Chapter 32
Chapter Thirty-Two
Zane
The engine purrs like a fucking dream.
Raw power under the hood, finally running smooth after months of hard work. Every bolt, every wire, every late night spent in this workshop has built to this.
I’ve been pouring myself into this car for months.
Not because I care about torque or horsepower.
I fixed her because it’s the only thing I could control in my life.
It’s about putting something back together when the rest of my life is a fucking mess beyond recognition.
Every time I look in the mirror, I see a kid chasing ghosts and trying to outrun the parts of himself that won’t fucking die.
And now I’ve got one more fight, and I pray to God I don’t fuck everything up by not telling Skylar about it.
It sits heavy on my chest, the weight of that secret, pressing harder with every hour that passes.
She trusts me. And I’ve already walked that line too close—between keeping her safe and keeping her in the dark.
Rainer’s no idiot. He took one glance at me and saw through the silence. Just stared me down like he’d already seen how this ends. That stare in his eyes wasn’t curiosity. It was history. The knowing that only comes from being knee-deep in shit and barely crawling out alive.
When he told me to make sure I get out clean, it wasn’t some throwaway line. It was a warning.
I knew at that moment he wasn’t talking about the fight. He was talking about her. About Skylar. About the girl who walked into my mess and didn’t run.
He was telling me not to drag her down with me and become the man who ruins the one good thing he ever had.
I toss the wrench back into the toolbox; the clang echoes through the garage. My shoulders roll with a low crack, muscles pulled taut. A reminder of every hit I didn’t dodge, every punch I took to stay standing.
But pain I can handle; I’ve had it all my fucking life.
The phone buzzes in my back pocket.
I almost don’t check it.
No one calls me unless they want something.
And if it’s Griff again, trying to line up another fight or shove some dirty cash in my hands, he can fuck right off.
I’m done with this shit. No more cage bloodbaths or shady deals with men who smile with perfect teeth and promise you glory before tossing you to the wolves.
I let the phone ring once.
Twice.
But when I pull it out and see the name lit up on the screen, my heart stutters.
Cassie.
What the fuck does she want?
She never calls me.
The only time she did was when she told me Skylar needed me. That was the night everything changed.
If Cassie’s calling, something’s wrong.
Something’s happened to Skylar.
I answer. “What’s wrong?”
All I hear is breathing… fast, panicked, broken, and a string of fucks tangled in it.
“Cassie,” I bark, already moving toward the door. “Breathe. Calm the fuck down and tell me.”
“It’s Skylar,” she chokes out, her voice cracked and shaking. “They’ve got her cornered near the alley behind Sanders Street. It’s Liam. And those two dickheads he hangs with. They…fuck, Zane…they’re surrounding her and I…I can’t get to her—”
My vision tunnels.
Every instinct in me snaps awake like a fuse lit under gasoline.
I don’t wait.
I don’t even register the rest of what Cassie’s trying to say.
My body moves before my thoughts can catch up. I’m out the door, heart pounding, legs already eating up the pavement.
I swear to God, if one of them lays a finger on her, if they even breathe the wrong way, I’ll break bones without blinking. I’ll make sure they remember the name Zane Rivera every time they look in the mirror and see what’s left of their fucking face.
Every footstep pounds with one word.
Skylar.
Skylar.
Skylar.
The name beats through me harder than my pulse. Every muscle in my body burns, but I don’t slow down. Gravel spits out from under my boots. I need to fucking get there now.
I can see them in my head—Liam with that smug, shit-eating grin, Connor with his slow, poisonous stare, Bryce leaning back as if he already owns whatever he wants.
They have always viewed her as something they could use and discard. The things they said to her in school corridors and classrooms made my gut curl in rage. I remember those nights when I wanted to find them and make them pay for every stare, every filthy word they said to her.
Now they have got her exactly where they want her.
If they’ve fucking put their hands on the one person I would move heaven and hell for, I swear to God, I’ll kill them.
I hit the corner of Sanders Street, lungs burning, heart punching against my ribs like it’s trying to rip through bone.
The street’s dead quiet. Too fucking quiet.
My boots skid as I cut down the alley, and that’s when I see them.
Three bodies.
Two flank her, blocking any exit. One in front pressed too close.
Bryce.
That smug motherfuckers got his hand up Skylar’s shirt, his mouth twisted in that sleazy grin I’ve wanted to smash off his face since sophomore year. His lips move. No doubt saying shit I don’t need to hear to know it’s filthy. The poison he always spews.
