Chapter 3
WES
As lame as it sounds, the Bistro is one of my favorite places on campus. Always loud, always lively, always bustling with activity and people. I garner a lot of attention whenever I walk in, and today, I’m in dire need of the pick-me-up.
Heads turn. Conversations stutter. Girls smile a little too brightly, batting their lashes, while guys look at me like I’m something to measure themselves against– a standard they’ll never quite meet.
I drink in the admiration like oxygen, because I fucking love it.
I let it fill my lungs, steady my pulse, smooth out the rough edges of the day.
It hasn’t always been like this.
I still remember what it felt like to be overlooked– to blend into the background while everyone fawned over Raf and Ford.
To exist in their orbit without ever being seen.
That version of me learned things this one never had to.
Lessons about hunger, about patience, about what happens when you wait too long for permission to speak up.
Not anymore, and never again.
Raf’s the opposite. He’s always been magnetic in a way that doesn’t require effort, and he loathes the attention it brings him.
You’d think people would stop aiming it his way when they’re met with a death stare in return, but I swear it only makes them want him more.
Something about danger, I guess. He never has to work for it, which must be fucking nice.
Today he seems even more angry than usual.
Hasn’t spoken more than a few words, hasn’t touched his food…
hasn’t even tried to start a fight, which is his usual move when the mood goes weird.
I guess that’s how you know it’s serious– rather than snapping at someone to provoke a reaction and burn off the excess, he’s just simmering in quiet fury like a bomb waiting to detonate.
It must be rubbing off on Ford, because he’s broodier than usual too.
Or maybe the shitty weather’s to blame. Or our girl, missing in action.
Whatever it is, he hasn’t looked up from his phone since we sat down, which isn’t like him.
Between that and Raf’s silence, the vibe is oppressive.
Dense, like the air before a storm. I keep waiting for something– anything– to crack it open, but clearly, I’m not gonna get it from either of their grumpy asses.
“So,” I prompt, glancing between my friends as I pick at the chicken and rice on my plate. The food’s gone cold, but it wasn’t all that appetizing to begin with. “Anyone hear from our wayward girl this morning? I’m starting to get separation anxiety.”
“Not me,” Ford grunts, still scrolling. His thumb moves too fast, restless energy bleeding into even the smallest movements. “Let me know if you see her, though. Could use a little cheering up after Professor Hunter bored me to tears this morning.”
I snort softly and turn to Raf. “Did she show up to Economics?”
He jerks his head in the negative. No explanation, no commentary. Just that sharp, clipped gesture that says it’s a subject not worth wasting his breath on.
“So she’s hiding, then,” I sigh, pushing my plate away and folding my arms on the table. “Are we gonna do something about that, or…?”
Ford shrugs a shoulder, finally glancing up.
“You know I love a good hunt,” he remarks, hazel eyes lighting up.
“If she doesn’t show up by dinner, I’ll find our lost little rabbit.
” He grins like a maniac, tongue dragging across his teeth in a way that makes a couple of girls at the next table blush.
“Don’t fucking bother,” Raf grumbles.
I turn his way, arching a brow, and he finally swings his attention on me. His jaw is tight, eyes a shade darker than usual.
“You two have gone soft on her,” he states, voice low and dangerous. “And now she’s playing games. She wants one of you to come looking, so fucking don’t.”
“But I like games,” Ford whines, slumping back in his chair like a petulant child.
Raf cuts him a glare. He doesn’t say anything else, but his fingers start drumming against the table– slow at first, then faster. Every tap is a tell, each one a notch further up the agitation scale. He’s more bothered by this than he’s letting on.
If Ava is playing a game, then it’s definitely working.
But I don’t think she’s going to like the outcome.
Or maybe she knows exactly what she’s doing, and that’s why she chose now to hide. Maybe she’s finally figured out how much she actually gets under Raf’s skin, and this is what it’ll take for him to finally pull his head out of his ass and admit that she matters more than he wants her to.
Tap, tap. Tap, tap tap.
I can feel the tension coiling tighter around the table with each strike of his fingers against the wood, smiling to myself.
Not only is Ava clever, but we’re rubbing off on her. She’s clearly learned things tend to break easier when you press in the right place.
My smile dissolves on a dime when I spot Chelsea making a beeline for our table.
She’s flanked by Blair and Stella, a tight little cluster of blonde hair and entitlement.
