Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 94457 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 472(@200wpm)___ 378(@250wpm)___ 315(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 94457 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 472(@200wpm)___ 378(@250wpm)___ 315(@300wpm)
As soon as I step out into the hall, I pull out my phone and check the map to figure out where the hell I’m going. I make it to my afternoon class just in time, which, by some miracle, goes by without an incident.
When I finally get done for the day, all I want to do is sprint to my dorm and lock myself in. But the corridor is crowded with people trying to get into their room. Then my stomach growls, reminding me that I haven’t eaten anything since breakfast. I ignore the grumbling and use my key card to get in my room. I’ll sacrifice dinner tonight if that means I don’t have to worry about running into Quinton again.
7
QUINTON
It didn’t take me long to figure out who the blue-haired lady was. I’m not sure how the quirky woman in her late twenties ended up at this place, but something tells me she’s going to be trouble, at least where Aspen is concerned.
It was pure luck that she slipped through my fingers the other day.
I could’ve forced the librarian’s hand. It was, after all, my word against hers, and knowing who my father is and how much money he invested in this place made it certain she would shut her mouth in risk of losing her job, but something about making Aspen feel like she had escaped me added to the thrill. It heightened the stakes of the game.
It was fucked up, but fucking with her was a high I never wanted to come down from.
A knock echoes through the apartment, and I don’t bother moving off the couch to get the door. Ren is already across the room, ready to host our first gathering with a couple of other guys we know. I’ve been spending way too much time studying Aspen’s social media, which is seriously lacking. She hasn’t made a single post in months, and even before that, it was nothing I could use against her.
“I brought beer,” Nash yells as he walks through the open door.
“Thank fuck!” I shove off the couch and slide my phone into my pocket. Nash’s father is a close colleague of my father’s, but he’s not the same caliber of criminal. Except for some petty theft, the guy’s never killed or hurt anyone. No, his crimes include money laundering, fraud, and bribes. I can see why his father sent him here, though. Not only does he want him to form connections, but it’s clear that Nash needs some assistance in becoming a better criminal, which is exactly what this place is for. You can’t protect your empire if you don’t know how.
Ren closes the door, and a moment later, it opens again. Matteo comes walking in like he owns the place.
“Sure, come right in, make yourself at fucking home,” Ren says, sarcasm dripping from his voice. Matteo, who is a bear of a man, simply shrugs. He’s as tall as I am and as muscled as both Ren and I combined. He grunts and walks right past Ren.
Matteo is the son of Dick Valentine, an assassin who works for my father. Like me, I doubt he’s here for training. I don’t know anything about Matteo’s and Dick’s relationship, so I can’t say why he’s here, but his father’s been preparing him to be a trained killer since he was a kid. Nothing at this school can teach him more than his own father has.
After Ren passes me a beer, he twists the cap off his. I gladly accept it, twist the cap off, and swallow down half the beer in two gulps.
Nash plops down at the tiny dining room table, provided so kindly by the university. “Does anyone else agree the pickings for girls here are fucking slim? I thought college was supposed to be hot college coeds fucking each other. Every girl here wants to scratch my eyes out.”
“The Russian girl seems to be up for a good time,” I say between sips of beer.
“No thanks. She is batshit crazy like her mother. I’d rather jerk off than worry about her killing me in my sleep.”
Matteo shrugs, his dark gaze emotionless. “What about Aspen Mather?”
The mere mention of her name sends a shiver down my spine. I almost want her to be a secret, my secret that no one else knows about, that I get to torment and touch whenever I please.
“I wouldn’t touch that bitch if you paid me to.”
“You don’t need money, asshole, so nobody’s paying you to touch her.” I snort and take a drink of my beer, trying not to think about how territorial that statement sounded. The truth is, Aspen doesn’t mean shit to me, not in the sense that I actually care about her, but strangely enough, I don’t want anyone else interested in her either.