Page 296 of Wrong Pucking Player

“Where are you?”

“Running on the trail toward Ace’s house. Three minutes away.”

“Kenz—”

“If I don’t go, he’ll slit her throat. If I call Wyatt or Leo from my phone, he’ll do the same since their phones may not be protected from him tapping and tracking it. I could only call you because I know our phones are encrypted. You can find my location, right?”

“Already have you tracked.” He sounds like he’s moving. “Kenzie. Follow whatever shit he wants you to do, understand?”

“Arman—”

“I mean it. Fernandez is sick in the head. He wants you to do something, do it. Stick to it. Until I can get to you, and we have his ass in custody,” he urges in a rough voice, fighting his rage to sound calm. “I’m coming for you, okay? Don’t do anything to try to be a hero.”

“Okay, Oscar,” I breathe as I see the house ahead. “I have to go so he doesn’t see I’m on the phone.”

“Be safe for me, Kenzie.” He’s begging me. “Please.”

“I’ll be okay, Oscar. I promise.”

Hanging up, I slip my phone into my pocket and run up to the back patio glass doors.

With a simple tug, the door slides open, leading me into the kitchen. I take a few cautious sniffs before closing the door behind me, but the moment I walk into the living room, I catch a metallic scent.

And a frightening sight.

“Shit, Katherine!” I curse and run forward until I’m dropping down onto the carpet, just in front of the fireplace where Katherine is lying unconscious. I immediately stop myself from moving her, noticing the pool of blood coming from her wrists.

“That bastard,” I hiss before I’m looking around until I see Caren’s work bag. I know she always carries bandages and shit for the players just in case they get hurt, which is the same bag she brings to her night shifts.

I breathe a quick sigh of relief as I rampage through it to find the thick, white roll of bandage wrap. Without delay, I’m working on wrapping up the slits on both wrists, but seeing Caren’s pale expression affirms that she’s going to need blood.

She needs a transfusion. Fuck. She never told me her blood type.

Pulling out my phone, I’m about to call Oscar, but I stop myself as I hear a squeak from upstairs.

“Check the house first,” I whisper to myself before staring at my phone screen, the image of me, Oscar, and Wyatt at the Fundraiser Ball staring back at me.

Taking a steady breath, I slip the phone back into my pocket and let my emotions leave me.

Time to be a big girl and face my ex.

* * *

“Of course, he’d hit me in the head.” I grunt and manage to get up from the floor for what feels like the third time. “Fuck. So much for being a big girl,” I groan and try to ignore the obnoxious pounding from the inner walls of my head.

My goal of searching the house led to me finding Frankie in what I believe is Grandma Harvey’s room from the sight of the medical machines and photos.

I thought he’d want to talk and boast about all his achievements, but whatever he told me was clearly unimportant cause I don’t remember shit after he slammed me in the head with something after I kicked his balls.

I have to brush up on my self-defense again, ‘cause fuck. That was pathetic.

The vibration of my phone makes me realize Oscar is calling me.

Glancing around to ensure Frankie isn’t back for round two, I quickly pick it up.

“Kenzie. Fuck. I’ve been calling you multiple times.”

“My bad,” I sigh and curse when I try to get up. “Ugh, I better not have a concussion.”

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