CHAPTER 117
**RONALD**
For a solid twenty seconds, Zion doesn’t move. He just stands there, shoulders tight, chest heaving, like he's trying to process the shift from being half a second away from finishing with the redhead to... this. But I can see it—see the exact moment it clicks. His fists curl so tight his knuckles go white, a muscle ticking hard in his jaw, and that wild, dangerous look floods into his eyes. He doesn't say a word, but he doesn't have to. I know exactly what he's thinking. Ethan Wilde is a dead man.
Suddenly, Zion’s hands are on my collar, yanking me closer with a force that knocks the breath from my lungs. His eyes are wild, blazing with fury, the vein in his temple throbbing as he snarls,
“Ethan has her? Don’t you dare mess with me right now, Ro—I’m not in the mood for your bullshit!” His voice is a sharp, dangerous growl, his grip tightening like he’s seconds from snapping.
"Does it look like I’m joking?" I shove his hands off, my heart racing, but he’s already gone—teeth clenched, body trembling with barely restrained rage.
Zion's furious gaze snaps between me and Clark, searching—daring—for any sign this might be a sick joke, something he can brush off with that usual arrogance. But the panic simmering beneath his rage tells me he already knows the truth. He knows us too well. Our grim faces confirm it, and his expression twists, the tension in his jaw tightening like a coiled spring, seconds from snapping.
"Where. Is. She?" The words come out low and deadly, and I know he’s on the edge of losing control.
“Someone better start fucking talking!” Zion’s voice cuts through the air, low and lethal, but there’s something else beneath the fury—an edge of panic sharpening every word. His wild eyes darted between us, searching, demanding answers.
I exhale shakily, dragging a hand down my face, my heart pounding under the pressure.
“I’m not... sure exactly,” I manage, the words sticking in my throat, knowing they won’t be enough. “Tony came running, freaking out—said Ethan... cornered Winter. Talking shit about getting back at you. Said he wanted revenge and was going to force her—”
Crack.
Zion's fist slams into the wall so hard the drywall splits, his snarl echoing as he shouts,
“FUCK!” His chest heaves, rage pouring off him in waves as his hand trembles against the shattered surface.
“No... I was just with her,” Zion mutters, his voice raw, breaking under the weight of his own words. His eyes are wide, distant as if replaying the moment in his mind, searching for a way it couldn’t be true.
“She was alone. She was—”
He swallows hard, his voice faltering, but I catch the way his hands tremble as they fumble with his shirt, tucking it back into his trousers with sharp, jerky movements that betray the chaos inside him.
“I... I shouldn’t have left her,” he whispers, almost to himself now. His face twists with something darker—guilt gnawing its way in.
“I... humiliated her. Told her she didn’t matter. Made her leave. I pushed her away... Fuck! I left her there!”
His breath is ragged and uneven, like he’s barely holding himself together, each word more broken than the last. The fury he'd worn moments ago is cracking, replaced with something worse—desperation. Helplessness.
And then, his fists clench again, knuckles bone-white as he slams them against his thighs like he's punishing himself for the mistake he can't undo.
“Ethan fucking Wilde,” Zion growls, his voice low and dangerous,
“I swear to God, I’m going to rip him apart.”
“Harry’s already on his way…” I try to calm him, but it’s pointless.
“I don’t give a fuck!” Zion snaps, his fury flaring as his words slice through the air. There’s no mistaking the depth of his rage now—the way his whole body tightens, like he’s about to explode.
His jaw locks, teeth grinding, eyes burning with a dark intensity. The panic is still there, but it’s fused with something colder—something far more lethal.
“I’ll kill him. I’ll fucking kill him...” he spits, each word like a vow. His voice has turned ice-cold, with a chilling finality to it, as if the thought of anything else is beyond his comprehension.
“Snowflake!” he whispers, not sparing us a second glance. He’s already gone in his head, locked onto a mission he won't be deterred from. Without waiting for us, he breaks into a run, each step driven by a mix of panic and anger that propels him forward with relentless determination.
"Zion, what about me?" a voice calls out from behind us. It’s the redhead, her tone laced with confusion and desperation.
"Fuck off," Clark growls, his voice cold and dismissive, not bothering to spare her a glance. Zion, already several steps ahead, doesn’t even acknowledge her, his focus entirely consumed by the urgent need to find Winter.
“B-but—” she stammers, trying to hold on to whatever moment they’d shared just minutes ago.
“He said fuck off!” I snap over my shoulder, casting her one quick look. She stands there, stunned, her knickers still halfway down her legs, forgotten in the urgency of the situation. She’s nothing more than an afterthought as we charge forward.
.......
**ZION**
I sprint, my feet pounding against the earth as I furiously press my phone, dialling her number again. My breath comes in sharp, ragged gasps, but I don’t slow down. I can’t. I won’t.
“Come on, pick up, pick up…” My voice cracks with desperation, raw fury threading through the words.
I dial Winter’s number again, feeling the frustration build with every passing second. My shoulders are tense, my jaw clenched as the phone rings again and again. Each unanswered ring makes my panic grow, squeezing the breath out of me and tightening my chest.
“Motherfucker, why won’t you answer?” I hiss, barely able to control the surge of anger and fear flooding my veins. Each ring is like another blow, another cruel reminder that I might be too late.
My feet slam to a stop, my gaze scanning the dark, thick woods ahead of me. I’m breathing hard, my pulse pounding in my ears. I look up, searching the shadows, but all I see is the endless stretch of trees.
“Where the fuck are you?” The words escape me in a whisper, desperate and lost.
I feel the weight of the moment pressing on me, but Clark’s voice cuts through the fog of panic.
“Z, we’ll find her. Harry’s probably already tearing Ethan apart as we speak.”
I don’t respond. I can’t. The words aren’t enough. They don’t fill the emptiness I feel right now.
My hands ball into fists, my body shaking with the fury building inside me. My jaw tightens, my head shaking in disbelief. How the hell did I leave her alone? How could I have been so fucking stupid?
“I’ll be the one to tear him apart... piece by piece, and feed it to the dogs...” The words crack through my clenched teeth, my fury escalating, but they’re not enough. Not nearly enough. “If he’s even laid a finger on her… I’ll… I’ll—”
“If he’s touched her, we’ll make sure he can’t touch another girl again,” Clark says, his voice thick with rage.
“He’s sick, Z. He’s after revenge... and he’s using Winter to get to you. He’s playing a dangerous game.”
But his words fall away as I turn on my heel, my focus zeroing in on one thing, and one thing only—finding Winter. Nothing else matters right now. Not the words. Not the comfort. Not anything. I don’t need any of it.
I storm past them, my eyes locked onto the shadows ahead. My body’s a coiled spring, ready to snap. I’m not going to stop. Not until I find her. I don’t care what it takes. I’m already in fight mode, and nothing—no one—is going to stand in my way.
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