15. Huxley
Huxley
Once I’m dressed, I meander down the stairs with coffee on my mind. Only I stop near the kitchen island, raising my brows at the sight of JJ, locked in concentration on something. Hopefully, finding out who damaged Olivia’s headstone. Something we haven’t got word on yet.
“What are you doing?” I ask.
JJ’s entire body stiffens, and he clicks his laptop a few times before looking up at me with an assessing gaze, roaming over my body.
That’s fucking suspicious.
“Looking into the recruits who signed up to join,” he says quickly.
Too fucking quickly. What the hell is he up to?
I raise a brow. “Right.” I hold out the word longer than necessary as I scope out his fidgety expression. “You know we’re going to have to talk to Franco about that tonight?”
In years past, JJ would forward the curated list of potential members with their background checks, parental lineage, and everything in between.
Franco always has a hand in the final selection, even though we have to run the initiation trials to weed out the weak.
If the person doesn’t have a solid background, they won’t set foot in our inner circle.
It’s why we’ve been so selective over the years.
Oftentimes, we don’t induct anyone into this mess of a damn gang.
At least we didn’t the first two years. We tried hard to skew the results so we didn’t have to babysit the newbies.
Unfortunately, that didn’t work for us last year. Or this year.
All thanks to the president of the damn nation’s kid wanting his hand in our frat. Why? He could have gone any-fucking-where, but he chose us. Knew us by name. Wanted a piece of what we had to offer.
Maxwell Cole.
He knew what he was getting into. How? I have no fucking clue. But he came, he fought, and he won a spot. And tonight? He’ll be inducted into our ranks as a regular member of our gang, with his father’s approval. And mine. Franco is fucking delighted to have such a powerful adversary by his side.
“I—uh—tonight?” JJ stiffens, stumbling over his words as his eyebrows squish together.
I blink several times. “The annual casino gala? Ring any bells? You know, with all the important people we’re supposed to wine and dine and impress into Franco’s pockets?” I sarcastically question, moving to the coffee maker.
Need. Coffee. Now. Or alcohol. That sounds tempting, too. Maybe both. Together. In one big mug to take away the sinking feeling in my gut about what’s going to happen tonight. I hate playing the dutiful son. The leader. The composed one.
I hate this goddamn life.
“One day, we’ll leave,” I murmur against her stomach, trailing kisses across her abdomen. “One day…” I trail off, setting my chin on her stomach and reveling in the feel of her fingers running through my hair. Goosebumps prickle across my flesh, and I sigh. “Right, Trouble?”
She smiles down at me, tracing the stubble on my jaw. “Our future. Our new life.” I know she’s ready. I know she wants out of her house even if her father hasn’t really been present.
“He asked about your dad again.” The uneasiness I’ve felt for weeks boils inside me.
Olivia stiffens under me. “I don’t know where he goes,” she whispers. “He leaves and meets up with that kid he took under his wing.”
“You met him once, right?” I raise a brow when she meekly nods.
“Yeah, but it wasn’t anything special. He had dinner with us, and I’ve never seen him again.” Her face twists, and she relaxes back into my bed. The way she should be.
Her father is up to something. Something bad. Something we haven’t figured out yet. And Franco is on the prowl, asking questions he shouldn’t be and stirring the pot. I’m afraid to tell her Franco called her uncles.
So, I won’t.
I won’t tell her anything. Not yet. Not until I have all the facts.
“Right,” JJ clears his throat, drawing me back into the present. “I almost forgot about it.” His eyes dart past me and then to his computer screen again, with tension edging onto his shoulders as they hunch closer and closer to his ears.
Him? Forget? He’s the keeper of the calendar. The man who always knows the plan at least a week in advance.
What the hell is he up to?
“Are you distracted by something?” I click a few buttons and the Keurig comes to life, producing a tall mug of southern pecan coffee.
My girl’s favorite. And now? It’s mine, too. I drink it every day in her memory.
“Just the recruits.” His eyes move back to the computer, and he types again quickly. “There were only ten people this time. I’m running the background checks and looking into their school files.”
“Ten,” I snort. “Lower than last year.” Maybe they’re wising up and running for the hills.
Usually, there’s more. Of course, not everyone makes it through the initiations. Or they go to another frat to fulfill their gang or Mafia dreams.
Everyone is so eager to join our frat and reap the benefits of our organization. Salivating to get a spot next to us and on Franco’s radar. God only knows why. Who the fuck wants to commit crimes and run a part of California for a living?
