maybe. And where the fuck do we find him on a Thursday night?”
We shared a look. I unsnapped my seat belt and got out of the SUV. “The club.”
I knew Rye was right behind me, his heavy footsteps trailing mine, but I didn’t slow. I headed up the stairs to the lower-level club. Outside the very entrance where Julian had found out about Isla and me only a few weeks ago, I took a moment to breathe.
I needed to be calm.
Controlled.
They had my woman.
A muscle ticked above my jaw as I took another breath. No emotion. No fury. Not yet. That was how people got sloppy. That was how people got killed. And I wasn’t losing this fight before I even threw a punch.
But there was a part of me—a primal, possessive part—that screamed for blood. That part of me didn’t give a fuck about being careful. It didn’t care about patience or strategy. It wanted answers, violence, and revenge.
I cracked my neck, and then, with a slow, even breath, I walked into my kingdom. I saw people notice I was there, and I saw them turn away. Undisturbed. Unbothered that I was here. The atmosphere didn’t change.
I scanned the room as I moved to my corner table, absorbing everything at once. One or two looked away a fraction too quickly, like they knew something.
Someone in this club knew where Delaney would take her.
And I was going to make them talk.
Rye settled in beside me as I took a seat, his presence a solid weight at my side. “You want to start subtle or go full McCabe?”
My lips curled humorlessly at his reference. “Let’s find out who has the biggest fucking mouth.” I locked eyes on a guy I knew who ran errands for Delaney now and then. “Him.”
Rye stood and made his way over. He exchanged a few words, and then they were both coming back to me.
I looked him over as he approached. He looked nervous. He wasn’t a player, wasn’t a decision-maker, but I was sure he heard things.
And right now? I needed to hear those things.
“Zayn.” His voice was smoother, a practiced smile in place. “You need me for something?”
I didn’t answer. Just waited for him to take the empty seat across from me, letting the silence stretch.
He shifted in his seat, his fingers tapping against his thigh. He wasn’t stupid. He knew I didn’t do small talk.
I tilted my head slightly. Before I got a chance to speak, Rye leaned forward.
“I never remember your name,” he said with an easy smile. “I’ve seen you a few times, but”—he leaned back—“every time, I forget.”
The guy cleared his throat. “Manny.”
Rye snapped his fingers. “That’s right. Manny.” His smile was gone. “How long have you worked for Delaney? ”
Manny looked between us. “I, um…” He blew out a breath, turning and looking over his shoulder, checking who was in. When he turned back, he failed at casual. “Who said I did?”
“Answer the question.” My voice was cold. Steel.
I watched the fucker as he wet his lower lip nervously. “Couple of years now.”
Rye smiled widely. Manny relaxed.
“Do you need something from him?” Manny asked. “He’s in Gracemont tonight.”
My gaze sharpened. “Is he? I thought he was in Chicago,” I lied. “Do you know where he is?”
Manny shrugged. “I thought he’d be here,” he told us. “He said he was swinging by after some business.” He held up his hands in mock surrender. “Now I know you won’t ask me what that is.”
We wouldn’t. We couldn’t. It wasn’t normal for us to need to know anything about what was going on in the customers’ daily businesses. It’s why they trusted my skills and my club. I didn’t get involved unless invited .
Or unless that customer fucking kidnapped my woman.
Rye caught my eye and leaned into Manny. “Where is he?”
Manny blinked. “Seriously?”
“Answer the fucking question, Manny,” Rye snapped.
“I can’t,” Manny said, looking between us.
I smiled. It was almost friendly. “Try again.”
His throat bobbed as he swallowed. “Look, man, I don’t?—”
I moved fast. One second, I was leaning back in my chair. The next, I had Manny’s wrist twisted in my grip, pressing his hand against the table hard enough that his fingers splayed wide .
He sucked in a sharp breath, his face tightening in pain. “Jesus, McCabe?—”
I leaned in. My voice was low, quiet, meant only for him. “Where is he?”
His eyes darted to Rye, looking for an escape. I applied more pressure. A bead of sweat trickled down his temple. “I don’t know,” he rasped. “He could be?—”
“Be where?”
“Sometimes he takes shipments at an old warehouse in the old industrial yard, between here and Chicago, but,” he paused, meeting my eye. “You can’t tell him it was me that told you.”
I let him go.
“You can go back to your seat,” Rye told him with a nod towards the table he had been at.
On any other day, I would have laughed at how quickly he moved.
“It’s a big area to search,” Rye said softly as he watched Manny take his seat back at his table.
“It’s a start.”
I knew he was biting his tongue from telling me I was being rash. But this was Isla.
Isla .
I needed to find her. Get her back.
And burn the entire fucking town to the ground if I had to.