Chapter 18 #2
“I don’t even know who the fuck you are.” My face twists into a disgusted expression when he steps closer, towering over me.
“You may not know who I am now, but I know who you are. My boss wants a word. Seems you need a job, and well, he can facilitate.” He grins wide at his words.
I didn’t want to follow him out of the alleyway into a waiting Cadillac idling on the road. I didn’t want to shake his boss’ hand.
But I did.
Because the offer was too good not to consider.
“Run jobs for me, kid. Watch over Malic. I’ll pay you well. You two will be my seconds-in-command.”
He must have seen the desperation in my eyes as I thought it over. It was either this or dance on stage to make some quick bucks.
So, I chose the gang life, giving myself over to the boss and helping Malic with whatever he needed.
The sun shines through the small windows on the double doors, leading out onto the quad, when Oliver catches my eye and pulls me from the sour memories infesting my mind.
His eyes catch mine when he puts his phone away, and something shudders through him as he pushes his glasses up his nose.
“Oliver, right?” I ask, eyeing him up and down with interest.
Every year, new scholarship students arrive with dreams in their eyes, eager to learn. And the majority of them drop out, leaving with haunted shadows dancing in their gazes.
This place is a fucking haunted. If I could escape, I would. But Malic and my mom need me here.
“Yeah. I’m Olivi-er,” he stumbles over his name, turning red and rigid the moment it leaves his tongue.
Weird.
The hair on my neck stands on end. I offer him a tight smile, doing another once-over.
Oliver stands slightly shorter than me and is lanky as hell.
Probably doesn’t have an ounce of muscle under his loose t-shirt.
I can’t imagine this pipsqueak climbing into the ring to fight anyone.
Or God, Brutus. That big bastard destroys people like Oliver with one punch.
Maybe I should warn him not to come near the Coliseum unless he wants his ass kicked by the two idiots standing outside.
If someone wants to call you out for a fight, they can do it on the SlamApp.
Or they can wait until the night of the fight, and if you happen to show up, you have no choice but to jump into the ring and take them on.
There are social consequences if you turn them down--banned from parties, a pariah on campus, and isolation.
It’s brutal as fuck.
There’s something hiding behind his misty green eyes when he holds my gaze and lifts his chin, displaying the softness of his face and straight nose. His supple lips pinch together.
Maybe it’s a tougher front he puts on being a smaller guy than Mack. Or maybe he’s been through some shit. Judging by the scars lining his face and neck, Oliver has been to Hell and back.
I gently rub the burn scar on my right forearm.
The pain of the cigarette burning through my flesh is fresh in my mind, despite the years between the incident and now.
It was right after Mack left me to fend for myself, and Mom’s new boyfriend got his hands on me.
Half of me is thankful my brother got his dream at the mansion with the mob.
But my other half? It resents the shit out of that asshole for turning his back on me.
And thanks to Greenwood being close-knit, I’ve had to see his face walking the streets and running jobs.
It's fucking torture.
“You were brave as shit standing up to Mack like that.” I gesture out the window, drawing Oliver’s eyes to Mack and Brutus lying in wait. “But now, they want to beat your ass.”
Oliver’s jaw clenches when he peers out the window.
“He can try,” he grits out, shaking his head.
“Brave or fucking stupid,” I laugh, nodding toward the hall. “If you want to avoid the idiot, there’s another door this way.”
Oliver frowns but nods when we head down the hall.
“Why did you warn me?” he asks when I push out the back door, overlooking a patch of trees and empty sidewalks.
Not many students use the back entrance. It’s shaded, away from the sunshine and open space. Everyone on campus is slightly on edge from the murders popping up and students dying.
Fuck. My heart aches thinking about Meredith and where she might be. We’re no closer to finding Mal’s sister than we were a week ago when she vanished.
“Because my brother is an idiot.” I shrug, because I’m not entirely sure why I’m helping this stranger out.
Maybe it’s because there’s something familiar about him. Perhaps I didn’t want to see him get beaten to a pulp. Whatever the reason, I find myself striding beside him as we walk along the back of the building. I tongue the end of my cigarette again, huffing before putting it behind my ear.
I will not fucking light that up. I will not give in to the temptation I feel every day. All the stress. The fucking betrayals nipping at my heels, cheering for me to give in.
I won’t.
These unlit cigarettes are the representation of my fucking vices I’ve beat off with a bat to remain in control of everything. My life. My mind.
“Yeah, he fucking is,” Oliver huffs with annoyance and a hint of knowing.
Good. He sees what I see when I look at Mack. A fucking dumbass.
“You’re new here, right?” I already know the answer.
I’m pretty sure I’d remember someone who looks like him wandering around campus.
Men here attempt to be the biggest and baddest, knowing they’re running with the future presidents, governors, movie stars, and mob leaders. They want to prove themselves to us.
