21. Huxley
Huxley
“This suit is itchy,” Mack grumbles, pulling at the collar while huffing and mumbling more curses under his breath. “I fucking hate suits and I fucking hate these parties.” He glowers at the people in the distance, schmoozing with one another in their finest dresses and suits.
And he hates him.
Nathaniel Franco.
The man who forced us to attend this gala as his happy sons. Putting up a front that we’re the best of the best, in hopes of luring in more people to our side.
I hate these fucking parties, too. The suits suck.
The drinks are never enough to drown out the fact that I don’t want to be here.
But the absolute worst part about all this?
The fucking people in attendance. Standing around with diamonds worth more than money can buy, and wristwatches sparkling under crystal chandeliers.
They laugh and schmooze, hoping to rub shoulders with Franco and gain his favor.
They’ll offer something from their turf, and he’ll provide something important from his, expanding his reach and gaining more allies.
One discussion at a time. He may frame this gala as the party of the century, inviting anyone he can think of to witness the induction of his new members, AKA our pledges, graduating into the gang, but it’s all for business.
For him. His territory.
For Greenwood.
“Get your shit together,” I grumble, taking a small sip of champagne as my eyes wander over the crowd of people milling around that grand space.
Voices murmur from every direction, echoing off the tall, vaulted ceilings of the ballroom located in Franco’s most popular casino.
Emerald Cove. Named after the most famous cove in Greenwood, where Captain John Greenwood crashed onto and then hid from authorities until they gave up or he was presumed dead.
Treasure was hidden by him somewhere in this town, drawing people from all over to dig for it, but it was never found.
This town is his namesake, and so is this casino.
Three massive chandeliers hang from the ceiling, casting dim light over the ten-thousand-square-foot space as rainbows cascade from the crystal lining the walls.
A large curved bar occupies a good chunk of the room to our left, stopping only at the elevated stage, where a string quartet plays classical music and brings peace to the room.
Many familiar faces drift through the space, laughing and smiling as they reconnect for the first time in over a year.
Fucking fakes.
“There are lots of new faces this year,” I murmur, bringing my glass to my lips and sipping the bubbly drink.
“Too many,” Mack says, leaning into us. “There have to be at least a thousand more people here than normal.” His brows furrow. “What the fuck is his game?”
Yeah, that’s something we’ve wondered for years now. What game is Franco playing? There’s an angle somewhere—a hidden agenda he’s tucked beneath his arm, waiting for the right time to utilize it.
JJ cocks his head, taking in the crowd. “Do you see the men and women in black suits along the edge over there?” he signs discreetly, trying to keep our presence low-key and our words away from onlookers, gaping at us like we’re zoo animals on display.
Yeah, we know. We’re the sons of the man you want to grease palms with.
Well, for the moment, anyway. Franco always brings us on stage to show us off and talk us up, along with our efforts at Greenwood U and what he has us doing for the community. And I use the term community loosely. We’re helping to raise his numbers and fill his ranks within our gang.
“Dude, they look like FBI agents,” Mack quickly signs with a frown, taking in the dark figures, staying in the shadows, and watching the crowd.
“Keep an eye on them. Something feels weird about this gala…” I trail off in a soft voice, keeping my eyes on the new faces wandering the room, wide-eyed and eager with excitement.
“You can say that again,” Mack quips, pulling at his collar again. “Fuck, I got this too fucking tight,” he gripes more, twisting his expression and yanking at his bowtie.
JJ sends him a sharp look and knocks his hands from his collar. “You’re going to draw attention to yourself,” he signs, gesturing to the people side-eyeing him.
“Fine,” Mack huffs like a child again, letting his arms fall to his sides. His fingers flex and squirm until JJ’s sharp glare freezes him mid-movement. “Sorry,” Mack grumbles with no remorse in his tone.
Finally, he stops twitching, releasing one last impatient huff and relaxing.
Silence engulfs us as we stand shoulder-to-shoulder, taking in the party as the noise of the quartet picks up, and people couple off and dance across the floor.
Their smiles reach their eyes. The party guests step back, giving the dancers room, and softly clap as one man dips his wife with a rough kiss to the lips.
The music picks up, growing louder and faster. More applause rings out, and whoops of excitement fill the air. The energy in the room changes as the alcohol flows through every guest.
Exactly how Franco loves them. Pliant. Agreeable. Eager to please.
