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“If I beat Scarlett, I get three shots at you.”
“Come again?” he questions and dares to laugh. “You can’t even fucking run. How the fuck are you going to beat Scarlett?”
“I’m very motivated right now,” I press and flaunt the black AMEX card. “See this? This metal card right here is my Ruthless Kings unlimited credit card. Meaning I have the sudden motivation to go to Leighton’s prestigious Hills District, where all the shops are, and go buy me some new Louboutins. In fact, I need one in every color.”
“Iva,” Domino groans, but Ares chuckles dangerously.
“Don’t forget you need some Jimmy Chou attire, including those new diamond heels that have been going viral lately. I think it would be nice to wear to tonight’s party,” Ares offers.
“Y-You’re not invited to the party tonight,” Jeremy argues.
“Says who?” Ares questions. “Last time I checked, Zander got the invite last week and gets to bring a date and three comrades, so I don’t see what’s wrong with that?”
“Z-Zander got invited?!” Jeremy looks fucking baffled. “Bullshit.”
“What? Can’t fathom my smart, gifted Ruthless King—who doesn’t have the time to waste on someone as uneducated or intellectual to find better remarks other than bringing up someone’s past trauma to insult them—attending a prestigious party that I can only assume are for royals and not scumbags like yourself.”
“Sh-Shut up, cunt!” he snaps at me.
“Be careful, Jeremy,” Zander surprisingly warns, his tone suddenly making everyone very apparent of the man who I realize is standing behind me. “Only Ruthless royals get to insult what’s ours, and as of now, my Dolcezza is being such a delightful Queen in proving your belittling efforts do nothing but make me laugh in my head.”
He then further leans in, his chin resting on my right shoulder as his words barely hit the air. Yet I swear everyone is straining to hear every single word he declares.
“You want to bully me for beating the fucking shit out of you in high school because you killed my pet project so I could fail? Go right ahead. Keep hating me because you’re a weak mother fucker. Insult my intelligence. My writing and speech. Mock my looks and make me out as some fool attending the same school that you only got into out of connections and not because of your poor academic skills,” he summarizes quickly before his tone drops to that baritone low. “But dare mock, insult, or even look at my Dolcezza the wrong way again, and I’ll have to remind you why no one enjoys the wrath of a Benedict.”
The way I shiver accelerates with the way Zander very lightly presses his lips to the carved mark on my right arm. It forces everyone to acknowledge it before many not only realize what exactly the mark is but how it matches his, which shows very vividly, thanks to him wearing a white tank top.
I swallow the lump forming in my throat.
“Sweet Dynamite,” Zander’s voice is suddenly high-pitched and filled with excitement. “Let’s see what you got. Hit twenty-one targets, and I’ll carry your 2K limited edition shoes all night tonight during the party if you get tired.”
I smirk at that before I look at him, then specifically at Domino.
“It’ll be the six thousand dollar limited edition ones,” I offer, making Domino’s scowl turn to a permanent glare. “Eight thousand after tax.”
He can’t say anything because I’m spinning around and heading to the counter that has all the shooting equipment.
Noticing Coach Hennessey’s eyes on me, I can’t help but ask a simple question.
“Coach? Do these targets move?”
His arms are crossed, the expression only lighting up with a hint of intrigue with my asked question.
“They do,” he admits. “Makes it a lot harder, though.”
“Do I get bonus points or anything else added to the offer if I go along with it?” I suggest.
Now he’s interested, a slight uplift in his lips proving I’m asking the right questions.
“Perfect score for this segment, three weeks off class, and you can go play hooky with one other classmate.”
Deal.
“Hooky with Zander,” I declare right away. “And I get to be excused to go shopping with Ares.”
“Fine.” The man shrugs. “Let’s see what you got, Prescott. Maybe you’ll actually run today.”
His comment triggers a bunch of talk from behind me, many either calling me crazy, cocky, or a stuck-up bitch.
