54. Mack
Mack
Sneaking through the darkness of Oliver’s dorm has my heart beating in my ears like a war drum pounding through my brain.
Yes. This means war. Fuck. And I love war.
I live for the adrenaline pouring through my veins.
I live for the feeling of slinking through the dark and grabbing my unsuspecting victim and finally getting some answers from Oliver.
That’s my biggest concern. He can pull the wool over everyone else’s eyes.
JJ’s. Hux’s. The psychos across campus. But me?
Yeah, that shit doesn’t fly here. There’s something underneath that no one is seeing.
Something way beyond the innocent little act Oliver uses to pull everyone into his web of bullshit.
And I’m about to find out what he’s hiding. Everything he keeps secret. Even if it kills me. Well, that’s a little dramatic. I don’t want it to kill him or me. I’ll safely find out answers so I don’t end up in fucking jail again.
“You ready for this?” I ask Rocket as we approach Simon and Oliver’s door together, trying to keep the excitement out of my voice.
He doesn’t need to know we swapped victims for a specific reason. He thinks I pulled rank. I mean, I did. I’m Franco’s adopted son. I have a way with my words to get what I want. Call me a brat, but whatever.
I still won.
He swallows hard, nodding once with nervousness radiating off him. “Yeah. I am.”
Which means he’s not. He’s never had to do this before.
None of the people who initiated have ever had to do this.
We started this in our junior year, when Franco finally forced us to recruit.
God, I kind of miss the first two years of life here at Greenwood.
We were “being selective” on who we chose to enter this hellhole.
If it wasn’t for Franco and his fury, we’d still be coasting by with no recruits and plenty of booze for ourselves.
But no, we had to fill the frat house with people who wanted in.
Or we’d be punished. So, we decided we might as well have fun while we’re doing it.
I grin, slapping him on the shoulder. “Have fun with it. Don’t hurt the kid. Got it?”
“Kid?” Rocket snorts. “He’s older than I am. Fuck.” He swipes a hand down his face and blows out a breath. “I’m really about to kidnap someone from their bed,” he murmurs more to himself.
Fuck. If he’s nervous about kidnapping someone from his bed, maybe he should rethink the Syndicate he pledged himself to. He’ll do more than kidnap someone once he graduates.
“Just watch for the punches. People tend to lurch at you when you wake them up.” I rub the side of my jaw, remembering the only other time we’ve done this.
Last year. When fucking Brutus punched the lights out of me and had me seeing stars for a solid five minutes.
That fucker. Once he realized it was me in his bedroom with zip ties and a black hood, he immediately apologized.
And it’s been all good since then. Well, as good as it can get.
Now, in round two of this shit, I have to make sure Oliver doesn’t punch me, too. Because if his small ass can take down Brutus with one punch, there’s no hope for me.
“Got it,” Rocket says, twisting the knob to their dorm room with a frown. “It’s locked.”
I blow out a breath. “Of course it’s fucking locked, moron. We live on a campus of criminals. Everyone locks their main doors.”
Rocket’s brows furrow. “Like us?”
“Duh,” I huff. “Now, use your newfound skill of lock picking and get us in there.” I gesture quickly to the lock, keeping us out of our intended victims’ rooms, and wait as he silently unlocks the door within a few seconds. “See? You’re useful,” I say, pushing him aside and stepping into the space.
Ah, what I wouldn’t give to live a normal college life with the guys in a small-ass dorm room with little food and not much space to branch out.
Sure, we have a big house. But it’s the one we grew up in.
There are so many memories there. Bad ones.
Good ones. Everything in between. It’s lame as hell, if you ask me.
I want the real experience. Something with a fresh start and no bad memories lurking behind every corner, eager to remind me of what I lost the second I agreed to move in and be under Franco’s care.
I guess the alternative wasn’t any better, considering how my brother turned out.
No matter how much I hate him, we are one and the same. But on opposite sides of the coin.
Looking around, I realize I want to live in a dorm like this.
I want to party into the night without any care and go to class without expectations on my shoulders.
I don’t want to live in some fancy-ass house where everything is catered to us.
I’d also opt out of sports and have a moment to myself.
Ugh. Why couldn’t my injury have been more serious?
Is it too much to ask for a broken ankle or something?
Then, I wouldn’t have been able to play water polo with the team, and I would have been out for the season.