I clock them instantly– Chelsea’s eager stride, Blair whispering something at her side, Stella scanning the room like she’s bracing for impact.
I catch my sister’s eye and jerk my chin in a clear, silent warning.
Not now.
Stella slows, reaching out to snag Blair by the sleeve, but Chelsea doesn’t break stride. She just keeps right on coming, eyes locked on Raf like he’s the only thing in the world worth seeing. A hopeful grin stretches her lips, and I can practically smell the desperation on her from here.
I kick Raf’s leg under the table.
He looks up, meets Chelsea’s gaze. Then growls, “No.”
She stops short, flinching like she’s been slapped.
Her expression crumples, eyes going glassy as tears immediately spring up.
If she thought her exile was over, she’s sorely mistaken– and dammit, it’s satisfying to see the bitch knocked off her pedestal again.
There’s something deeply gratifying about watching that kind of entitlement fracture in real time.
Murmurs ripple from the neighboring tables as the other co-eds take it all in. They can’t help themselves. They’re always watching, endlessly fascinated by the power we wield as Kings.
Chelsea spins on her heel and scurries back to her friends, humiliation trailing behind her like smoke. Stella shoots me a withering look, as if I have any control over Raf’s behavior. I just roll my eyes back at her.
I don’t know why the hell my sister associates with Chelsea and Blair.
They’re fucking wretched. I’ve told her as much, and she just counters that it’s no different than me with Ford and Raf.
We all draw our own lines, I guess. Stella drew one when she sat out on participating in Ava’s torture at the Halloween party, so at least she’s managed to stay a decent human being despite the company she keeps.
Ford chuckles under his breath as he watches Chelsea retreat, shaking his head. “You’d think she’d learn to take a hint.”
“Subtlety has never been her strong suit,” I mutter, flicking a glance over my shoulder.
Apparently, we’re a magnet for unwanted interruptions today.
The doors to the Bistro swing open hard enough to rattle, and Bryce Hamilton storms inside, heading straight for us. Platinum hair, thrifted hoodie, scuffed sneakers, and the kind of walk that says he’s not afraid to cause a scene.
Until Ava befriended him, we barely registered Bryce’s existence. He flew under the radar, too stubborn to be pushed around and too strange to be useful. Always on the social scene, never enough of a threat to matter. Except right now, he looks ready to tear into someone.
“What the fuck did you guys do to Ava?” he demands, stomping up to our table with purpose.
Brave.
And stupid.
Every eye in a ten-foot radius swivels our way, hungry for another spectacle. The three of us don’t even flinch. Raf keeps right on scowling. Ford’s grin only widens. And I… well, I slip into the version of myself that exists for moments like this.
I keep my voice level, defaulting to the friendly tone I use whenever I sense things are about to go sideways. “Why do you care?”
Bryce wheels on me, hands curling into fists at his sides. “Because she’s my friend, you sociopathic asshole. And she’s missing. I know you did something to her.”
Well, there goes our little theory that she was holed up with him.
“Didn’t realize you two were so close,” Ford drawls, giving Bryce the kind of slow once-over that would make most people wilt. “You know she’s Kings’ property, right?”
Bryce ignores him, focusing instead on me. I’m the approachable one, after all– and the one most likely to respond with words rather than violence.
“Seriously,” he presses, jaw tight. “Where is she?”
I tilt my head, studying him. “Why do you think we did something to her?”
He exhales sharply, shoving a hand into his pocket. “Because she sent me a cryptic goodbye message this morning, and now her phone’s off.” He yanks it free and waves it in my direction. “None of my texts are showing as delivered, and when I call, it goes straight to voicemail.”
Well shit, that’s a plot twist.
“Let’s see the message,” I say calmly, extending a hand toward him, palm up. Not a request. An expectation.
He hesitates for half a second before slapping his phone into my waiting hand. I lower my gaze to the screen, ignoring the way his breath stutters as if he’s bracing for impact.
Ava
I’m so sorry for leaving without saying goodbye. Thank you for being a real friend, and I hope we can stay in touch.
It’s short and to the point, but it sounds like her.
Raf snatches the phone from my hand without a word, scans the message once, then passes it off to Ford. He silently reads, then hands it back to me.
Bryce’s voice cracks when he speaks again. “If you hurt her…”
“Chill,” I say before he can finish that threat, passing the phone back over. “We’re not monsters.”