Skylar’s face is drained of color, eyes wide, locked on him. Her fists are small and trembling against his chest as she tries to push back, but he doesn’t move. Her whole body is shaking. Trying to hold him off, and fuck, that kills me.
Cassie is behind them, screaming, shoving, trying to claw past Connor’s arm as he blocks her path.
None of them are listening. They’re too far gone on their own power trip.
My vision goes red.
I don’t think.
I move.
The second Bryce turns, my fist connects with his jaw. The impact snaps through the air, a hard, clean crack that bounces off the alley walls.
His head jerks to the side, spit and blood flying as his body stumbles backward. He tries to steady himself, one hand reaching out, but I’m already moving.
I grab his shirt, yank him forward, and drive my knuckles into his cheekbone.
The blow lands deep, and the sound of it hits harder than the punch itself.
His knees buckle, boots scraping across the concrete before he collapses to the ground.
The other two rush at me, trying to drag me off Bryce, but they’re slow, sloppy.
I twist out of their grip and swing hard, knuckles crashing into Connor’s jaw. His head snaps sideways, and he drops without a sound, crumpling onto the concrete.
Liam comes next, face twisted, fists flying. One punch clips my shoulder, but I don’t flinch.
I step in close, grab the front of his shirt, and drive my elbow straight into his face.
The force sends him backward, spine slamming against the wall before he drops to his knees, hands clutching his nose as blood pours through his fingers.
Bryce tries to crawl away, elbows digging into the gravel as he drags himself through the dirt, but he’s slow, way too fucking slow.
I catch his ankle and yank him back. My boot slams into his side once.
He curls in on himself with a broken sound. I hit him again, harder this time. His body jolts, then goes still.
The only sound left in the alley is the three of them groaning.
My pulse is pounding. My vision swims; my chest rises too fast, too hard.
They are done—all three of them.
I stand over Bryce, fists still clenched, blood dripping from my knuckles. My arms shake, not from fear, but from the weight of everything I’ve been holding back.
When I finally lift my head, I see her.
Skylar.
Cassie is at her side, gripping her arm, tugging, whispering something I can’t make out.
Skylar isn’t moving. Her face is pale, eyes locked on me, wide and glassy.
I take one step toward her—just one.
And she flinches.
Just the slightest jerk of her shoulders, barely a step back. And I fucking hate it.
“Sky,” I breathe.
She doesn’t speak. Just launches herself at me, as if her legs can’t hold her anymore, and then she’s in my arms.
Her face presses into my chest, her breath hitched and uneven. I wrap my arms around her, crushing her against me, holding her so fucking tight my ribs scream.
Cassie stands beside us, chest heaving, eyes wide.
Her jaw clenches when she sees Bryce on his ass with his phone out, blood smeared across his face like war paint.
“Fucking asshole,” she snaps, stepping closer.
“What’s wrong, Bryce? Not so fucking tough now?
You’ve been running your mouth at Skylar for months—guess it’s hard to talk shit when your teeth are loose.
” Cassie tilts her head, eyes glinting. “You know, I’ve waited a long time to see one of you idiots eat shit. Guess karma’s got a mean right hook.”
Cassie turns back to us, fire still burning in her eyes. “Come on,” she says, voice low but urgent now. “We have to go. Before some nosy fuck calls the cops and starts asking why there are three pricks bleeding in the street.”
I nod before turning back to Skylar.
She’s trembling under my arm. I pull her in tighter, press a kiss to her hair.
Cassie moves ahead, checking the street.
I don’t look back.
When we finally reach the workshop Cassie yanks the door open, and the harsh light spills over us.
The world slams back into color—concrete floors, rusted tool chests, oil-soaked air that’s familiar.
But nothing inside me settles. Not with Skylar still glued to my side, her body trembling against mine.
She hasn’t let go. Not once.
Rainer’s by the back bench.
The second he sees us, his whole face changes. Brows crash down. Jaw tightens. That calm he always wears vanishes.
“What the fuck happened?” His voice is sharp, clipped, as he strides toward us.
His eyes move fast.
He takes in Skylar’s face; the dirt smeared along her cheek, the ripped shirt, the panic still swimming in her eyes.
Without waiting for an answer, he pulls a stool over and taps it.
“Sit here.” Then, barking over his shoulder, “Get her a glass of water.”