Chapter Seven

Zane slid into the driver’s seat of his car, the leather groaning under his body as he tossed his bag onto the passenger seat. The hospital parking lot was mostly empty now.

Fuck.

His temples throbbed. 

Another sixteen-hour shift of stitching bodies that were almost far too gone, and furthering his research. All Zane wanted was to go home and crawl into bed until his body gave in to sleep. He rubbed the bridge of his nose, eyes heavy with fatigue.

But as he keyed in the ignition, his phone buzzed from the glove compartment. Frowning, he reached for it, only to see it was an unknown number.

He let it ring on because he hated answering calls from numbers he didn’t recognize. They were either always spam or bad news calling him back to the O.R. He was about to click on the decline button when, on the last ring, something irrational pulled at him, and he answered.

“Dr. Zane on the line. Who am I speaking with?”

“Your beloved brother, dickhead.” The voice was nasal, smug, and unfortunately familiar.

Zane’s grip on the wheel tightened, his knuckles bleaching white as he wondered what the hell Asher wanted from him.

“Come down to the Avi Club.” Asher’s voice vibrated through the speakerphone. “The guys and I are celebrating, and they think you should join the fun.”

Zane nearly laughed out loud. Asher inviting him out for drinks? There had to be a catch.

Still, curiosity was a hell of a drug, and as much as Zane despised the thought of clinking glasses with that venomous prick, he knew Asher wouldn’t extend a hand without hiding a knife behind his back. That alone made Zane want to see just what he was up to.

Ending the call without confirming his answer to Asher, Zane tossed his phone back into the glove compartment. Then he sighed and inputted the club’s address into his GPS.

“Fuck me,” he muttered, throwing the car into gear.

***

The bass assaulted him the moment he pulled into the street. Dull, pounding, stupid pop-rock garbage that made the root of his teeth itch. Neon lights painted everything in candy colors, sickly pinks and blues that made the world look like a dying arcade. He hated it instantly. Not his scene in the very least.

He parked a few blocks away, slid his keys into his slacks pocket, and adjusted his sleeves as he approached the massive line in front of the building. A short but heavyset man in a tight black shirt and sunglasses flicked his eyes over Zane’s tall and slim form with a frown as the people at the back yelled at Zane for jumping the line, which he didn’t respond to. The bouncer glanced at the plastic clipboard in his hand and grunted. “You with Asher West?”

Zane’s response was an abrupt nod.

The rope instantly lifted, and he walked past the line of drunk girls in sequins and guys smelling of bad cologne and beer breath. Inside, the place reeked of sweat and alcohol, but it still managed to uphold an air of luxury that differentiated it from cheap clubs.

He was escorted up some velvet steps to the V.I.P. section, and the curtain alcove spread open to reveal a sight for sore eyes.

“And the bastard finally graces us with his holy presence.” Came an obnoxious whoop from the center of it all.

Even with braces on his right leg and a ridiculous amount of gauze bandage wrapped around his bleach-blonde hair like a designer turban, the brat looked absolutely in his element. Who the fuck went clubbing the night they get discharged from the hospital where they almost died?

Only an idiot like Asher West.

Zane’s lips curled in disgust. The audacity and sheer fucking gall of the prick to call him to a club only to humiliate him.

“Asher,” he finally addressed in a flat, unimpressed voice.

“Come, sit next to your favorite half-brother.” Asher pushed away the drunk man sitting next to him, patting the now-empty leather seat beside him with mock affection.

Zane wanted to turn around and leave, but he couldn’t. Asher was up to something, and Zane had never been the type to walk away without knowing what kind of blade was being sharpened behind his back.

The moment he sat, Asher leaned in with a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “You’re still wearing that boring-ass cologne.” He sneered. “It smells like sadness and mommy issues.”

Zane didn’t react. Not when Asher’s group of sycophants sitting at the table chuckled and muttered insults at him under their breaths like they were in kindergarten. 

One of them raised a glass lazily and cheered. “Join us to celebrate the one and only heir to the WestCare group!”

They all burst out laughing as if a grand joke had been told.

