Every part of him—every fucking fiber—rebelled against the idea. And he needed Monty to think she wasn’t his. That she was nothing to him. “There are no relationships in my life. My grandmother’s dead and she was the last woman I’ll ever love. So whatever you’re getting at, leave it the fuck alone. And don’t call me again.”
He hung up and threw the cell into the wall across the room.
Fuck!
The asshole had already sent a hit man to his house. Zane couldn’t have him targeting Bonnie next.
He turned and slammed his fist into the wall. But it did nothing. The pain didn’t even take the edge off the frustration that trembled and clawed inside him.
He should have killed him. Zane should have picked up the damn gun the night of the party and shot him.
He shut his eyes, the memory hitting him hard.
Where the fuck was he?
Zane moved through the crowd of people, searching for Monty. The house was fucking huge. No one needed a house this big. Yet Monty had still managed to fill it with a million people he didn’t know.
That was his cousin though. He liked to have extravagant things and flaunt the shit out of them.
Monty hadn’t always been like that. There’d been a time when his cousin had been down to earth. Easy to talk to. But the fame and money had gone to his head. That seemed to be the UFC world though. If he’d known a few years ago, he might never have gotten involved. But then, being in the ring felt so damn good that maybe he would have.
He passed a group of fighters, the smell of alcohol and drugs so thick he couldn’t avoid it. There probably wasn’t a single person in this house who wasn’t drunk or stoned apart from him.
Why the hell had he even come tonight?
But he already knew the answer to that—it was Monty’s birthday. His cousin had claimed he needed Zane here, that they were the only family either of them had left.
Yeah, well…now Zane was ready to get the hell out of there.
He could probably just go and send his cousin a text on the way out. But Monty could be a child sometimes.
A woman stopped in front of him, her hands sliding down his chest. “Hey, Zane. I’ve been looking for you.”
He’d never seen the woman before in his life. Random strangers knowing his name was something he’d never get used to.
“Excuse me.” He took the blonde’s hands off his shirt before stepping around her, ignoring her pout.
He’d give the second floor one search, and if he didn’t find his cousin, he was leaving. He took the stairs two at a time and went straight to Monty’s bedroom. The door was closed, whichprobably meant he was with his girlfriend, Sasha. The two of them were fucking toxic. She was with him for money and notoriety, and he was with her because he liked the way she looked. They did nothing but fight.
That was none of his damn business though.
He knocked on the door.
Silence.
“Monty, you there?” He knocked again. “I’m leaving, man. I just wanted to say goodbye.”
“Zane?”
He frowned. Why was Monty’s voice so strained?
Fuck it. He pushed inside. “Hey, are you—”
He stopped, his stomach dropping at the scene in front of him.
Sasha lay on the floor in the center of the room, only wearing panties, a bullet wound in the center of her chest. And her eyes…they were open and so fucking blank there was no mistaking what he was looking at.
Dead. She was dead.
