Page 129 of The Deceptions
"Then we can take them the fuck out." Murder is back on the table.
"Whoever they are."
"So, there's a possibility they're from here?" A grin spreads across my face. The need for bloodshed and murder crawls through my mind, aching to be free.
"It's a possibility. If not, I can track their license plate wherever they're from…" he trails off, watching my expression morph. "Don't get too excited," he huffs.
"And then we'll pay them a fun little visit," I chuckle, cracking my neck with anticipation.
I live for the fight—especially this one.
"Your definition of fun and mine are completely different," JJ mutters.
"You like attacking from behind firewalls and dismantling shit that way. That's your fun, Bro. I'd rather cause bleeding and the loss of life." Maybe not so much the loss of life. They can live. But I'll make them regret ever stepping foot here in Greenwood. More specifically, in this graveyard. And the best part? They won't see it coming.
JJ sighs. "Do we need to organize another fight?"
Aw, he knows me so well.
"You could have a fight set for every night of the week, and it wouldn't satisfy this..." I tap a hand over my chest. Nothing satisfies my need for revenge. Especially since Livy was taken so cruelly away from us. One second, she was here laughing, and the next... I ball my fingers into fists, throwing my beer bottle against a tree.
"Mack," JJ grits out.
"I'll send a fucking pledge to clean it up," I grunt, rolling my shoulders back.
A few of our frat brothers look in our direction, their black shirts giving them away. They understand immediately when their gazes drift toward the shards of glass lying in the grass. Oops. That's my bad. I'm not someone who believes in littering, but my rage got the best of me.
Maybe another fight so soon isn't such a bad idea.
I snap my fingers in the air as one of our frat brothers runs forward. He's still trying to prove himself to us so he can win Franco's favor in the future. Fucking sucker.
"Clean that shit up," I say, lifting my nose in the air.
"Yes, Sir." His face scrunches when he says those words, but he's a good boy, jogging off toward a trash can and dragging it forward.
"Looking for another fight, Macky?"
My shoulders tense at the sound of his voice mocking me. Malic the goddamn maniac. What the fuck is he doing here? And how did he and my brother get into the party? It's not a place for them. They're the enemy, working for some mysterious asshole who never does his own work. I don't think anyone has ever seen the guy before. Probably not even Malic, who happens to have a boner for the guy.
"Oh, if it isn't Maniac and his peon," I quip, cracking my neck. "Back to ask me for a rematch?"
It's awfully cocky of me, but whatever. Cocky and me go hand in hand. Wilder won. Malic almost beat Hux, but it was a draw. He got lucky there. Hux is aching to beat his ass again in the rematch they're going to discuss at a later date. Or, probably tonight, with the way Huxley emerges from the shadows and hustles in our direction. Where the fuck has he been? Probably hiding from Amanda.
"You mean you want to lose again?" my brother asks with a slight smirk on his stupid face. I don't know why he hates me so goddamn much, but the feeling is mutual. We used to be tight and then bam! He hated me and showed it. So, I returned the favor. Gonna hate me? Well, I’ll hate you too, big bro. "How're you at this party, anyway? Aren't you breaking the rules? You're a pariah now, Loser."
Right. Pariah status if you lose a fight. Too bad we're the ones who came up with the rules. Ha. Ha. Haaaa. The Coliseum is ours, anyway. Of course, anyone can call out anyone for a fight on the SlamApp. Or in person. Like we did with that Oliver guy. Poor idiot. I hope he learned his lesson and doesn't come sniffing around again. He's not welcome in my book.
The others might have something different to say. They were mighty impressed. But not me.
Maybe, next time, I should call him out directly.
"I invented the rules, asshole. So, no. This is my party, anyway." I spread my hands, gesturing to the raging party. No chance in hell would I walk away from this all because I lost. Besides, the partygoers are here for the three of us. Not anyone else. They want to be in our gang. Not these guys’.
"So, because you invented them, you can't stand by them?" my stupid brother asks with a cigarette between his lips. Not lit, though. He doesn't do that shit. Not anymore. He has it with him everywhere he goes. For some reason. Whatever. I don't give a shit about him. Or his stupid habits. He hates me. I hate him. Can I punch him in the face yet and make him bleed? Again?
"Oh, I stand by them for everyone else." I grin, to piss him off.
It seems to do the trick. Wilder's jaw tics. His beady eyes narrow in on me as his fingers curl into fists. That's right. Hit me. Strike me down right here in front of everyone so they can see how unfairly you fight. I'll prove to everyone that Jackson Wilder is a joke.