I take a deep breath, attempting to center myself amid the chaos in my brain. So many thoughts bounce around my skull, torturing me. My shoulders tighten as I assess the crowd, taking in more and more new faces.
“Have you located Amanda yet?” I grumble, leaning closer to JJ and keeping my voice low again.
“Don’t summon the devil, Huxley,” Mack says, grabbing a new glass of champagne from a tray as the waiter walks in front of us.
“Not yet,” JJ huffs. “I’m sure she’ll be around here somewhere, about to make a grand entrance with her father. He is on the list to attend, too.”
“Keep that demon away,” Mack whines again.
“You know what she does to me.” He rubs at his chest. “The thought of her gives me indigestion. And hives! Hives, Hux!” He scratches at his chest as his eyes rove over the crowd.
“Don’t fucking see her yet. But if we do, I say we hide.
Consequences be damned.” His eyes dart all over the place until they lock on a door beside the bar.
“I say, we hide in the secret hallway and then take the secret tunnels home. Oops, sorry, Franco. We had to bail; something came up. Like my dinner on the carpet.”
I snort, eyeing the same door. “Easier said than done. You know he’d punish us for not being here for his yearly speech of gratitude.”
The way I spit the word gratitude feels like poison on my tongue. A lie. Nothing that would ever describe Franco and his deceptive ways. He lies in wait, taking and taking until his prey is nothing but a husk. Only then will he move on to his next victim and start the process all over again.
JJ shakes his head. “It does seem that all the Greenwood University board members are here, too. They were all on the list, of course.” He discreetly gestures to the members in charge of Greenwood University, standing in a circle near the bar with drinks in their hands and glazed-over eyes.
“Have we always had a list for this shit?” Mack’s voice carries a little further than normal as the music lowers, then jumps right back into a loud number.
“Idiot. Of course,” JJ grumbles, side-eyeing Mack with a frown. “Maybe you should lay off the damn drinks.”
“Yeah, okay, Mommy. But no thanks. You expect me to be tip fucking top tonight; I need the champagne. And maybe some shots…” Mack trails off, eyeing the bar with a sparkle in his eyes. If it were up to him, he’d be on top of that bar, taking several shots to drown out this bullshit.
And you know what? Me fucking too.
“No shots, we have to stay vigilant, remember?” JJ’s shoulders tense, and his jaw tics, like he’s preparing to go to war with Mack and his reckless-ass ways.
Maybe JJ needs a night out, too. Doing nothing but drinking and letting loose. We all do. We’ve been too tense for years. Too caught up in the work we’re forced to do and the frat we’re leading for Franco.
Something has to give.
“Yeah, yeah, yeah. Whatever, Mom.” Mack steps back, grinning when JJ tosses a hand in his direction.
JJ doesn’t resort to violence often, but Mack usually brings it out in him.
“But being vigilant sucks balls. Just so you’re aware.
” He blows a raspberry and gives a thumbs-down.
“Look at them.” Mack gestures to the board members, laughing loudly now and chugging more alcohol than before.
“Suckers,” JJ mutters under his breath. “They’re so drunk, they’ll agree to anything now.”
“Mhmm,” I hum, taking in the college board members as they smile at one another, joyful that they’re in such a place.
But it wasn’t always like that.
Some were thrilled when Franco stepped in and took over, giving the college a monumental sum of money to keep it from dying. Thus, taking over and transforming the college into what it is today.
And the other members who disapproved of a known criminal doing shady shit, taking over the college they had helped build? Well, they no longer exist and were immediately replaced with Franco’s friends and investors eager to turn Greenwood into a criminal hub.
They were an inconvenience to his plan. And the fact remains the same.
“And there’s the dean!” Sarcasm drips from every word Mack says. “Amber Whittmore. More like Amber Bitchmore,” he mocks her name. “Oh! And her precious son,” he snorts, slightly slurring his words. “He’s such a goody-goody.”
I side-eye him as JJ plucks the drink from his hands, shaking his head. “That’s enough,” JJ chides, emptying Mack’s drink down his own throat and smacking his lips.
“Dude!” Mack grumbles, trying to snatch it back. “I’m not a baby.”
“No. Not a baby. But you’re going to get us in trouble. I’d rather not be sent on a stupid run because you got too drunk to function.” JJ raises a no-nonsense brow in Mack’s direction.