Chapter 19

Killian’s POV

The cold air hit me like a slap in the face as I walked down the long, winding path away from the house. My hands were shoved deep into the pockets of my jacket, the bitterness of the evening biting through the fabric. I could still hear the faint sounds of laughter and clinking glasses from the dining room, but I couldn’t stay there. Not with him in there, with her sitting so close to him.

I should’ve left sooner. I should’ve known it would eat me alive, but no. I had to watch it unfold. Feya, sitting beside Alpha Blake, all radiant and doe-eyed. It’s like she didn’t even see me anymore. She didn’t see the bond we had, didn’t care about the things we had shared. She was lost in the idea of him. And that hurt. It hit harder than I wanted to admit.

I gritted my teeth and shoved the thoughts aside. No. I wasn’t going to let this mess with me. Not tonight. Not anymore.

I pulled out my phone, tapping on the contact I had been avoiding for far too long. Zane. The only one who seemed to understand the mess in my head, the only one who could make me forget just for a little while.

The phone rang, each second dragging on like a slow-burning fire. When she finally picked up, I didn’t waste any time.

“Zane. Get to the pack house. We’re going out.”

There was a beat of silence before she responded, her voice laced with both surprise and amusement.

“What? Are you serious? You want to go out? Like, out-out?” she asked, clearly skeptical.

I couldn’t help but chuckle. Zane knew me well enough to know I wasn’t the type for clubbing, or anything remotely close to it. Hell, I couldn’t even remember the last time I’d stepped foot in a nightclub.

“Yeah. Get dressed. I’ll pick you up in twenty,” I snapped, already turning on my heel and heading toward Feya’s car.

I knew it was a stupid move, but there was something about driving her car that felt rebellious, like I was doing something just to spite her. She’d never let me live it down if she found out. But tonight? I didn’t give a damn.

I slid into the driver’s seat, the familiar scent of leather and Feya’s perfume clinging to the interior. I gripped the steering wheel, forcing myself to ignore the ache in my chest as I pulled out of the driveway, not looking back.

The drive to the T-junction felt longer than it should have. Every second felt like a damn eternity, and my thoughts kept drifting back to the dinner table, to her laughter, to the way Blake had touched her hand like he had some right to her.

“Pull yourself together,” I muttered under my breath.

I could see Zane’s silhouette approaching the curb as I slowed to a stop. She was standing there, looking like a goddamn bombshell. I couldn’t stop my eyes from trailing over her figure, taking in the black dress that hugged her curves, the heels that made her legs look like they went on for miles.

She opened the door, tossing me a grin that was equal parts sassy and confident. "You know, I never thought I’d see the day where Killian 'Mr. Serious' would want to go to a nightclub."

I raised an eyebrow at her. “Well, look at that. I'm full of surprises."

She slid into the passenger seat, and I made sure to close the door for her, my hand brushing against hers in the process. Her smirk was practically audible as she shot me a look. 

“You know, this feels like one of those nights where you’re doing something ridiculously stupid.”

“Maybe I am,” I muttered, starting the engine and pulling away from the curb. “But right now, I don’t care.”

She didn’t respond right away, just leaned back in her seat, tapping her fingers against the armrest in time with the music playing softly through the speakers. But I could see the curiosity in her eyes, the way she was trying to figure me out.

"You're mad," she finally said, her voice low, like she was testing the waters. "Aren't you? This... whatever this is. It’s not about the club, is it? You're running from something."

I glanced over at her. She was still looking out the window, her face unreadable, but I knew her well enough to see the question hanging between us.

"Maybe I am." I pushed the pedal down a little harder, the engine roaring in response. "Maybe I’m running from a lot of things."

She didn't pry further, and for that, I was grateful. Zane always knew when to back off, but I could tell she wasn’t done with me just yet. She didn’t like leaving things unsaid.

We drove in silence for a few minutes, the city lights reflecting off the windshield as we neared the club. My mind kept wandering back to the house, to the table, to Feya’s laugh, her eyes fixed on Blake. A surge of jealousy mixed with something darker coiled in my gut.

"You’re really doing this, huh?" Zane said suddenly, breaking my train of thought. “You’re taking me to the most expensive club in town? You sure you’re not trying to distract yourself from something, Killian?”

I looked over at her again, catching a glimpse of that knowing smirk on her lips. God, she was good. “Maybe I just want a good night. Maybe I’m just looking to live a little. Can you handle that, Zane?”

Her eyes sparkled with amusement, but there was a challenge in her voice when she replied. “Oh, I’m more than capable of handling it. The question is, can you handle me?”

I scoffed, shaking my head. “Please. I’ve handled worse.”

The club came into view, its neon lights flashing in the distance, a beacon of excess and indulgence. I parked in front of the entrance and killed the engine, already feeling the buzz of anticipation coursing through me. Zane slid out of the car first, giving me a look that screamed “I told you so,” but I wasn’t backing down now.

I stepped out of the car, glancing down and catching sight of the debit card lying on the floor. It was Feya’s. I froze for a split second, the weight of it hanging in the air.

Fuck.

I shoved it in my pocket and quickly followed Zane toward the entrance. She was already talking to the bouncers, her charm doing all the work as they let us pass without a second glance. The music hit me like a wall as we stepped inside, the bass vibrating in my chest, the lights flashing like a heartbeat.

"Now we're talking," Zane said, her eyes lighting up. "I like this energy. You sure you're not a regular here, Killian? You're doing this way too smoothly."

"Just don’t get too comfortable," I shot back, a grin pulling at the corner of my lips. "This isn’t about having fun. Not for me."

She raised an eyebrow. “So, what’s it about then?”

I didn’t answer right away. We made our way to the bar, ordering drinks—vodka shots, my usual. Zane downed hers without a second thought, but I took mine slow, savoring the burn as it slid down my throat. It helped dull the noise in my head, the thoughts of Feya and Blake fading just a little.

"You're acting weird, Killian," Zane said after a while, tipping her glass in my direction. "Like you're avoiding something. Who pissed you off?"

I glanced at her, a laugh escaping me despite myself. "Feya." I didn’t need to say more. The name alone told her everything.

Zane’s eyes widened in understanding, and she laughed, shaking her head. "Of course. That girl can drive anyone insane." She leaned closer, her voice lowering. "But you know, you don't have to act like this, you know? You could talk to her. Or... maybe stop pretending it doesn’t bother you."

I scoffed. “You don’t get it, Zane. She doesn’t see it. Doesn’t see me.”

Her expression softened for a second, but she was quick to snap back to her usual teasing self. “Well, you’re not the only one who’s been overlooked. But maybe this—” she waved her hand around, gesturing to the pulsing crowd, the flashing lights—“is exactly what you need. A break.”

I didn’t respond. Instead, I took another shot. The cold liquid burned, but it didn’t quite numb the storm in my chest.

"You're not the only one running from something, you know?" Zane's voice was quieter now, more thoughtful. "But that doesn’t mean we can't make the most of it while we can."

I looked at her, really looked at her for the first time that night. She was still Zane—sassy, unbothered, but there was a softness beneath it all. Something that knew how to fight battles without needing to win every single one.

"You’re right," I said, my voice more serious than I meant it to be. "But tonight, I just want to forget."

She smirked, raising her glass. "Well then, here’s to forgetting."