Total pages in book: 136
Estimated words: 131789 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 659(@200wpm)___ 527(@250wpm)___ 439(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 131789 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 659(@200wpm)___ 527(@250wpm)___ 439(@300wpm)
“About Roger? Nothing interesting.” I glance over my shoulder. “But I did get a look at a draft police report of Casey’s accident they didn’t release to the public.”
“You hacked the police department?” he demands.
“Technically I guessed the password. Their security is shit.”
His smile evaporates and darkens into a deep scowl. “Why would you do that? That’s risky shit, bro.”
“Like you said, it’s a mystery. I don’t like unresolved questions.”
“What’d it say?” he asks.
“Not much. The investigating officer was skeptical of Casey’s story, but that was about it. Doesn’t seem like he gave it much effort, honestly.”
Fenn rises to get a drink from the mini fridge. “You’re diabolical, but I kinda like it,” he says, and tosses me a soda. “Go on, then. Let’s have it. You hacked my accounts by now, right?”
“Only a cursory background check.”
“Bullshit.” He waves toward my monitors. “I see what you do in here, and none of it is fucking cursory.”
A grin breaks free, tugging at the corners of my mouth. “Your sexting skills could use some work.”
He narrows his eyes. “Bullshit,” he says again.
“Your dick pics are decent, though. Really good use of lighting and common objects for scale.”
He brightens. “Thanks.”
“I was being sarcastic.”
“Nah, you were impressed. Don’t deny it. It’s okay—I know I have a good cock. I’m packing.” His expression brightens even more. “Please tell me you snooped into Lawson’s DMs too.”
“Oh yeah.” I shudder, because I still haven’t recovered from that trip down the hedonistic rabbit hole.
“Does he pull as many chicks as he brags about?” Fenn demands.
“Dude. You don’t even know. He’s texting like three different girls and a guy or two on any given day. I don’t know where he finds the energy.”
Fenn offers a solemn nod. “Sport fucking is a full-time job.”
I snicker.
He once again plops down on my bed. “So what’s the plan tonight? You want to go stake out Roger and find out what he’s up to?”
Tempting.
But I say, “Can’t. Got a date with Sloane.”
He snorts a laugh. “Yeah, I’m sure.”
“Really.”
Fenn almost does a spit-take of his soda, slapping his hand over his mouth until he’s swallowed. “Bad idea. You’re seriously playing with fire here.”
“So you’ve said.”
“I’m serious. We’re family now, and since I don’t know how I’d explain going home for Thanksgiving without you, I need to reiterate that Sloane is Duke’s ex. He’s killed for less.”
I grin again. “That’s half the fun, isn’t it?” Sloane’s a prize in her own right. But if I can smear it in Duke’s face, all the better.
“I admire your dedication,” Fenn says, shaking his head in resignation. “Hope she appreciates what you’re risking to get with her.”
“I still don’t get why any of you actually take that dude seriously. Just tell him to piss off.”
“I already told you, he’s capable of serious violence. It’s not worth it for me to provoke him. I don’t need the hassle, and I don’t care enough to antagonize him.”
“So you’re just cool with him thinking he runs the school?”
“He doesn’t think he runs it. He does run it,” Fenn says with a dry grin. “That’s just the way it is. It’s not like Duke just woke up one day and declared himself king of the mountain. There’s a lineage.”
Rich kids and their rituals. It’s exhausting. They fucking love a pageant.
I lean back against my chair. “This is going to be dumber than it sounds, isn’t it?”
“Back in the day, it was Duke’s brother running the show. Brett. He started the fights as something to do in the dead of winter when the campus is boring as fuck, and then monetized it by setting up bets and taking a cut off the top. Then he took a cut of everything else on campus. When he was graduating, he named a junior to take up the mantle.”
“If this ends with some Game of Thrones cousin-kisser shit, I’m out.”
“Sophomore year, Duke decided he wanted the job. But you can’t just take it. There’s rules.”
“Rules?” I swear, this school is one massive migraine.
“For Sandover leadership. Rules are, you gotta fight to a knockout. Which Duke is damn good at. So you know how that turned out.”
I tip my head. “Anyone ever challenge the Mad King’s reign?”
“A few times. They always lose. People usually give them a hard time for a while then forget about it. Duke doesn’t. He’ll pretend like all’s forgiven, but that’s only so you don’t see it coming when he sticks the knife in. There’s a reason no one crosses him. It’s not just because broken bones hurt.”
“Yeah, well. If there wasn’t any risk in rebellion, it wouldn’t be cool, am I right?”
“Listen, dude. Duke’s never gotten over losing Sloane. She’s the face that launched a thousand ships.”
“Not seeing a downside…”
Sighing, Fenn shrugs. “I’m just saying, tread lightly.”
“I’ll take it under advisement. On a related note, can you hook me up with a car to borrow for tonight? I heard Silas say he has one, right? Not sure I know him well enough to ask, though.” At Sandover, the guys are allowed to have cars—and personalized parking spots, of course—but I’ve discovered that most of them don’t bother bringing their rides to campus. They all have chauffeurs on speed dial.