Page 28 of Dear Owen

Without thinking, I slipped it into my pocket.

It was instinctual, automatic, like it had a hold on me I couldn’t break.

As I shut the door behind me, the weight of the iPod pressed against my leg with every step. I told myself it was nothing, that I’d get rid of it later.

But I knew the truth.

I wasn’t ready to let it go.

I wasn't ready to lethimgo.

Twenty-Five

The night bledinto my hands, each face flashing through my memory like a grotesque slideshow of failure. There hadn’t been just three of them. No, there were far more—wolves drawn to the scent of blood that I had unleashed. I had opened the door that night, had beckoned them inside, and now their names and faces clung to me like a disease.

I wasn’t doing this for vengeance. Vengeance was selfish. This was for her—for Kira.

She’d given me her trust, shaky and fragile as it was, and I’d torn it apart. I’d failed her in ways I couldn’t even begin to reconcile. But I could make this right. I would make this right.

The first one was sitting at a bar, laughing too loudly, surrounded by people who probably didn’t even know what kind of man he was. It was disgusting.

I waited until he stepped outside, fumbling with his phone as he stumbled toward the parking lot. His arrogance made him careless, blind to the figure stalking him in the shadows.

“Owen?” His voice broke the quiet before I could speak, recognition flashing across his face. “What—what are you doing here, man?”

The way he said my name—like we were friends, like I wasn’t about to ruin his entire life—made my blood boil.

“You,” I growled, stepping out of the shadows. “You don’t deserve to say my name.”

Confusion flickered across his face before realization set in, his expression twisting into something panicked. “Hey, man, I don’t want any trouble?—”

“You don’t want trouble?” My voice was low, dangerous. “Youmadetrouble the moment you touched her.”

“I didn’t?—”

I didn’t let him finish. I grabbed his collar, slamming him against the car. His phone clattered to the ground, forgotten, as he clawed at my hands.

“She was mine,” I snarled, my face inches from his. “And you thought you could take her from me? Like she was nothing?”

“She wanted it!” he cried, his voice desperate, his words scraping against my last shred of control. “You—you’re the one who brought us in! You’re the one who?—”

My fist collided with his face before he could finish, the crunch of bone and cartilage echoing through the quiet parking lot. He groaned, blood pouring from his nose as he sagged against the car.

“She didn’twantyou,” I hissed, my knife slipping into my hand. “She never wanted any of you.”

His screams filled the air, sharp and short-lived. By the time I was done, his arrogance was gone, replaced by pain and fear. He wouldn’t be laughing again anytime soon.

They weren’t hard to find. Men like them rarely were.

The second one had been easy to track through his social media. He was just as predictable—loud, overconfident, flaunting his gym sessions and his nights out like trophies. He knew me, of course. Everyone on campus did.

“Sinclair?” he said when he saw me standing in his doorway. “What the hell are you doing here?”

I didn’t answer. I didn’t need to. The weight of my presence was enough to make him falter, his bravado slipping as he stepped back into his apartment.

“You’re the hockey guy, right?” he said, his tone wary. “Look, if this is about that girl?—”

“It’s exactly about that girl,” I interrupted, stepping inside and closing the door behind me.

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