Page 59 of Off the Ice

I ended the call, shoved my phone in my pocket, and took the stairs two at a time. My mind was a fucking war zone—flashing worst-case scenarios like a highlight reel from hell. Someone had broken into Darren’s place. Were they still there? Was he hurt? Did they already get to him?

I didn’t know.

And that not knowing made me feel like I was going to fucking snap.

I threw myself into the driver’s seat, slammed the door, started the car, and peeled out like the pavement owed me something. By the time I reached Ava’s, she was already pacing on the curb, arms crossed tight like she was holding herself together. She didn’t even finish buckling before I gunned it again.

We hit the first red light and I barely tapped the brakes before taking a sharp right.

“Logan,” she snapped, gripping the door handle, “I get that you’re mad, but maybe don’t kill us before we get to Darren’s?”

“I’m not mad,” I muttered. “I’m fucking furious.”

Because this wasn’t random. This wasn’t just bad luck.

This was a goddamn message.

And it wasn’t subtle.

I pulled up to Darren’s building and didn’t even bother turning the engine off. I threw it in park, jumped out, and heard Ava’s door slam behind me as she caught up, ponytail swinging.

We took the stairs hard, and I knew we were both holding our breath the second we saw it.

The door was cracked open.

“Shit,” I muttered, stopping short.

Ava sucked in a sharp breath beside me. “Oh my God.”

I pushed the door open slowly, my heart in my throat.

The place was trashed.

Cushions slashed. Coffee table flipped. Broken glass crunched under my shoes as I stepped inside. The walls had deep gouges—scrapes like someone went at them with a fucking blade—and Darren’s laptop was in pieces on the floor.

And there he was.

Sitting on the only chair still standing. Elbows on his knees. Head in his hands.

“D?” I said quietly, but the tension in my voice still gave me away.

He looked up. Jesus, he looked like shit. Hollow-eyed. Pale. Hands trembling when he ran them through his hair.

“They’re not messing around.”

Ava moved first, stepping over the destruction to kneel beside him.

“Are you hurt?” she asked.

He shook his head, but his whole body screamed otherwise. “Not physically,” he said. “But they made their point.”

I swallowed down the burn in my throat. “When did this happen?”

“Got back an hour ago. Found it like this.” He exhaled, frustrated. “Tried calling…”

He didn’t finish. Didn’t need to.

I looked at Ava, the question already forming, but she was ahead of me. Her expression was set. Determined. Fierce.

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