4. Zayn
CHAPTER 4
ZAYN
We were in the SUV. Rye drove, and I was in the passenger seat. Fuming. Jayden had eyes on Manny and was watching him closely, ensuring he didn’t alert his boss that I was coming.
“Why didn’t we know Delaney uses the old industrial yard?” I asked Rye. “Isn’t that something we should know?”
Rye grunted. “Why the fuck would we know everything about him?” he countered. “We know his main areas, where he does his loan deals, and where his venues are for the games. We know he has sidelines, but did we need to know everything about them? No.” He glanced at me. “We don’t need this level of detail.”
I snorted, my contempt clear. “Until we do.”
He nodded. “Until we do,” he conceded. “And we got it pretty easily.” He saw my glare. “Man, you have got to cool your shit. Rein it in, brother, you’re going to get her. Hell, he’s probably waiting to hand her over. I can’t imagine she’s been easy.”
That almost made me laugh. But I knew Isla better than she thought I did. She would be scared, watching, waiting for an opportunity. She would be silent, not wanting to draw attention to herself, which was precisely what I needed her to be doing, staying small, out of his way, and unobtrusive.
“She’ll be quiet,” I told Rye, my voice low. “She’ll be scared shitless, and when she’s unsure, she goes still.” I looked out the window. “She’s only bold when she’s comfortable. When she’s certain.” I thought back to a night a long time ago when she was neither sure nor certain, but she’d definitely been bold…and drunk. “Or full of tequila.”
Rye huffed in amusement, but he didn’t say anything else as we drove, leaving me to my musings. I remembered the night well. Julian was in his second year of college, and he’d been bugging me about coming out to see him. We’d caught up a few times since I left Gracemont, but college life was definitely not for me. I had a fight scheduled near his campus though, so I’d agreed to attend some “rager” that was allegedly the highlight of the campus social calendar.
His college was pretentious. Stuck-up students with stuck-up attitudes. I couldn’t think of anything worse, but he was my friend. It wouldn’t have been a hardship to see what I was missing out on by not pursuing an academic life.
The party was tame. If these kids thought this was a rager, they were wrapped in cotton wool, and real life was going to slap them in the face so badly they’d still be spinning from the impact in their thirties. Julian knew I was unimpressed pretty quickly. The most shocking thing to me that night was that Isla was there. I hadn’t known she was at the same college, but when I thought about it, where else would she be? They were joined at the hip throughout high school. Of course, they would go to the same college.
She’d been less impressed to see me. I got a cool greeting and an even colder dismissal when she walked past me like I hadn’t been the guy she came to for her first kiss. Another stuck-up bitch with a superior attitude. Or so I thought. A few hours later, I was upstairs, having found the rich kids who had more money than sense, and I was talking up how profitable bets could be when it came to underground fighting. Some of them already knew of me, which had surprised me but not enough to let it show.
Isla stumbled into the games room, shit-faced, saw me, and then stumbled back the way she’d come. One or two comments about her being an easy target had me casually following her to make sure none of these entitled shits took liberties with her. I’d make sure she was stuck to Julian like she should have been, and then I’d blow this place. The thought of making these fuckers money, and myself money in the process, was no longer appealing.
I found her slumped against a wall, head down, seemingly zoned out.
“What the fuck are you doing?” I asked her, taking in the black jeans, the loose camisole, and the mountains of jewelry around her neck, which might be why she looked unbalanced. That amount of shit had to be weighing her down. “You sleeping, Wells?”
She looked up at me. Eyes unfocused, squinting until she recognized me. “Ugh, fuck off, McCabe.”
“Well, aren’t you the charmer?” I murmured as I stood beside her, leaning against the wall. “And here I thought we’d made progress since last I saw you.”
Isla snorted. “Why? Because you kissed me?” She pushed her hair off her face. “It was three years ago. Move on. Loser.”
She was definitely shit - faced, using a wall for support, her top too low and revealing, but I was the loser? She needed to sober up.
