Chapter 7 Kane
Kane
Samson fucking Wright is the shittiest communicator I’ve ever known.
I send a barrage of messages his way, knowing that the bastard has his phone on him.
He might hate my guts, but for possibly the first time in our lives, our interests align.
I’m not trying to steal his girl. I’m trying to help her.
Is it so hard to believe that I fucking care?
ME
Hey, this is Kane. How is she?
Don’t ignore me, Sam
Hey
HEY
SAM
She’s awake. I think she’s okay.
I’m fine, too.
Thanks for asking.
Jackass.
ME
I’m going to get her phone from your place. Do you need anything?
I don’t know why I’m asking; it’s not like the grown-ass-man can’t get things for himself.
But he’s with Mercy right now and I don’t want him to leave.
In fact, he shouldn’t go back to his frat house at all.
I doubt his fraternity brothers will be forgiving of what went down over some pussy.
Clenching my jaw, I grind my teeth as I lace up my boots.
I also need sleep, but caffeine is one hell of a drug and it’s good enough to get me from point A to point B.
As I’m grabbing my keys, a floorboard in the hallway creaks. I glance over my shoulder to find my boyfriend peering at me from across the living room.
“You’re leaving again?” Zane’s crumpled t-shirt—my t-shirt, actually—is so fucking cute.
It hangs low over his hips and slides off of one shoulder, exposing the hickey I gave him last night.
Mmm. He rubs his bloodshot eyes and sighs.
“Let me grab my shoes.” Glancing down at his bare legs, he frowns. “Pants.”
Sweeping into the room, I pull him in for a quick kiss. “I’ll be right back. Get some rest.”
“No.” His frown deepens. “I’m going with you.
Wait up for five fucking seconds.” Slipping from my grasp, he grumbles under his breath while he dresses in yesterday’s jeans and switches out my shirt for his own, quickly transforming into the grunge grump he is at heart.
Hand-combing his hair and taking a quick piss counts for his morning routine, and he’s good to go.
“I’m driving. We’re not taking your bike. ”
“Too fast for ya, gramps?” I tease.
He punches my ribcage as he pushes past me out the front door. “Too loud.”
I guess I can agree with that. “Fiiiine. But we’re going to Sam’s frat, then to Mercy’s house.” I raise an eyebrow. “You cool with that?”
“Yeah.” Avoiding my gaze, he unlocks his four-door snooze fest and slides into the driver’s seat. “Get in.”
The car ride is unbearable. Zane isn’t fully awake, but I can practically taste his sour mood the closer we get to King Street. I refuse to humor him and put on my favorite music to drown out the angst. It only works so well. By the time we make it to Frat Row, I’m itching to get out of the car.
“Would you calm down?” Zane parks on the curb. “You’re like a cat trying to claw its way out of a cage. Chill the fuck out.”
Other than bouncing my knee, I’ve barely moved for the entire ride over. “I’m fine.” I tear open the car door and walk as slowly and calmly as possible to the house, bouncing up the front steps and pushing inside without any resistance.
The place is completely empty. All of the furniture from last night—even the empty beer cans and red plastic cups—have been swept away.
The floor’s been professionally cleaned, too, damn near spotless for how old it is.
I avoid the urge to explore the main floor and head up to the second story, eager to get this pit stop over with.
The faster we wrap up here, the faster I can check on Mercy.
Glancing at my phone, I make a mental note of Sam’s wish list before checking the bedrooms. The first room is just like the main floor—completely fucking empty.
Weird. The next room is the same. And the next.
Even the bathroom has been gutted. “Are we at the right house?” I call out, knowing that Zane is nearby.
My voice echoes in the empty space. I didn’t exactly check the address, but this should be it. Where the fuck did everything go?
“The greek letters are out front.” Zane huffs as he climbs the staircase.
“Unless they moved overnight, this is the place.” He follows my path through each room, going further than me and checking the closets.
When he comes up empty, he returns just in time to watch me lower the attic stairs.
“You’ve got to be kidding me. Nothing’s here. We should go.”
“Scared of the dark?”
A shadow crosses his face. “No. This is a waste of time. What did we even come for?”
“Mercy’s phone. Her wallet.” According to Sam’s texts, she had a tiny purse with her.
He also requested a change of clothes, but that’s not gonna happen with the house suddenly abandoned.
