39. Lincoln
LINCOLN
The hairs on the back of my neck stood on end as I inserted my key into the lock of my apartment entrance door. I twisted it, wincing at the click that seemed so much louder than usual, and held my breath as I pushed the door open.
Everything was silent and still.
Too still.
I threaded my keys through my fingers in an attempt at a makeshift weapon. It was better than nothing, especially if whoever was in my apartment was armed. Brute strength only did so much against a sharp blade, or even worse, a bullet.
Creeping through the living area, I paused at the threshold of my bedroom, peering into the darkness.
There was a sudden creak, and my entire body jerked. Then I realised it was the ancient pipes, the timer on the central heating system kicking in.
Still holding my keys, I dived through the archway and slammed my hand over the light switch.
I was alone, and my room…
My room was completely wrecked.
My bed was upended, my duvet and pillows strewn over the floor. One of my lamps lay on its side with the shade dented, the broken glass of the bulb glittering on the carpet. My drawers were pulled out, the contents thrown haphazardly around the place.
I could feel my heart pounding out of my chest as I took in the damage, but when my gaze swung to my desk, it stopped.
Everything stopped.
The printouts from the files I’d spent all night combing through were gone. I crossed the room on trembling legs, reaching out to my laptop mouse. When I nudged it, my screen came to life.
There was my document as I’d left it earlier today, ready to print and put together with the evidence I’d gathered. The document I’d begun after my fight with Daniel in the yard, the day I’d blocked him.
His name stood out in sharp relief, right at the top of my list.
1. DANIEL FUCKING HOYTON
My gaze dropped lower, to the following two points, each just as incriminating.
2. OPERATION FOXGLOVE—who are they investigating?
3. DAD—wants info on the Hoytons I can feed to Mike
Over the top, on the screen itself, a message was scrawled in Sharpie, thick, black capital letters that made my blood run cold and my eyes fill with tears.
YOU’RE FUCKING DEAD TO ME, BELLINGHAM
“Let me in!” I pounded on the hockey house door over and over again. “Dan! I know you’re in there!”
The door suddenly swung open, and I had to brace myself on the frame to stop myself from falling forwards.
“What the hell do you want?” Kane Worthington snarled in my face. “I don’t fucking appreciate being disturbed this late at night. You’ve got five seconds to tell me why you’re here. Five seconds before I make you regret showing up here.”
“I need to speak to Daniel. Please. It’s important.” I detested the way my voice cracked.
Kane’s brows flew up, and then he smirked. “I fucking knew it was you he was with.”
Ignoring his comment, I spoke urgently. “Is he here?”
“Nope. Haven’t seen him for a couple of days, actually. He’s been at his family’s house. King said something about meeting up with him, so they might be at the uni. That all?”
“Uh—”
The door was slammed in my face.
“Fuck!” I slammed my fist into the door. I couldn’t go to the Hoyton house. It would be suicide. That left the university and potentially facing Daniel’s most dangerous friend…a friend who had made it clear that he wouldn’t hesitate to harm me.
But I had no other choice. Choking down the lump in my throat, I ran for my SUV and headed towards the high, forbidding walls of Cranham University.
Screeching to a halt, diagonally across two spaces, I jumped out of my car, running for the nearest building. Shit. How was I going to find Ryker’s room?
I backtracked to the small signpost at the edge of the car park. “North Wing accommodation” was the first thing that caught my eye, and a memory hit me. A social media post from Daniel, back when he’d first enrolled here. North Wing had been where his accommodation was, I was certain.
As I sprinted towards the dark and foreboding former cell block, I took in the thick, cold stone walls with rows of windows with bars across them. How could anyone stand actually living here? It was inhumane.
A large figure materialised out of the darkness, and I stumbled to a halt. They moved into the path of the security light, and I was suddenly confronted with the very unwelcome sight of the Cranham Kings’ goalie and Bratva heir, Anton Volkov, staring at me with an impassive expression.
“Volkov.”
His expression didn’t change. “Bellingham. Why are you skulking around our university in the middle of the night?”
“I need to speak to your captain.”
Interest flickered in his gaze, and that was not good. Getting tangled up with the Bratva was the very last thing I needed. “I will take you to him.”
“Uh…okay.” I had no other choice but to follow him as he strode inside the building.
The air in here was almost as cold as it was outside, and I tugged my hoodie sleeves down over my hands before hurrying to catch up with Anton.
The soles of his polished loafers echoed against wrought iron as we ascended a set of stairs to the first floor.
Taking a left, he strode down the walkway, intermittently lit by weak, flickering security lights.
When we’d almost reached the second set of stairs, he came to a stop in front of one of the heavy wooden doors that led into the individual cells.
He rapped on the door, and I glanced around at the Victorian decor, the flaking white paint and harsh overhead lighting.
My chest ached. Daniel had spent the first year of his degree here.
“Volkov.” The door creaked open, and Ryker appeared in the frame. His gaze slid to mine, and his brows flicked up almost imperceptibly. “Bellingham. What an…unpleasant surprise.”
“Bellingham?” came another voice from inside the room, and Ryker stepped aside, Jayesh coming up next to him. Great. “What are you doing here?”
“I would also like to know this,” Anton said.
I swallowed. “Have you seen Daniel? It’s important. I-I really need to see him.”
Ryker’s hand shot out, gripping my hoodie and yanking me into him. “Bellingham,” he snarled. “What the fuck have you done to my best friend?”
“I really need to speak to him. Please.”
“Jay.”
“On it.” Jay nodded at Ryker, lifting his phone to his ear.
“Dan. Oh…Mrs. Hoyton? Is Dan there?” His brows pulled together as he spun on his heel, stalking over to the far side of the tiny, bare room.
I could no longer see him because Ryker was blocking the doorway, still grasping a handful of my hoodie.
We stood, glaring at each other until our stalemate was broken by Jay pointedly clearing his throat.
“Ry. C’mere.”
Ryker let go of me. “Don’t even fucking think about going anywhere.” His gaze shot to Anton. “I can take it from here.”
Anton nodded, accepting the dismissal. He melted into the shadows, and Ryker disappeared inside his room, leaving me standing alone on the walkway.
The door was suddenly flung wide open, and a fist swung through the air, straight into my stomach. I doubled over, gasping, the breath punched from my lungs.
Ryker stood over me, his eyes dark and glittering with malice. “Stay away from Dan, or I will fucking end you. That’s not an idle threat.”
I straightened up, clasping my stomach as I swallowed around the lump in my throat. “Let me explain—”
“I’ve heard enough. Stay the fuck away from my best friend.” He jerked his head in the direction of the stairs. “You’ve outstayed your welcome. Get the hell out of Cranham. Now.”