Zayne’s POV
The moment the bedroom door shuts behind us, I grab Silas by the collar and drag him down the hallway before he can even finish whatever smug thought is sitting behind that punchable grin of his.
My grip tightens around his shirt as I shove him toward the nearest empty room. The guest room. I don’t even remember choosing it. I just need distance between him and Isla. Between him and Sienna. Between him and every fragile thing I’m barely holding together.
I slam the door open, shove him inside, then close it behind us with a sharp jam. Silas stumbles forward but catches himself against the dresser, straightening slowly like this is nothing more than a mild inconvenience.
I turn toward him, chest rising and falling like I’ve just run miles.
“What the hell is wrong with you?”