It’s like Frat HQ picked up and left before they could be pinned for unauthorized brawling and first degree murder. Fucking weird.
The attic stairs slot into place and I climb up, turning on my phone’s flashlight to check the dark, stuffy room. It’s empty, too. Even the dust has been swept away, forgotten swirls and smudges of dirt the only clue that anything was ever stored here. Fucking weirder. “What the fuck?”
Who the hell played Cleaning Fairy overnight?
Zane watches me climb back down the attic stairs. He fiddles with a hangnail, looking bored out of his mind while I breeze past him to check all the rooms again. “Maybe you’re right. This is the wrong house.”
I try not to get annoyed, but the flip-flopping is annoying.
“Make up your damn mind,” I mutter under my breath, slamming a door shut.
After I find nothing upstairs, we return to the main level.
I retrace my steps from last night, envisioning the brawl, the weight of the gun in my hand, the body on the floor.
“This is it, Zane, I’m telling you. Someone cleaned up. ”
His response is immediate. “Why would anyone care that much about a party?”
“It’s not the party.” Running a hand through my hair, I meet Zane’s eyes.
“It’s the murder. I killed someone last night.
We ran before the cops could arrive and took the body with us.
And Mercy—” I stop myself and gauge Zane’s reaction to her name, hoping for something, anything, that shows guilt or remorse.
Hell, I’d take a confession so long as he purged himself of every fucked-up thought running through his head.
Envy is a fucking poison. It’ll kill him.
When Zane doesn’t so much as twitch, I tear my gaze away.
Fuck, that hurts. I push my fist into my chest in a vain attempt to soothe the ache in my heart.
Clearing my throat, I continue. “Sam called in a favor.” I stare at the sliding glass door that Sam stood by when he made the phone call. “To Daddy Wright.”
In the span of a single heartbeat, Zane goes from cool and collected to shitting a goddamn brick. “He got Samuel Wright involved?” Zane crumbles, crouching low and holding his head in his hands. “Shit. Fuck.” His hands shake as he blows out a breath.
It’s not the murder confession that makes Zane sweat—it’s the enigma that’s Sam’s fucking father.
I shrug, not following Zane into a spiral about the news. “So what? He’s just some fogey with money.”
“Who knows how to wipe a scene.” Zane pulls himself off the floor and grabs my hand.
“We need to leave.” He’s insistent, pulling me away without his usual meticulousness.
Each step is a flurry of anxiety as his natural rhythm goes out of wack.
He damn near trips down the front porch steps.
“Involving Sam is bad news. I told you this when you first invited him into the game.”
I take the keys from Zane’s shaking hands. “Hey. Easy.” Inhaling deeply, I place my palm on Zane’s chest and urge him to do the same. “Nice and slow. That’s it. Just breathe, babe.”
He shakes his head, a quick burst of nervous laughter making him even twitchier.
“You don’t understand.” Zane glances around like he’s checking our surroundings for threats.
“Sam’s an idiot, but his father’s a menace.
He doesn’t destroy his enemies, he incinerates them.
If anything is going to damage his reputation—a person, a city council vote, a competitor—he gets rid of them and wipes the evidence.
Records have been falsified. I’ve seen literal newspapers get rewritten, Kane, within hours of publication.
” It only takes a few seconds for Zane’s breathing to shallow again, and he fumbles with the door latch before stealing the keys back and unlocking the car. “We need to leave.”
“What, you think Daddy’s gonna erase—” I wrack my brain for what the fuck could be so scary but come up empty.
“It’s a good thing, right? He got rid of the evidence for us.
That’s less work and more playtime. Mercy’s lost her phone, but hey, that’s easy to replace.
” The wallet, not so much, but maybe she didn’t have a lot in there.
And who cares what happens to the frat? It’s not like Sam loved being a member, anyway, from what I could tell.
I slip in front of Zane and claim the driver’s seat before his anxious ass can attempt to drive.
He quickly darts around the car and plops into the passenger seat, immediately starting his ritual for calming down.
Bending in half and locking his hands behind his neck, he drops his head between his knees. “Drive,” he groans, “fast.”
That won’t help him feel better. “I can drive slow—”
“Fast,” he snaps, reaching over and clawing my thigh. “Now!”
“Okay, okay! Jeez!” I slam down the gas pedal and we speed away, blowing past a stop sign and damn near hitting a pedestrian.