Page 51 of Save Me
I head straight for the fridge, grab a couple of bottles of water and toss one to Quen. He catches it without looking, his reflexes never dulled even when he’s this deep in his head.
“You think she’ll be okay?” I ask after taking a long swig from my bottle.
Quentin pops the cap off his own and takes a gulp before answering. “She’s tough. You should’ve seen her this morning. Adam is teaching her how to fight. I sparred with her. She’s got fire.”
I nod. “Come on, we’d better find Cal and Thayer. See what they’re up to with organising an event that will rock Crestmont to its fucking core.”
We scoop up the keys and head out, leaving the cars for now as we cross over the road and onto the Crestmont campus.
We find Callum and Thayer in the café, logged into their laptops. Their focus is so intense that the clatter of cups and the low rumble of conversations around us don’t even register on their radar.
“Hey,” I call out, dropping into a chair across from them, the sound of my voice finally breaking through their concentration.
Cal’s eyes flicker up, a grin tugging at his lips. “You two look like you’ve been dragged backwards through hell. Nice walk?”
Thayer snorts, not lifting his gaze from the screen. “They’re training for a marathon. Didn’t you hear? It’s the latest in mafia fitness regimes.”
Quen drops into the seat beside me, rolling his eyes. “If we’re done with the comedy routine, maybe we can get down to business?”
“Yeah, how did you two assholes get here this morning, hmm?”
They exchange a grim look.
“Exactly, so shut the fuck up and fill us in.”
“How are we meant to do both?” Cal asks with a snicker.
He’s in a weird mood. Too lively. He’s usually more brooding than this. It has me worried. But I ignore it for now and instead lean forward, resting my elbows on the table. “Talk to us. What’s going down?”
Callum closes his laptop with a decisive click. “We’ve got a plan. It’s bold, risky as all fuck, but it could work.”
Thayer finally looks up, dark eyes serious. “We’re throwing a party. Not just any party—a fucking spectacle designed to draw out any rats from their hidey-holes.”
Quen grunts in approval. “Baiting them with social chaos? I like it.”
“Yeah,” Callum affirms with a nod. “We’ll need to pull it off seamlessly, make things look irresistible.”
“And have everyone in place,” Thayer adds, “ready to strike when we spot our targets.”
I rub at my chin, feeling the stubble rasp beneath my fingers. “Alright, what’s the play then? How elaborate are we talking?”
Cal leans forward, the grin wiped clean from his face, replaced by the cold, calculating look of the mafia Earl we often forget he is. “A masked, black-tie affair, invite-only, but with enough leaks to ensure those we want to take notice do.”
Quen looks between them and then at me before a smirk plays at his lips. “Sounds like a fucking blast.”
“So, when’s this party going down?” I ask, already calculating who needs to be where and when.
“In a week” Cal replies. “That gives us enough time to plan every detail and set up the security measures we’ll need and keep Aaron happy with the timescale.”
Thayer murmurs, “It’s short enough notice to keep our enemies off balance. They won’t have time to prepare.”
I nod, feeling the weight of what we’re about to do settle on my shoulders. The conversation shifts to logistics, security details, guest lists with hidden agendas, and the coded invitations that will serve as our little Trojan horses.
We spend hours in the café until the blueprints of our masquerade are etched not only into our laptops but also into our minds. It has to be flawless because a single misstep doesn’tjust mean a bad night—it means not making it through the night at all.
19
VOGUE