But Oliver? Fuck. Something stirs inside me. Something foreign I can’t put my finger on.
His gaze whips to mine, and his eyes narrow. “Uh, yeah. First year here.” His eyes shift from me to the sidewalk in front of us. His shoulders tense.
“You ever been around? You seem familiar.” There’s something there. A touch of familiarity. Damn it. I can’t put my finger on it.
“Unless you count my friend tossing his cookies in your front yard last night, then nope. Just arrived on move-in day. Never been in Greenwood before.”
I purse my lips when he keeps his eyes forward. His shoulders bunch further toward his ears, and he tugs on his left earlobe.
Liar.
He’s hiding something, which is intriguing. Yet, irritating. I want to know what he isn’t telling me.
“Cool.” I remember sitting on the porch as our party really kicked off. It didn’t hurt that we brought extra entertainment to entice the crowd from the idiots next door. Worked like a damn charm. “Your friend good?”
“Yeah,” he chuckles softly. “How about you? You from here?” he asks, finally gazing at me.
“Lived here my whole miserable life,” I chuckle when we finally round the building and come out on the other side of the quad.
Across the way, Mack and Brutus continue staking out the front entrance.
“You think they’re going to wait there all day?” Oliver asks, cocking his head while watching the two idiots.
“Until they get hungry,” I quip, shrugging. “Or if something better comes their way.” Like a fight. “You know, if their shitty party didn’t convince you to pledge to them, we’re always looking to add to our ranks.”
The way Malic had his sights set on Oliver the night of our party has my interest piqued. And the fact that there are lies etched on Oliver’s tongue.
Oliver is something. Enemy? New recruit? I’m sure Boss Man would be over-fucking-joyed to let us expand our family. Finally.
Oliver’s brows raise, and he nods jerkily. “Uh, yeah. Thanks. Not sure I’m pledging.” He shrugs nervously.
“Give me your phone. If you reconsider, you can text.” Oliver hesitates for a brief moment before digging out his phone and handing it to me.
I quickly type my number in and then text myself so I have his.
“You ever get into the fighting ring?” I hand him his phone back, brushing my finger against his dainty hands.
I swear, a jolt spears through me, but I shake it off.
Jesus. Guys don’t have dainty hands. But his are small and his fingers are long. And his skin…
I shake my head when he clears his throat, and his cheeks flame red.
“Sometimes. Fought my cousin a lot.” He almost smiles at that, but holds back.
I snort. “If you ever want to work out or get in the ring to really throw down, come to the gym on 5th Street. Shades Gym.”
Oliver nods a few times, taking a step back. “Uh, thanks,” he says softly again, losing the gruffness of his voice before walking away quickly.
I eye Mack one last time before walking home with my hands in my pockets.
The moment I walk through the front door, the scent of steaks grilling fills my nose.
“Mal?” I call out, walking into the kitchen, and raise my brows.
There stands a tried-and-true psychopath. A man I witnessed ram a tire iron through the throat of a traitor, wearing a blue apron that says ’Kiss the Cook’.
“Old Chap!” He claps slightly, putting a plate on the counter. “You’re home. I hope you’re hungry.”
“Starving,” I say wearily, sitting at the kitchen island. “What’s with all this?” First the damn emojis. Now steak? Mal’s behavior is erratic at best on his good days and downright terrifying on bad days.
Right now? He looks like someone has plucked the stress from his shoulders and relieved him.
This is almost like the night he lost his V card to the woman in the bathroom. For the next forty-eight hours, he was a goddamn joy.
“Good night and day!” he sing-songs, putting his plate beside mine and getting himself a beer and me a Coke.
“Care to elaborate?” I raise a brow when he cuts into his barely cooked steak and takes a bite.
He grins at me, cutting into another piece as the juices stain his plate red.
“Boss Man has finally given us the green light to recruit. Buck up, Old Chap. We’ve got people to woo.”
“Woo?” I wrinkle my nose, cutting into my rare steak. “We don’t woo people. We…”
“Seduce?” He gives me a bloody grin. “Intrigue? Kidnap?” His eyes light up at the word kidnap.
“No kidnapping. You know the rules. We have to play fair.”
Mal pouts, finishing off his steak in a hurry. “But I don’t like to play fair. I like to play dirty and rough.” There’s something in his grin that has my hackles rising. Like he knows something I don’t know.
“Mal?” I question with a sigh.
“Don’t worry, Old Chap.” He claps my shoulder a few times before standing and taking his plate to the sink. “This year will change everything.” He wiggles his brows and then disappears, leaving me alone with my thoughts.
Change everything? I want to think he means we can build our ranks and finally take Franco down. It’s our boss’s desire, anyway. But the way Mal smiled and wiggled his brows has me questioning him.
Fuck.