“I see nothing’s changed. Your attitude still leaves a lot to be desired. Come on.” I grabbed her hand and took her into the first empty bedroom I could find. These dicks even fucked boring. Every room I’d entered, they were all in the missionary position. Did no one know there were other ways to have sex?
The room I took her in had a bathroom, and I dragged her into it, ignoring her cursing me out for manhandling her. “For fuck’s sake, Wells, I’m not going to attack you. I want you to splash water on your face.”
She was silent as I ran the water, and then she spoke, her voice curious. “Why aren’t you going to attack me?”
I turned to look at her in surprise. “What the fuck did you just say?” I’d looked her over, sure I was hearing things.
She was leaning against the wall, her new go-to support system. “I said, why aren’t you making moves on me? I’m female, I’m available, you’re here. Why not?”
“Because you’re shit-faced drunk , and we don’t like each other.” I looked her over one more time, this time with curiosity. “Is this how you get laid?” I asked her. The idea of this being her pickup line was oddly disturbing.
Isla gig g led. “I haven’t had sex in seven months.” She shrugged as she looked me over. “You look good. Kinda hot. No, I changed my mind. You’re definitely hot. Do you still kiss as good?” She seemed to think about it. “You know, maybe it was a shit kiss. I can’t remember. You should show me. Refresh my memory. Do you? Kiss the same.”
I shook my head, letting the cold water fill the sink. “I don’t know. I’ve never asked for reviews.” I pulled her to me, and she came too willingly. Her head tipped back to look up at me, her lips parted. She looked a little too enticing, and I would be a liar if I said I wasn’t tempted.
But she was drunk. She would have a fuzzy recollect i on of this the next day, and if she did remember, I already knew she would hate herself. I wasn’t that much of a bastard to take advantage of her. Even if she did seem willing. Eager even.
“You’re wasted,” I told her, my voice soft. I brushed her hair off her shoulder, my finger tracking over her collarbone. “You’re wasted, alone, and asking for trouble, Is.”
She looked up a t me, pressing herself into me. “Or maybe I’m just asking for your kind of t r ouble.”
Fuck, she did not want me. I knew it. Sober Isla knew it. I needed to be the adult here. I was twenty years old, and saying no to pussy was unheard of. But she wasn’t unknown pussy. She was Isla Wells. Bratty little Isla who looked down her nose at me and disapproved of everything I’d ever done. I bet she was a missionary - position-only fuck.
I shifted my weight, moving slightly to the side. “Come here.” I bec k oned her closer. Her eyes lit with heady excitement, and then she shrieked just before I dunked her face into the cold water. “Sober up,” I instructed as she fought me, but I held her under, just enough to wake her the fuck up. I pulled her out. “You’re going to regret this in the morning, and I, like the nice guy I am, will never mention it.” Half her hair was wet. Her mascara ran down her face. Her cheeks were bright red, the fury in her eyes cleared her drunken haze, and she looked like she was ready to kill me.
There she was. The spitfire I was used to.
Isla pushed her wet hair off her face. “What the fuck did you do?” she yelled at me. “You’ve ruined my hair, my clothes…” Turning , she glared at me. “I can’t go out to the party like this! I’ll have to go back to my dorm!”
Which was exactly what I intended.
“You’ll thank me for it later. Stay here. I’ll get Julian.” I grinned at her. “See you later, Is.”
“ My name’s Isla, you ignorant asshole!”
I left her in the bathroom, still muttering and fuming. I told Julian where she was and that she needed to go home. I didn’t mention her throwing herself at me, and I knew she would never admit to it.
I saw him sneak her out not long after, and I left the party with the thought that I’d probably never see her again.
I sighed as I remembered my few encounters with her over the years. Eighteen months later, I’d be back on that campus, and Isla would once more be soaking wet and needing me to help her.
It was a pattern I hadn’t seen before and was now becoming too aware of. How much she needed me even when she never realized it herself. I was the person she came to for help.
Did that make me her hero? Fuck no. Isla would be the first person to tell me I was the villain in her story.
I might be her villain, but I was the only one she relied on when she needed someone to help her. Even if it was only when she was desperate. No matter the reason why, I would always be there for her when she needed me.
