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We round the corner of one of the walled rose gardens that dot the campus and almost plow right into a tall, gorgeous guy with dark hair, blue eyes, and tanned Italian skin.
“Hi, Dante,” Giorgiana purrs almost immediately, batting her eyes and sticking both her ass and her tits out of alignment as she cocks a hip.
“Giorgiana,” Dante growls, almost without looking at her, not slowing as he continues on toward one of the academic buildings.
“Masterfully played,” Christina giggles.
Giorgiana pouts and waves her off. “What? Can’t hurt to try.”
Dante Sartorre, a close associate of the Barone Mafia family, is head of The Ouroboros Society. Except he doesn’t seem to be looking for any one-on-one invitational conversations, unlike Ansel.
“Nah,” Demi shrugs. “I think he’s fucking Layla Black.”
Giorgiana frowns and shakes her head. “No, I think they’re just friends. Besides, Layla is totally screwing that sketchy townie guy Jason.”
“Eww, gross.” Christina makes a face. “Isn’t he a drug dealer?”
Demi shakes her head. “Someone should tell her brothers. Gabriel would totally kick that guy’s ass.”
Giorgiana snorts. “Yeah, and then her psycho adopted brother would stab him or, like, eat his heart or something.”
Layla’s two brothers, Gabriel and Alistair Black, are the heads of two other student clubs: Para Bellum and The Reckless, respectively. I don’t really know either of them, but Gabriel’s got a reputation as a hero type, and Alistair as a little unhinged.
“Anyway, I need to run to stats class,” Christina sighs. “Catch you bitches later.”
Giorgiana laughs and flips her off. “I have to run, too.”
“Same,” Demi sighs, giving me a glum look. “Ugh, please get Ansel to invite me to the meeting next week? I mean, he clearly wants you. So, like, blow him or something? For me?”
I roll my eyes, feeling my face heat as she giggles. “I’ll see what I can do.”
The three of them head toward their classes. But I’ve got a free period, so I turn and make my way to the huge, almost Medieval looking library across campus.
It’s nice out, so I take the long way through some of the rose gardens. I’m near the stables when I pause, hearing the unmistakable sound of fighting.
Fists hitting flesh. Grunts. An occasional groan of pain. Then I hear cheering that really sounds more like jeering, followed by a final fist-on-flesh sound.
Six guys emerge from behind the stables. I quickly hide in the shadows as one of them turns and spits in the direction they just came from.
“That’s for my uncle, motherfucker,” the guy snarls. “Tell your father, if he goes after him again, I’ll cut off your fucking balls.”
The six of them walk away laughing and clapping each other on the back. And then, my curiosity gets the better of me.
Slowly, I make my way around the corner of the stables. I freeze, my hand flying to my mouth when I see the man half kneeling on the ground, his back to me, his clothes torn, and his dark blonde hair disheveled.
He gets to his feet, grunting and turning to spit blood into the dirt. And it’s then that I realize who he is, though we’ve never actually met.
“Are you okay?”
He doesn’t jump or whirl. Rather, he slowly turns to face me.
A shiver creeps up my spine.
There’s something almost insidiously beautiful about Alistair Black. The grim set of his chiseled jaw. The glinting malevolence in his sharp blue eyes. The air of power and dark energy that radiates from him, pulling me in like a moth to its fiery doom.
“I’m fine,” he grunts, cracking his neck and rolling his shoulders. He turns to spit blood again.
“What the hell happened to you?”
