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Screeeee.
Five chairs scraped across the concrete. The crashers dropped their seats between us and plopped down.
Legend’s left brow twitched—sign of something the mortals rarely got to see. Legend St. James shedding that manicured, high-browed personality for the true man beneath.
And it’s an arousing sight. Worth bringing out for sure.
“You clearly want our attention,” I said. “Why don’t you get to the point and tell us why you’re in my school?”
“Thought you’d know by now.” Green Guy kicked back in his seat. “Looked us up down to our blood type and birth weight.”
“You overestimate your importance. Going forward, you should rate it on the level of the piece of lint I found tangled in my pubes yesterday.”
They howled, smacking the table.
“Roan Banks,” Green Guy said. “So, you’re the funny guy, and son of the dean. Let me continue the introductions. I’m Jeremy Ellis.” He pointed across to the guy sandwiched between Legend and Jacques. “That’s my brother, Micah.”
My brow lifted just a fraction. Damn. Maybe I shouldn’t have dismissed these guys so quickly.
Jeremy was handsome—now that I was bothering to look at him. The green hair worked with his blue, swimmable eyes, angular cheekbones, and the raven flying on his neck. He had a rich biker look going on. Leather jacket partially concealed a screamingly expensive watch. But his brother, Micah...
Micah’s long, dark hair was as inky as nature intended. It fell in soft curls to his shoulders and wrapped around his fingers when he brushed it back. His full, pouty lips weren’t made for sneering, and contempt didn’t sit well in his big, maroon eyes. Micah Ellis was too pretty to look mean.
I raked him up and down. Very, very pretty.
Micah caught me looking on the way up. Flashing him a small grin, I winked.
He pulled a face, looking around like I must’ve meant that for someone else.
“That’s Gael Stoll,” he continued, pointing out a burly guy with little hair on top but plenty on his arms. “Jonah Hayes.”
A blond guy in a leather bomber jacket and shades saluted us.
“And Bentley Levine,” Jeremy finished out.
The last guy rivaled Jacques in height, and almost in looks with the glasses he was rocking. Their similarities ended at the lack of beard and the nasty glare he was giving us.
“We’re from Hunter’s Crest,” Jeremy said, “where they call us the Crows. We transferred in at the start of the semester, but took our time getting to know everything, and everyone.” He leaned back in his seat, spreading out his hands. “You five run this whole town like you’re bangers and this is your turf. Everyone is too afraid to do anything about it because of your mommies and daddies.”
The guys didn’t say anything. They didn’t pause eating their food either. Jeremy was the equivalent of elevator music, and even I was about to change the tune.
“I know, I know,” he sang. “These jokers are interrupting your breakfast to tell you what you already know. So, here’s the point: thank you.”
Cairo dipped a napkin in his water, using it to clean blood off his knuckles.
“Seriously, thank you for all the work you’ve put in with these people. Fuck knows it’s easier to take over the masses when they’re already lying on their backs with their bellies exposed.” Jeremy’s tone changed. “This is our town now, Bedlam Boys, so take my advice and accept defeat before you start the war. This is one fight you can’t win.”
Hands returned to pristine, Cairo snapped his fingers. “You guys,” he said, pointing to a table with half the football team. “Escort these gentlemen out of here.”
“Wha— Hey!” Jeremy shot up, drawing his knife on the advancing linebackers. “Back the fuck off!”
“You see, Jeremy?” Bentley said. “These guys are stupid. A waste of our time. Here we are dangling it in their faces, and they’re too dumb to ask. Don’t you want to know why we’re certain this dump we’ll be ours?”
“Because you’re with Foundry,” Arsenio stated.
Their smiles wiped away.
Sighing, Jacques pushed his glasses up his nose. “Jeremy and Micah Ellis, son of Steven Ellis. Your father made his millions playing the stock market. He was on the short list of people we suspected of silently, and financially, backing Foundry. We’ve been unable to hack the company records to confirm it, but you’ve just done that for us.”
“Foundry’s been buying property all over Bedlam,” Jacques took over. “It started with the fifty acres out by Westchester Drumlins. Foundry tried to petition to build a factory out there, banging on that it would bring in jobs and enrich the community.”
“Town hall rejected you,” Legend said, “and Foundry retaliated by coming hard at farmers, pensioners, and anyone hard up with above-market offers on their homes and property.”
“You’re carving up Bedlam piece by piece,” Cairo threw in. Their eyes ping-ponged between us. “Word is you’re taking the next vote straight to the people. You need fifty-one percent of eligible voters to back the creation of a brand-new town—independent from Bedlam. And how fortunate you’ll have the land, homes, and conveniences for your new citizens to move right in.”
