Chapter 9 – Collision Course
1122 Words
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The low purr of Zen's blacked-out Ducati echoed through the night like a warning shot. The party was already in full swing, music pulsing like a heartbeat from behind the towering wrought-iron gates of the Walters estate. Flashing lights splashed across the pristine driveway, where luxury cars—Bentleys, Lamborghinis, Aston Martins—glimmered under the moonlight. But when Zen cruised in, helmet on, dressed in all black with combat boots and an effortless swagger, every head turned.
She parked the bike near the entrance, pulling off her helmet to reveal her tousled, shoulder-length dark hair and those mismatched eyes—one steel gray, the other icy blue. People parted as she walked by, whispers already beginning to swirl.
“Who is that?”
“Is he new?”
“That’s the guy who smoked the varsity team last game!”
“Looks like trouble—and I love it.”
Zen didn’t flinch. She was used to it by now. The stares. The awe. The assumptions. Most thought she was some rebellious new boy with a mysterious past and a killer game on the field. And Zen wasn’t about to correct them.
She adjusted the silver ring on her finger, the one her mom gave her when she was thirteen, and stepped into the mansion, where lights glimmered off crystal chandeliers and bass rattled the marble floors. The whole place smelled like money and drama.
“Zenny!”
Ryan’s voice called out from across the room. He was already half-drunk, Skylar on his arm, giggling about something that probably wasn’t funny.
“You actually came!” Ryan grinned. “Thought you were gonna ghost us.”
“Had to see what all the noise was about,” Zen replied, giving Skylar a nod.
Before Ryan could say more, a sleek figure slid into Zen’s peripheral view like a shadow. Allison Walters—blonde, dangerous, and always in control—had her sights set.
“Well, well. If it isn’t the talk of the school,” she purred, eyes trailing over Zen like a checklist. “You know, I almost didn’t believe the rumors. But you’re… more than expected.”
Zen quirked a brow. “You always flirt with strangers at your parties?”
“Only the interesting ones,” Allison replied, stepping closer, fingers brushing Zen’s arm. “There’s something about you, mystery boy. That effortless bad-boy thing? It’s kind of addictive.”
Zen smiled but didn’t lean in. “You’re drunk.”
“I’m intrigued.”
Allison’s hand trailed dangerously close to Zen’s waist, but Zen stepped back, cool and composed. “Save your game for someone else, Allison.”
The crowd around them buzzed. Allison wasn’t used to being turned down. She flipped her hair over her shoulder, trying to recover her pride. “You’ll come around,” she said, lips curled in a smirk before walking away.
Zen let out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. That was close. Too close.
She was about to regroup with Ryan when a sharp noise cut through the music—a shout, followed by laughter. It came from the back patio. People were gathering, murmuring.
Zen’s instincts kicked in.
She pushed through the crowd and out into the chilly night air. The party lights didn’t reach far beyond the pool deck, but she could see the circle of teens huddled around something—or someone.
Then she heard the voice. Brian.
“You really thought you could come here dressed like that?” Brian jeered. “What is that—eyeliner? Bro, you know where you are?”
The boy in the center of the circle—small, delicate, wearing a mesh shirt and painted nails—trembled as Brian’s friends jeered. Jeremy Bardot laughed, holding up the boy’s phone.
“Let’s see who you were texting. Oh, it’s ‘Caleb’ with a heart emoji. Cute.”
“Stop,” the boy whispered.
“What was that?” Brian said, stepping closer. “Speak up, princess.”
Zen’s voice sliced through the air like a blade. “Back off.”
The circle turned. Brian’s smirk dropped the moment he saw her.
“You again,” he muttered.
Zen stepped between Brian and the trembling boy. “Didn’t your daddy teach you better than to gang up on someone smaller than you?”
Brian’s jaw tightened. “This isn’t your business.”
Zen raised her chin. “It is now.”
Jeremy laughed. “Oh, look. Prince Mysterious wants to play hero.”
Brian stepped forward, now inches from Zen. “You’ve been a problem since you got here.”
Zen didn’t blink. “Funny. I was about to say the same about you.”
The air grew thick. Brian’s fist clenched. “You think you’re better than me?”
Zen’s voice was calm, controlled. “I don’t have to think. I proved it on the field.”
That did it.
Brian lunged first, a swing meant to knock Zen to the ground. She ducked it easily, twisting to the side, catching his arm and shoving him backward. The crowd roared, phones out, recording. Brian came at her again—sloppy, angry, fast.
But Zen was faster.
She sidestepped, kicked low, and swept his legs. Brian fell, hard, onto the stone patio.
He scrambled up, panting. “Who the hell are you?!”
Zen’s eyes gleamed in the moonlight. “Someone you’ll never beat.”
Brian charged again. This time, he caught her shoulder. They tumbled across the ground, fists flying, each blow more brutal than the last. Jeremy tried to pull Brian back, but Zen pushed him off. She didn’t want to fight—but she wouldn't back down.
Not when someone needed her.
Finally, the host’s security stormed in. Allison, shrieking, tried to explain the situation. The crowd scattered.
Brian stood off to the side, lip bleeding, glaring at Zen with a mix of fury and something else—confusion? Betrayal?
Zen turned to the boy who’d been bullied. “You okay?”
He nodded, stunned. “Th-thank you.”
She gave a half-smile. “They won’t bother you again.”
Zen walked back toward her bike, adrenaline still coursing. She could feel eyes on her—some in awe, some in fear.
But one gaze burned hotter than the rest.
Brian stood by the railing, shirt ripped, jaw tight. His voice was low, but Zen heard him as she mounted the bike.
“What are you?”
Zen revved the engine. “Better than you.”
And with that, she disappeared into the night, leaving a trail of whispers, rumors, and a school now split between those who feared her and those who worshipped her.
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- Writer
