Chapter 32 Chapter 32
It had been five days since Zarlia disappeared. Five days since she’d left nothing but a note drawn over the back of the pack’s letter — a crude, perfect middle finger.
“Fuck you, asshole.” That was all she wrote.
Stetson didn’t laugh. He didn’t get angry either. He just stared at the message for hours, his jaw clenched so tight he thought it would crack. He tried calling her until his phone froze. Tried tracking her scent — but it was gone. Completely erased. It was as though she’d vanished from the face of the earth.
Work became his punishment. Luke handled most of the pack business while Stetson sat through meetings like a ghost, his mind replaying every word Zarlia ever said to him — every sarcastic remark, every eye roll, every shaky breath when she was near him.
When Luke snapped his fingers in front of him that morning, Stetson didn’t even flinch. “Mr. West!” Luke barked.
Stetson blinked, eyes sharp again. “What?” Luke sighed. “You’re not even listening. I said we’ve got the gala coming up. You need a date. Mr. Edwin will be there — the investor who’s buying the hotel property.”
“I don’t need a date.”
“You do if you want him to believe you’re human enough to blend in,” Luke muttered, half-joking.
Stetson leaned back in his chair, fingers tapping against the table. “I’ll find her before then.”
“Find who—” Luke started, but the look Stetson gave him shut him up.
That night, the city bled into a blur of lights and rain. Stetson found himself at the same club he’d met her — Pulse. The bass thudded in his chest, mingling with the dull ache he hadn’t been able to drown with whiskey.
He remembered having a one-night stand with her in this same club and also picked her up when she was wasted. He’d come again because he missed her but he was the one who hurt her. He knew he hurt her but didn’t know what exactly it was; the rejected kiss? The part about her heart being eaten? —though he wasn’t sure if she heard or not, Or something else entirely.
He sat at the bar, staring into the amber glow of his drink. The room spun with noise and laughter, but all he heard was her voice — soft and breathless, calling him “Stetson…”
He sighed. He was hallucinating again. Until—
“Two shots, please.”
The voice. Her voice.
His fingers froze mid-air. The air shifted — her scent flooded him, sweet and maddening. Slowly, he turned. There she was.
Zarlia.
Brown hair cascading over her bare shoulders, the faint shimmer of glitter on her collarbone catching the light. Her lips were red — too red. Her eyes, those eyes that used to tremble beneath his gaze, were now cold, defiant. She picked up her shots, threw one back, then handed the second to her friend with a teasing smile.
She had a black leather mini skirt that showed off her ass with a grey top that hugged the right places. Not to mention the choker around her neck and heels she cat-walked in ever so confidently. He’d never seen her this way before—sassy, defiant and the kind of girl who’d never want to be bossed around.
She didn’t even glance at him. She barely even noticed he was there. She disappeared into the crowd, hips swaying to the beat, like she’d never known him.
For a moment, Stetson couldn’t move. Then rage — primal and reckless — ignited inside him.
He followed.
The crowd swallowed him, lights flashing over his face. It was an endless sea of people who only knew how to gamble and fuck.When he finally spotted her, she was dancing — with another man.
The stranger’s hands rested too low on her waist. Too familiar. Too wrong. Their faces were merely inches apart, it was maddening how she smiled at him, how she rubbed her body against his—her skirt riding up, how she’d let him touch her and look at her like a horny teenager seeing a naked girl for the first time.
Asher growled in anger.
Before his brain could stop him, Stetson grabbed the man by the collar and punched him hard enough to send him flying. The music cut off for a second as people gasped.
“Stetson!” Zarlia’s voice cracked, furious and shocked.
The man groaned on the floor, blood dripping from his lip as bouncers rushed over. Stetson ignored them. His eyes were locked on her — like a predator cornering prey. “We’re leaving.”
“I’m not going anywhere with you Stetson. You can’t control me,” she hissed, her eyes blazing with defiance.
Her friend tried to step in, but Stetson growled low in his throat — a sound that made everyone around freeze. Zarlia glared, tears stinging her eyes. “You don’t get to tell me what to do anymore!”
“Then stop acting like a damn child and come home!”
“Home?” she laughed bitterly. “You mean the place where your pack wants to eat my heart? No thanks.”
The words hit him like a blade. His jaw tightened. “You heard that.”
“I heard everything.” Fuck. Stetson gritted his teeth, his hands turning into fists, his control was slowly slipping away. He needed to explain to her, needed to make her believe that he’d never hurt her no matter what but the club wasn’t the place.
People were staring, whispering. Stetson didn’t care. “Zarlia.Get. Your. Things.”
“No.”
That was it. The final straw.
In one motion, he pulled her close — ignoring her fists hitting his chest — and slung her over his shoulder.
“Stetson! PUT ME DOWN!” she screamed, kicking furiously.“Stop fighting me,” he growled, his grip iron-tight. “You’re coming home whether you like it or not.”
“Let go of me, you psycho!” she spat, pounding her fists against his back. “I hate you!”
He didn’t answer. Because the truth was — her heartbeat was pounding against his shoulder, fast and familiar, and it was the first thing that made him feel alive in days.
He pushed through the crowd, her voice echoing behind him, a storm of anger, heartbreak, and something neither of them wanted to admit was still there.