How long had she had me wrapped around her finger? The thought wasn’t even off-putting. Instead, it made me feel even more murderous that she’d been taken.
Rye murmured that we were arriving at the old yard, and I focused on the here and now. I was going to dismember Patrick Delaney personally for touching what was mine.
The SUV traveled slowly between the disused buildings, its engine rumbling low but still loud in the night. The industrial estate was quiet—too quiet, the kind of quiet that wasn’t natural.
Rye was sitting straighter, his eyes flicking constantly to the rearview and side mirrors. He felt it too. Good. I wasn’t being paranoid. Not a quality I’d ever been accused of before, but then I’d never had a reason to be .
Rye slowed to a stop outside an abandoned warehouse, his eyes scanning the building next to it. I leaned forward to see what he was seeing. The roller shutter door was free of debris, and the unused crates were stacked too neatly. Not as empty as they wanted you to believe.
“Hang back,” I ordered him quietly, pointing to the side of the building. “CCTV. Find another way around.”
He reversed the car quietly, and we came to the building from another direction, careful not to alert anyone in case they took off.
Isla wasn’t disappearing. Not tonight.
Rye killed the engine, and I sat in the seat for a beat longer than necessary. Control. Keep control.
Rye shifted beside me, eyes scanning the building’s exterior. “Probably two at the entrance,” he murmured. “Probably more inside.” He glanced at me. “Maybe, what, one or two more up top?”
I followed his line of sight. From our vantage point, I could see the edge of a truck. The vehicle was out in the open. Probably more than one. They weren’t hiding. They weren’t expecting a fight.
My knuckles drummed off the car door. I had one shot at this.
Rye’s voice was low as he cautioned me. “You walk in there, guns blazing, with no plan, he could kill her before you can take a breath.”
I already knew that. It didn’t mean I didn’t want to put a bullet between someone’s eyes just for the fun of it.
But Rye was right.
This had to be business. Not personal. Because if they knew she meant something to me, she’d never stop being leverage .
“Go back the way we came,” I said quietly, my eyes on the building.
He hesitated but put the car in reverse. “What’s your plan?” He looked over at me. “You want to drive up to the front door?” He sounded skeptical. Like surely, only a crazy person would suggest that. Right?
“That’s exactly what we’re going to do,” I told him. “This isn’t personal. We sneak in, take them by surprise, and they’ll see more than I want them to. No, we play it smart. Like any negotiation. So yeah, we walk in through the front door.”
“And if Isla blows your cover?” Rye stopped outside the warehouse, where three cars were sitting behind a chained fence. One was a fucking ugly vintage Bentley. My focus was on Delaney’s piece of shit ancient car that screamed small-dick syndrome.
“You handle Isla. I’ll handle Patrick.” I took the gun from the glove compartment, tucked it into my waistband, adjusted my cuffs, smoothed a hand over my shirt, and then shoved open the door. “Let’s go.”
Rye followed, our steps deliberate and slow. We weren’t sneaking. We weren’t rushing. We were walking in like we belonged there. Like this was a meeting, not a rescue. At the main entrance gates, I saw the side gate. When I got to it, it was unpadlocked. I pushed it open, and Rye and I entered the yard.
There was no one outside, but like the gate, the entrance to the warehouse was open. Inside was colder than I expected, littered with a maze of boxes piled high. Rye had his gun out. You could never be too careful. I kept mine tucked away.
The boxes were a decoy—anyone with a bit of sense would know that. There was no one on guard and Rye and I exchanged a look. Anyone could walk in. Was this a trap? We followed the path to the back of the warehouse, where the light shone brighter.
In the middle of his guys, standing with his arms folded, was the man who’d made the mistake of thinking he could take what wasn’t his. They all stood around a table piled with cash, and they looked up in unison as I confidently walked toward them.
“McCabe.” Patrick looked me over, quickly masking his surprise. “Didn’t think we’d see you tonight.”
I lifted a brow. “And yet, here I am.”
