Page 80 of The Deceptions
"Jesus," Mack says, slack-jawed. "You let that tiny fucker push you against the wall?" He shakes his head. "Why didn't you just hit the bastard? Not like Franco would fucking care. We rule this goddamn place, dude. You can beat whoever you fucking want without consequence.”
“What, like you do?” I grumble, earning another glare and scoff.
Mack has a bad habit of throwing punches, or getting other people to do it for him, like hired hands. He’s reckless. Violence lives in his veins, feeding him whatever it is that he’s been lacking since Olivia left us. I guess that’s why we created the fights at the Coliseum so Hux and Mack could punch away their frustrations without repercussions. Not that there are any for us. With Franco practically owning the administration and college, we’re invincible. At least, that’s what Mack thinks.
"New. Recruit." Hux emphasizes with force. "Besides, I can't fucking go around hitting everyone I want to. That’s what the Coliseum is for. Franco may have the administrators and the Dean in his fucking pocket." And bed. But we don't dare talk about that. "The kid could have pressed charges. Or some bullshit. The last thing I fucking need is Franco on my ass." More than it already is--are the words he's not adding. “There’ssomething about this asshole, okay? We just need to keep an eye on him.”
Hux is Franco's golden child. He holds him on a pedestal despite not being blood-related. In fact, none of us are blood related. We're foster brothers, raised in the same home by the same sadistic man who brought us up in his likeness. If he couldn't have his own children, he chose us carefully to continue his legacy—just the three of us, though. He saw something inside us.
Especially Hux.
"Then the new asshole obviously doesn't know how shit works around campus." Mack grins. "We're the fucking kings. Now, prove it to the little fucker. I could probably snap him like a goddamn twig." He snaps his fingers for dramatic effect. “We have a reputation to uphold. Those other little fuckers on the strip think they can swoop in and become us. Pfft. They got a shitstorm coming for them.”
Hux rolls his eyes toward the ceiling with a huff. "Don't fuck with him, Mack. Or anyone, for that matter. I swear to fucking God." Hux's gaze narrows on Mack, who loves tormenting people around campus with cruel practical jokes.
"You're a buzzkill," Mack fake pouts, crushing his empty water bottle. "Now, let's go beat the shit out of each other." He grins again like he wasn’t complaining about jogging five miles and having practices soon.
"Just the goddamn bag," Hux grumbles. "If you want to participate in the fights in a few days, then you have to fucking chill." He points a finger at Mack, who recklessly shrugs.
"Whatever you say, Huxley." Mack grins, shoulder-checking him as he passes by, heading toward the basement with pep in his step. Obviously, the thought of throwing a few punches has Olivia’s headstone out of his mind. For now.
We’ll punish whoever dared to put their hands on what was ours. She may be dead, but we’ll protect her memory until our last breaths. Then, we’ll join her in eternity and cement our love for one another.
"He's getting goddamn worse by the second," Hux says in a low voice. "He's going to..." He shakes his head, running his fingers through his hair.
"Fuck someone up? Kill someone?" I suggest replaying the video. I watch with fascination again at the man on screen, pushing Hux around easily. It's almost as if Hux let him corner him. But why? Hux isn’t the type to back down from a fight. Sure, he doesn’t throw punches like Mack tends to do, but he’ll show the other person who is boss.
"Amanda needs to fucking go," he says in a low voice, fingering the necklace beneath his shirt with a sigh. “We need to find out who the fuck did that to Liv’s grave.” He swallows hard, averting his eyes. “And we need to find a way to get out of this shit hole town before the wedding in May. We need a lot of fucking shit to go right for us.”
"I'm working on it." I side-eye him. "There has to be a loophole somewhere. And I’ll try to find the graveyard feed."
"If I have to marry her, I'm going to end up throwing her out a window before we walk down the aisle." He stands, pushing the stool with a loud squeak behind him with an agitated huff. "Now, I'm going to vent my goddamn frustrations and try not to kill my best friend.” He takes a few steps before coming to a stop and looking over his shoulder. “His name is Oliver Davenport. Transfer student. Scholarship student.” He raises a brow. “You know what we need to do.” He cocks his head until I nod.
“Of course.” Keep our eyes on him at all times.
Because if there’s one thing about scholarship students, they tend to disappear. Either by quitting mid-year or disappearing into the ether. It’s something we haven’t quite figured out yet.It’s been happening for two years now. One by one, they get picked off until graduation happens, and there are only ten of them left.
But why this one? Why is he so insistent that this scholarship student gets our attention and access into our clubhouse? If he were here, he’d be a little safer. But that’s it.
Hux walks away, down the stairs with heavy steps, and heads into the gym. I can tell the moment he starts pounding his fists into the bag, because his loud thunks echo through the house, followed by Mack’s hooting and hollering. They may butt heads more than they get along, but they have a bond for life. We’re all practically brothers.
Oliver Davenport.
I cock my head when I break into his digital records, meticulously going through his past credentials.
“Online college,” I mutter to myself, googling the name of the school. “Northridge University Online.” I cock my head when one official website pops up. To the naked eye, it looks legitimate. But to the trained eye, it’s a facade. Everything about it is fake. Starting with the stock photos representing the students to the address listed at the bottom, which leads me to an empty warehouse somewhere in East Point Bluff, California.
What else can I find out about Oliver Davenport?
No social media presence. That makes him even more suspicious. False social security number, matching to a Derek Vaughn who passed away in the 1980s, in Fresno. In addition to the false college site, I also found falsified high school records. Apparently, his only living relative is an uncle named Jonathan Davenport, residing right here in Greenwood, California.
I look toward the stairs where Hux and Mack continually grunt and punch, beating their frustrations out. I could march down there and tell them everything I’ve found. But what’s the fun in that? Besides, I need to do my own investigating on thesubject. I brush my hand through Waffles’ fur as he comes to lie beside me with a groan, eager to sleep off the five miles Mack ran.
What are the odds that a new scholarship student shows up in their senior year with false records and a vague background? Slim to fucking none. This Oliver guy could be dangerous for us all, but throwing Hux and Mack into the mix is a deadly combination. So, I’ll keep my eye on him, watching his every move until I can decide what he really came here for.
Because it’s certainly not for an education.
With that in mind, I pull up the surveillance feed from the cemetery, going over the footage. An SUV carrying two occupants pulls through the small gravel roads, traveling slowly until they come to a stop near Olivia’s grave.
