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 ifI 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 hewraps his arms around my waist, driving me into the wall. I drive my elbow into his back. “Get the fuck off me!”