I didn’t stop walking until I was a few feet away. Rye stayed at my back, his presence more of a threat than words ever could be.
Patrick smiled, lazy and smug. “And to what do I owe the pleasure of seeing you outside your club?” He feigned confusion as if the phone call hadn’t happened two hours ago.
I let my gaze slide past him, searching. There were too many places she could be. My jaw tightened, but my voice stayed smooth. “You’ve been collecting things that don’t belong to you.”
Patrick tilted his head, his gaze sharp. Assessing. “Depends on the debt.”
I rolled my shoulders casually. “I don’t care about the debt he owes you.”
A flicker of something crossed his face. He wasn’t expecting that. Good. Patrick spread his hands. “Julian owes me. I took collateral. Seems fair.” He gave me a conspiratorial smile. “It seemed like taking his woman was the incentive he needed if you’re involved.”
His woman?
I didn’t blink. “Yeah, well, Julian owes me . Which means any collateral he has…is mine .”
Patrick’s smile faltered. “That’s not how this works.” His gaze flicked to Rye. “You’re both here because of a debt Julian Turner owes to me?” Patrick dropped his arms to his sides. “Unless…maybe there’s more involved here? She something to you?”
I took a slow step forward. “Not really. I’ve known Julian for a long time. Went to school with him for a few years.” I cocked my head. “Went to school with her too.”
Patrick swallowed, hesitating. That moment of uncertainty was all I needed.
“I also know her folks.” I saw the calculation in his eyes. “Her dad did me a solid a few years ago, and I owe him . She leaves with me.”
I let the silence stretch, let him absorb my bullshit. Then I sighed, shaking my head. “I don’t like repeating myself, Patrick. So I’ll say it once. This ends tonight. You’ll get your money from Julian, and you will never, and I mean never , let him play at your tables again.”
He chuckled, but it sounded forced. “That a threat?”
I didn’t answer. Just stared at him. The kind of stare that let men know their next move determined whether they lived to see another day or not.
The air in the warehouse shifted.
Patrick’s smirk dropped. He understood. I could see the moment he realized he was holding the wrong kind of leverage.
And I wasn’t here to bargain.
He cleared his throat, his head jerking towards a door across from us. “She’s in storage.”
I didn’t move. “Then I suggest you get her out.”
Patrick hesitated, anger in his eyes. He looked at one of his guys. The guy walked over to the door, opened it, and went inside. I heard the rumble of voices, and then she was being led out, her hand up to shield her eyes against the bright lights.
Isla. Disheveled, pissed off, but alive.
I felt the knot in my chest loosen but only slightly.
She quickly dropped her hand, her eyes scanning the scene in front of her, and then her eyes landed on me, and something flashed across her face. Anger. Relief. Fear .
She stumbled as she stepped forward, and my body tensed before I could stop it.
Patrick lifted a hand like this was all just business. “We done here?” he asked with a dismissive sniff. “I want my money.”
“We’re done.” I didn’t take my eyes off Isla as I spoke. “I’ll tell Turner to pay his debt.”
Rye moved forward, and he reached for Isla’s arm, steadying her. Claiming her.
She sucked in a breath. “What?—”
“We’re leaving.” I spoke to Patrick only, my attention back on him since I knew Rye’s grip would be firm enough to let her know to keep quiet as he started leading her toward the exit.
“I trust this is just a temporary hiccup in our relationship?” Patrick asked, his smile as oily as he was.
I gave a tight smile. “Business as usual once I return her where she belongs.”
By my side.
“And she’ll keep quiet?” he asked casually. Too casually. “About what happened here?”
My eyes locked on to his, understanding passing between us. If I hadn’t come, she was never going to make it out of here. “If you’re worried about loose tongues, I suggest you think through the consequences before you act. ”
I held his stare for a moment longer before I turned to follow Rye and Isla out.
“McCabe?” I didn’t look back as he called me. “I’ll see you soon.”
“Not if I see you first, Delaney.”
I walked out of the warehouse, the promise hanging in the air between us.
The battle lines were drawn, and Patrick Delaney would not survive the fight.