It’s tiresome.
Sometimes I wonder if the new recruits have any idea what they’re signing up for in the first place.
Popularity? Money? Notoriety?
They think it’s all to live on Syndicate Row. Party all night long with the other students and hookup with girl after girl. Everyone who is anyone on campus wants to be there. Be in our presence. With us. In our frat. The Franco Syndicate.
The most powerful gang in Southern California, leaching into other parts of the United States. Vegas. New York. Florida. Illinois. North Carolina.
You name it. Franco has his claws in it. He’s a damn disease that needs to be wiped out of existence.
Some way. Somehow.
We’ll change the trajectory of our lives. It takes time. Planning. Well, more planning than we did before. More doing than we did before.
“Now, the question is, do we take them all on and let them all compete?” I ask, rubbing at my chin. “Or do we…” Fabricate their background checks and make every single one of them ineligible for our frat?
JJ’s lips part as if he’s about to answer, but he’s cut off.
“Of fucking course we take them all on!” Mack announces gleefully, marching through the front door with determination written on his face. Sweat drips down his bare chest and trickles off his shaggy blond hair as he shakes his head like a damn dog, flinging his disgusting sweat everywhere.
“Gross,” JJ nearly snarls, covering his face with his arms. “You’re a damn animal.” He scowls, sending a death glare in Mack’s direction.
Too bad Mack doesn’t care. He shakes his head again with a laugh.
“Then we can eliminate the boring ones. Come on! Last year was fun.” His definition of fun and mine are completely different.
He heads straight to the fridge for a bottle of water and a new pack of grapes.
His usual after-run snack. “It’s fun to watch them piss their pants and run away, anyway.
” He laughs, plopping down on a stool next to JJ.
Another day. Another jog through the woods and graveyard.
Looking past them, I instantly settle as Waffles trots into the room with his tongue hanging out and goes to his water bowl. Lazily, he lies beside it, shoving his entire head into the massive bowl and licking up the water.
Glad to see he’s still got his wits about him.
“Sure,” JJ mutters, rolling his eyes.
“Even that fucker Oliver Davenport.” The way Mack mocks his name has my hackles rising and sets my teeth on edge.
The last time Mack set his sights on someone, they ended up in the hospital and dropping out of GU completely.
Mack’s lucky the little fucker didn’t try to come after him for more money than he already did.
Franco paid it with a scowl and made Mack’s life hell after that.
“His roommate, too. Let me torture them a little bit.” He grins with a sadistic flash, crossing his eyes.
“It’ll be so much fun.” He pouts before dropping a grape in his mouth and loudly crunching into it.
For fuck’s sake. This is only going to end badly. For Oliver. For Simon. For everyone.
“Macklyn. No torturing anyone. We have to pretend we aren’t hazing the fuckers, at least. Remember what happened last time?
The money Franco had to pay out to that asshole’s family.
” I roll my eyes as I reach for my coffee and lift it to my lips with a hum of satisfaction as the taste burns across my tongue.
“Aww, Daddy Huxley, you’re no fun! Garret was fine, anyway. He’s still breathing, isn’t he?” He waves a hand, scoffing as he shoves a grape in his mouth. “Just a damn baby losing the fight and looking for quiet pay from the big guy.” He thrusts a thumb, pointing over his shoulder.
“Which he got,” I remind him with a scowl. “And drop the damn daddy,” I bite out, taking another sip of my coffee.
“That’s not what you said last night,” Mack quips, popping a grape into his mouth.
My coffee almost sputters from between my lips, but I swallow it and send him a glare.
“Fuck’s sake, Mack,” I grumble, wiping my mouth.
He laughs manically when I chug the rest of my coffee, cringing from the searing burn tearing through my esophagus.
Worth it, though. I need this coffee to make it through the day. And the clusterfuck of an evening we have planned. Thankfully, Mack zips his lips when I set my coffee mug in the sink and turn to face them again, crossing my arms.
Time to get down to business.
“Franco wants us dressed in suits and at the main casino by eight. We’ve got schmoozing, ass-kissing, and whatever the fuck else he expects from us. No being late, either.”
The last thing I want to do is parade around with a smile on my face, talking with politicians, firefighters, cops, and anyone else Franco has aligned himself with, including the outside Mafia and gang leaders coming to the city to mingle and win at the casino.
No doubt the dean of the university will be there, too.
What a joy the evening will be with people I don’t give a shit about.