Page 54 of The Deceptions
I blink several times, staring at an app filled with campus events that aren’t on the regular calendar.
“Who is throwing it? And what is that?”
“Oh! The SlamApp. You need it immediately. Not only is there juicy gossip to read, but there’s events. Like this…” he trails off, pointing to an event next Friday. “If you want to feast your eyes on the campus elite going at it with their fists in each other’s faces, this will be the place to be.” He fans himself several times, turning a pink hue.
“The Coliseum?” My heart squeezes in my chest, but I don’t show the emotions threatening to spill out of me. Ever since I stepped foot back into Greenwood, my walls are shattering, piece by piece, and displaying the feelings I’ve trapped for so long.
Simon and I march up the stairs to the second floor side by side as he continues to tell me everything I need to know. From what I can tell, there are only three stories and about fifteen suites on each floor. Who needs a tour guide when you have a Simon? Which is fine. I need to understand as much as possible before I have to pledge into an all-male frat with my three ex-best friends.
I need a damn vacation.
“I can’t wait to show you around. The Coliseum is some ancient relic in Greenwood that the boys of campus christened as their secret spot for fights. There’s even a bar there. A few dancers. It’s a paradise,” Simon gushes as we unlock our front door and step into our darkened dorm space. Silence rests around us as I eye the darkened shadows of our room. There’s no movement from my shared bedroom or Simon’s.
Good. Dane can stay as far away as he’d like. Forever.
“An old relic?” I wonder aloud, knowing exactly where and what it is.
“Oh, my sweet, sweet, naive new roomie. Prepare yourself for Friday. It’s quite the spectacle. Big guys in the ring with their shirts off and sweat on their chests,” he swoons, putting the backof his on his forehead before we part ways, going into our own living quarters.
I immediately shut the door, despite it not having a lock. It’s the semblance of privacy that finally has my shoulders sagging and my mind reeling with the night's events.
Today was a fucking day. Coming here. Seeing them. Having to pretend I’m someone I’m not. It’s a heavy weight on my shoulders. It’s a challenge I never wanted to give myself.
But here I am, working for the man who saved me, trying to bring down the pricks that ruined me. All in a day's work.
Dane's lone box he left behind taunts me from the other side of the room as I plop down onto my mattress. It remains unpacked and unmoved on his empty mattress, void of sheets and life.
Maybe this won’t be so bad, after all. If I had to room with someone who was here all the time, then I wouldn’t be able to rid myself of my disguise. It’s risky, though. There are no locks on my door. My only reprieve is the bathroom, but I can’t constantly lock myself in there when I need to unbind.
Speaking of. This damn bind hurts. My tits are screaming for air. Maybe I’ll try the tank top version tomorrow and see if it’s looser. Whatever. That’s tomorrow’s problem and I’m too tired to pull off my shirt and binder. For now, I’ll suffer and get used to it. I groan, falling back onto my small twin-sized bed with a huff, and pull out my phone, attempting to distract myself from well…everything.
SlamApp. An unofficial place for news, gossip, and unsanctioned events for Greenwood U, Greenwood, California. Must have a college-approved email to log in. Anonymous features are available.
I lick my lips, downloading the app, inputting my new college email and taking the welcome tour of whatever the app has tooffer. The first thing that pops up is the same message Simon showed me in our meeting.
Fight. Friday night. Coliseum. Come and call out your opponent on the day, or click here—Jackson Wilder.(Photos from previous fight nightsavailable here.Buy at the bar, bring your own booze, rides, and designated drivers. We’re not responsible for your blood loss or anything else.)
My heart stalls, sputtering to a stop. Heat rushes to my face, then just as quickly drains, leaving my fingers ice-cold wrapped around my phone.
Wilder? Jackson Wilder? He’s here? At this campus?
I shake my head. There’s no way. It has to be a different person. A different Jackson Wilder. Right? That’s a pretty common name. It has to be. Because if he’s here, then that psycho who likes trackers is here. My traitorous body heats. Nope. Nu-huh. I’m living in delusional land all by myself.
They aren’t here.
They can’t be.
Or it proves that I’m the unluckiest girl on the damn planet.
Deep breaths, Liv. It’s not like he’ll recognize you. You’re in disguise now, with annoying glasses, colored contacts, and strapped down boobs.
Sitting back on my bed, I get back to work scoping out the SlamApp. With my breath in my throat, I click on the photos and swipe through them. Static fills my ears at the images of the men I knew before, standing in the middle of the ring with blood dripping from their lips and ears. Vicious expressions blanket their faces, making me shiver.
What was the catalyst for their fall into the darkness? Me? Having Franco as a father? Their violence-filled lifestyle? Honestly, the possibilities are endless. But looking at their darkened eyes and bloodied flesh, they’ve come to the pointof no return. Surfacing as the men their foster father always wanted.
Brutal soldiers.
Hux AKA Huxley Crewes preens at the camera with a half-cocked smirk and his arm above his head. Tattoos cascade down his chest, arms, and abdomen. They’re everywhere. Marking him in colorful designs. Portraits. Small star shapes. Flowers. Animals. Most have been etched on him since we were teenagers. But some are new.
