Chapter 23
Connor
I’ve checked the feed three times, scrubbed through the recordings until my eyes burned. But Ryan hasn’t been back to the dorm since we left for class this morning. Skipped the team dinner too. No texts. No calls. Nothing but a read receipt from eight hours ago.
Phone still in my hand, my thumb hovers over the screen as if the next try will change something. It won’t. He’s not answering.
Blood pounds in my ears as I tuck my phone into my pocket and then pound my fist against Eli and Merci's door. Spots burst at the edges of my vision. People at the end of the hallway turn their heads. They better mind their own fucking business.
Ryan’s got to be inside. It’s the only thing I can think of. He had ethics class with Merci earlier. Maybe something happened.
I’ll fucking murder his professor if I need to.
The door swings open, and Eli appears. His usual gentle smile vanishes the second he sees me, his cornflower-blue eyes narrowing.
“Is Ryan here?”
“Go away, you shit fuck.”
Eli just cursed. Eli, who apologizes to furniture when he bumps into it. Eli, who won't even say “damn” when he stubs his toe.
I step forward. “Move. I need to see him.”
“Is that the dickless fucking husband of the year?” Merci shoves past Eli, every muscle coiled for violence. “I'm going to rip your balls off. Though clearly you never had any to begin with.”
Don’t have time for their bullshit. But when I grab the doorframe and try to push past, pain explodes through my hand. I yank it back, blood immediately welling from four small puncture wounds. “Fuck!”
“Merci!” Eli's hands fly to his mouth. “Oh my god!”
Blood runs between my fingers as I press my other hand over the wounds.
Merci waves his bloodied fork at me, jabbing it toward my face. “Try to come in and I’ll do it again. Maybe it’ll be your jugular next time. Or your dick. Haven't decided yet.”
Fuck this.
I barrel toward the two of them. No one is keeping me out of that room. “Ryan! We need to talk—”
But Merci shoves both hands against my chest. “He’s not here, dickwad.”
“Bullshit.”
This time he slaps my chest. “I said he's not—”
I grab his shirt with my good hand and slam him against the wall. “Where the fuck is my husband, Merci!”
“Connor!” Eli's voice cracks. “Stop!”
Merci’s eyes flick over my shoulder, lips curling into a smirk. “I’m not telling you shit.”
My fist tightens in his shirt. “You fucking—”
The side of my body caves, ribs compressing hard enough my stomach lurches. My feet leave the ground and Merci's shirt tears from my grip as I go sideways. Then my shoulder and hip slam into the hardwood, head snapping against the floor, teeth clacking hard.
I’m flipped onto my back, Zach’s weight pinning my hips. His face fills my vision, and then his fist comes. I try to twist, but it's too slow. Pain explodes across my jaw as his knuckles connect.
“You're dead.” He swings again, fist crunching my nose.
I block the next hit with my forearm, then buck my hips, throwing him off. I scramble to my feet, but he wraps his arms around my waist, driving me into the wall. I drive my elbow into his back. “Get the fuck off me!”
He grunts but doesn't go down. He punches me in the solar plexus, and air rushes from my lungs. He lifts me, then slams me onto the ground. I kick my foot out, catching his shin, and he drops to the floor.
We both get back on our feet, trading blow after blow. We crash into a desk. Pencils scatter. A laptop hits the floor.
Zach gets me in a headlock. I drive my elbow back into his ribs once, twice. He loosens just enough for me to twist, slamming him into the TV stand. Something glass breaks.
He recovers fast—too fast. His fist catches my temple, and the room tilts. I swing blind, connecting with something solid. He grunts. We grapple, both trying to get leverage. My shirt tears. His knuckles are bloody.
“Stop!” Eli jumps between us.
Shit.
Zach's already swinging and Eli's directly in the path.
I grab Eli's waist and yank him down, covering his body with mine.
We hit the floor hard, and I shield him completely just as Zach's foot connects with my ribs.
Another lands on my shoulder. I curl tighter around Eli, taking each blow as he squeaks in my arms.
“Zach, stop! Stop!” Merci screeches, his voice cracking. “You're going to kill him! Stop!”
The blows finally stop. I lift my head, everything blurred at the edges, every breath like swallowing glass. Merci's got all four limbs wrapped around Zach—legs around his waist, arms locked around his neck. Zach's chest heaves, blood covering half his face.
I roll off Eli, gritting my teeth against the pain. After getting to my feet, I help Eli up, checking him over. “You okay?”
He nods but looks shaken, eyes wide. And there's blood on his shirt. My blood.
I turn to Zach. “What the fuck is wrong with you!”
“You're dead.” Zach's voice is flat, cold. “I will kill you for touching what's mine.”
“You almost hit Eli,” I yell, every muscle in my body shaking with anger. “He was under me. Defenseless. And you kept fucking going.”
He doesn't say anything. Just stands there, chest heaving like a caged animal, nostrils flaring.
I spit blood onto their floor, my eyes never leaving Zach’s. “Petrov's going to kill you when he sees the footage.”
Merci goes pale, untangling himself from Zach. He looks at Eli, then whirls on me. “This is YOUR fucking fault! All of it. Ryan’s scholarship too.”
No.
No. No. No.
The price.
Merci lunges forward, but Zach catches him. “He did everything you wanted. Married your pathetic ass after you held a gun to his head. Put up with your psycho parents. Even defended you!”
The room spins. My hands rake through my hair, pulling at the strands hard enough to hurt.
She went after him. My mother went after Ryan.
“It wasn't me. My parents . . . they . . .”
The scholarship was everything to Ryan.
Fuck!
FUCK!
“Where is he!” My voice cracks. “WHERE IS HE!”
“We don't know.” Eli's hand gently touches my forearm. “Connor, breathe. We'll find him.”
I yank my hair harder. “Fuck!”
Eli tries to pull my hand from my hair, his voice soft. “You’re in love with Ryan, aren’t you?”
I stare at him, finally letting my arms drop.
Merci huffs. “Of course he is. Look, you asshole. I followed him out of class. He was a mess. He told me what happened with the scholarship, then he took off running. I couldn’t keep up.”
I have to find him. Have to explain. Ryan couldn’t have gone far. His bear is still on the bed. But where the fuck would he go?
Think. Fucking think.
Kai.
He’d go to Kai.
I stumble toward the open door. My ribs are fucked, the room is spinning, and blood coats my teeth.
None of it matters though—only finding my husband does.