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When I saw Droga’s teary gaze follow her around the Deene campus, I realized he’d become like everyone else—he’d turned his back on me for some pussy.
Asking her out wasn’t exactly what a best friend should do. But hell, I thought Droga would understand she was just another pretty face.
But his loyalties didn’t just shift. He made me a laughingstock the night he took her to his place. It didn’t matter that I found out later he didn’t touch her. He chose a girl over a brother, and for that, I will endlessly fuck with him and that little mouse of his.
The night ride from the Eastside after raiding the Outcasts lacks the excitement I thought I’d feel after teaching Droga a lesson.
I feel his girl’s gaze on me the entire boat ride. No fucks given. She is just a lure.
The other one, Katura Ortiz, has secrets of her own. Everyone on this island does.
Upon our arrival to the Westside, I give my orders to the security team and dismiss them as I jump on my MTT Streetfighter and zoom toward my crib on top of the hill. The superbike is designed to go 250 miles an hour. On this island, there are no smooth roads to do even half that speed.
Shit is getting boring.
Livingis boring.
A burst of speed is refreshing but too short as I pull up to Cliff Villa only two minutes later.
I can’t see the ocean down below at night—the constant reminder that we are locked up on this island. Everyone thinks I imprisoned them. Yeah, well, my fortune doesn’t let me leave this shit paradise either. In theory, I could. In reality, Gen-Alpha Project is like a bag of stones that sank me two years ago and keeps me here. Or my father does.
I didn’t say anything to the two girls when we parted. The guards will take them to the bungalow they will be staying at. At least until Droga gets here.
Yeah, he’ll come running here soon.
Qi Shan sits at the gazebo by my villa entrance with a cocktail in his hand, his feet crossed up on the railing.
“Raiding the Eastside now?” He smirks drunkenly, glancing at the two armed guys on night patrol who veer past the villa gates and carry on.
“Getting back what’s mine,” I say, tossing him the usual answer. I don’t need to explain my reasons to anyone.
Qi Shan gives a barely audible snort.
Fuck off.
I see their glances every day. No one likes authority. But you can’t run an island amidst the world lockdown unless you have security and patrol, and—when it comes to it—cracking the whip once in a while.
“Did you want something?” I ask Qi Shan over my shoulder as I walk up to the entrance door.
He shrugs. “A bad night, huh?”
We used to hang out. Do things. Discuss shit.
It all got old.
Recently, I mostly want to be alone.
So, I don’t play the courtesy game but walk right into the house and to the bar where I make myself a drink.
“Corlo, dim the lights, office on,” I say to the voice-controlled virtual assistant as I walk toward my office.
I press my thumb to the fingerprint scanner on the door lock and walk in, the multiple computer screens already illuminating the cool dark space with a soft glow. No windows. Soundproof. This is my personal anechoic chamber.
I sink in the chair by the desk and open my phone to check the cameras around my villa just in case. Paranoia is getting the best of me lately, with all the surveillance disruption and all.
There are cameras in every corner of the Ayana Resort, Port Mrei—the town up north, and all around the island. There are several blind spots, including the Ashlands, just outside town where Savages, lowlifes, and homeless congregate, and Bishop’s bungalow up on the mountain—the guy is private as hell, but he has his reasons, and we have an agreement. The cameras inside the resort area are turned off for privacy. Except for emergency situations.
Privacy… The word makes me snort.