Not even the hair on Zane’s body shifted. He was used to this, after all. He had grown up being sneered at by entitled assholes like them, kids who threw tantrums in gold-plated cribs. What mattered was why he was here.

The first hint came when Asher started plying him with drink after drink. Cocktails. Whiskey. Even a bottle of expensive Japanese scotch. Zane refused them all, lips politely curling in a ‘no-thank-you.’

“I’ve got surgery at six,” he lied smoothly at some point.

A few moments passed with Asher not forcing him to drink, and Zane almost relaxed, but then the waiter arrived. He was holding a tray that had two crystal glasses filled with red wine. Both of the glasses looked identical, except one of the glasses was slightly less full than the other. The waiter placed the lesser one in front of Zane and the fuller one in front of Asher.

Zane felt a trickle of unease run down his spine, and Asher leaned in then, clamping his hand down on Zane’s lean yet muscular shoulder.

“So… you are gonna drink,” Asher’s deep voice whispered directly into Zane’s ears. “That one’s for you.”

Zane looked down at the wine glass in front of him. Rich red and half full. “I don’t drink on Wednesdays.”

Asher’s fingers dug into his shoulder harder. “Then I suppose the West Foundation’s funding for your precious research lab dries up tomorrow.”

Despite the loud music pounding all around, silence fell between them.

Zane turned slowly to look at Asher. Their faces were so close that if Zane leaned in just a little, their lips could be pressed together. But the last thing he wanted to do was kiss the fucking impudent asshole. An icy cold expression settled over his face. There it was. The motive. The fucking game. He knew it.

‘Oh, Zane thought, so this is what he wants to do.’

His mind flashed back to three days ago when he’d noticed a vial of Dezone-Vita missing from the lab. There had been exactly twenty-two vials from which Zane took one in order to make the Konep strain that’ll be primarily for DNA reconstruction, but when he checked it again, it was only twenty left. Instantly, he’d pulled the security footage, unsurprised to see that spineless Omega mutt sneaking it out after blowing one of the Beta Techs, who then allowed him into the lab. It hadn’t taken long to put two and two together. Liam stole it, which could only mean Asher had it.

But Zane hadn’t been able to understand or guess why the hell Asher, a dyed-in-the-wool Alpha with barely any common sense, wanted the drug? It wasn’t like anyone would believe he came up with it if he decided to replicate it and then steal credit. But now, looking at the wine glass, Zane knew without a doubt that the asshole had spiked it.

Zane’s fingers closed around the stem as he lifted it slowly, buying time. He tilted the glass ever so slightly, peering past the thin swirl of red to see white particles floating inside it, poorly dissolved.

Fuck. 

The rim touched his lips, and across from him, Asher leaned forward, his eyes gleaming with feverish delight, like a child watching someone approach a trap he’d set himself.

Zane’s mind raced. He couldn’t pretend to drink it, not with Asher staring at him unblinkingly. Nor could he outrightly refuse to touch it because while Asher might be arrogant, he had the influence to sway the board to do his bidding.

As he started to count his options, a giggling voice suddenly broke in from the side. “Oh my god, Asher? Remember me? I’m Yvette. You helped me that night at the Capris Party!”

Zane didn’t know who the Omega was, but Asher lit up like a performing monkey. He turned away from Zane with glee, pulling on his most charming smirk as they chattered about the party.

While Asher's attention was consumed by the grateful Omega now clinging to his arm, Zane moved fast. He switched both glasses after subtly pouring a splash from Asher’s drink into his own so he could make their levels as they were.

The girl giggled some more and kissed Asher on his cheek. Then she left.

Asher turned back to Zane and met his composed expression, offering a ghost of a smile. “Why haven’t you drunk it yet?”

Zane met his gaze with the same fake courtesy. “It’s quite uncivilized for an Alpha to drink alone, don’t you think? Join me.”

Asher’s eyes first narrowed into slits, then he arched his brow, bounced his gaze between both wine glasses, and then he shrugged and picked Zane’s original glass up. “Fair’s fair,” he grunted, clinking their glasses hesitantly.

Zane raised his eyes, locking on Asher as he watched him tip his head back and drink deep, the spiked wine sliding down his throat.

Well, Karma indeed was a bitch.