Instead, it was a sprain, and my doctor advised me to stay off it to heal.
Did I? Well, I wanted to. But dear old Franco wasn’t having it.
“Should we?” Rocket says, gesturing to Simon’s room with a worried look.
“Go in there, tie his hands up, throw the sack over his head, and tell him who you are. Can’t have any of you assholes getting hurt.” I roll my eyes. “March him out of here and meet at the damn mausoleum we met at before. Easy fucking peasy.”
“You want me to wait for you?” Rocket asks nervously between me and his intended mark.
“Fuck’s sake, Rocket. This isn’t a group project.
Get your dude, and I’ll get mine.” I try to hide the smile crossing my lips when Rocket nods and slowly makes his way into Simon’s room, dragging his feet as if he doesn’t want to do this.
Whatever. I don’t give a shit what happens between them.
Even when there’s a yelp and then not a peep from either of them.
All my attention is on the broken-ass doorknob barely hanging on Oliver’s room, and the missing deadbolt.
“Fucking weird,” I mutter to myself as I push into the room and shut the door behind me.
Victory is fucking mine.
None of these rooms are supposed to have locks, anyway.
It’s a weird phenomenon at Greenwood. No dorm rooms have locks.
Only their front doors do. I don’t know how anyone is supposed to get laid or have private time without fucking locks keeping out their roommates.
I guess that’s one college experience I won’t ever feel bad about missing out on.
Sneaking through the darkness, I take in Oliver sleeping soundly on his pillow with his thick glasses perched on his button nose.
Aw. How sweet. Not. His tiny snores fill the room, and my head tilts when the smallest moans fall from his lips, filling the room with his feminine sounds.
Jesus. Christ. Maybe this is why JJ wants to suck his nuts.
Oliver smacks his lips a few times, obviously dreaming about something delicious, and then rolls onto his back with a louder snore.
The heavy comforter follows his every move, tangling around his clothed legs.
Well, thank fuck he’s actually dressed. It’s embarrassing to drag dudes out of their beds stark naked and force them to at least put on boxers.
This ritual is humiliating enough; the last thing I need to do is drag a naked guy against his will outside and into the caves. I have some decency. I guess.
But this? An unsuspecting Oliver? Fucking perfect.
“Who the fuck sleeps with glasses on?” I grumble, yanking them off his face and setting them on the desk beside his bed.
I’m an asshole, but I can take care of things.
See Mom and Dad? I’m a good boy. He doesn’t flinch when I lean over him, grinning.
“Wakey, wakey, dickbag!” I tease, grabbing his wrists and forcing them above his head and onto his pillow.
As I do, his dark green eyes pop open and settle on me with a bleary stare.
“Morning, Sunshine,” I quip, crawling on top of him and straddling his narrow hips.
Fuck he’s so damn tiny. How the hell did this stick knockout Brutus with one punch?
Whatever.
Leaning down, I press harder into his body until I’m chest to chest and eye level with him, glaring into his widened green eyes.
“Here’s how this is going to go,” I murmur, leaning down until our noses are barely touching.
“You’re going to be a good boy and let me tie your wrists behind your back, and then I’m going to throw this hood over your head.
And then, you’ll be my bitch for the night.
” I grin when he blinks at me, but there’s no ounce of fear in his eyes as he examines me.
Damn it.
“Is this for the initiation?” he asks in a scratchy voice that seems to climb an octave higher than I’m used to hearing.
“Of course it is. Do you think I’m here on my own?
” I chuckle, tightening my grip on his wrists and locking gazes with him again.
My body remains on top of his small one.
“You’re so fucking dainty,” I complain, my gaze dropping toward his chest and stomach.
“Too fucking small. You’ll have to learn how to toughen up, Davenport.
Or you’ll never make it with us. I mean, if you survive tonight.
” I grin again, taking in his heated cheeks and blank stare.
Damn it! I’m going to have to up my game a little to scare this kid. He’s not flinching. Not even with me sitting on top of him and holding his wrists hostage. Maybe I should have entered the room in a mask or something scarier. Rattling Oliver wasn’t supposed to be difficult.
“It’s not nice to make fun of someone’s weight, asshole. I may be small, but you saw what I did to Brutus,” he says in a lower voice this time.
Well, he has me there.