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“Shit,” Caleb muttered. “Where is he?”
“By Denver Avenue,” I replied, jogging down the ground-floor corridor of the fraternity mansion. “Milla’s with him right now. He asked her to call me, so I’m guessing the situation is serious. Let’s get to him before someone else does.”
“Fuck!” he cursed, following me out into the front lawn that surrounded the building.
A couple of kids glanced at us with bleary eyes. The familiar notes of burning marijuana hung in the air, explaining the reason they were slumped on the benches lining the front lawn.
I ignored them for now. They were all freshmen and clearly in need of a lesson. I took note of their slack faces as we hurried past them to get to my car.
“Do you think he went after Michael?” Caleb asked in a grim tone as we climbed inside my car. “I swear I’ll break his fingers if he dared to lay a hand on Corey.”
“Don’t get worked up just yet,” I said. “Milla’s with him right now. I don’t think a goody-two-shoes like her will involve herself in a fight between two Elites. This isn’t related to Michael Sandburg.”
Caleb’s breaths turned low and heavy. He was angry and worried for Corey. I felt the same, but I forced myself to stay calm.
My brothers were hot-headed and impulsive, but I didn’t have the luxury to be like them. I was the eldest and the only one they had to protect them.
Since we were already on campus, it took us merely five minutes to reach Denver Avenue. Further ahead, I spotted flames leaping over the remnants of a destroyed motorcycle.
“Is that them?” Caleb asked, pointing toward a small, lonesome figure on the sidewalk.
“Yeah,” I said, recognizing Milla’s silhouette at once. She was crouched over a man who lay on the grass with his head on her lap.
Stopping the car, we climbed out and hurried toward our brother.
“What happened to him?” Caleb demanded at once. He pushed Milla away and bent down beside Corey.
Reigning in my panic at the sight of my unconscious brother and his flaming motorcycle, I looked toward Milla. Fear and concern were etched on her pale face. Reaching her, I grabbed her elbow and pulled her to her feet.
“What happened?” I asked her. “Did you see who did this to him?”
She met my gaze and shook her head. “He crashed against the tree trunk,” she said, glancing toward the tree. “I pulled him from under the bike before the blast went off. There’s no blood on his face but I think he has internal injuries. He was conscious for a few minutes and told me to contact you before passing out again.”
“Check him,” I commanded at once. “Do you smell alcohol in his breath?”
Caleb bent over Corey’s face. “No,” he replied. Straightening up, he glanced at me. “Corey wouldn’t be as irresponsible as drinking while riding his bike. He was raging mad when he left but he wasn’t drunk or high.”
“We should still get that bike checked,” I said.
Caleb’s face darkened. “If someone messed with it, I’m going to—” The sound of a siren cut him off.
“Take care of the bike,” I said, thinking fast. “Call some of our boys and get it to the garage. Have it inspected thoroughly. In the meantime, Milla and I will go with Corey.”
“You want me to come?” Milla asked, staring at me with wide eyes. “Are—are you sure?” She squirmed, clasping her hands together.
Despite the situation, I chuckled. The gesture made her blush harder with embarrassment. Most girls died for a reason to talk to me and my brothers but Milla was being comically shy and awkward.
Before I could reply, the ambulance arrived at the site. The next few moments were chaotic as a pair of paramedics attended to Corey while two campus security guards spoke to Milla, noting down everything she told them.
Relief spread through me after hearing her explanation. She called the whole thing an accident, letting everyone know that Corey was a victim. Caleb watched the whole scenario playing out from a distance.
“Come on,” I said as the paramedics carried Corey inside the ambulance van.
Milla hesitated but followed me inside the vehicle.
The bright interiors of the van allowed me to take a closer look at her. Her pale, pretty face was etched with anxiety. The strands of her long, auburn hair looked rough and untidy. I recognized the heavy backpack she clutched to her chest. It was the same one she carried to all her classes.
“Were you walking back from the library?” I asked.
