Page 68 of Blackwood

Have a drink. Flash that grin.

Let them think they’ll ever win.

But tell that quarterback to watch his hands,

Or I’ll burn down the Wolves and all their plans.

One wrong move, one second too slow,

And he’ll learn what it means when I let go.

“He still messaging you?” Knox says sneaking up behind me.

I jump, click my phone screen off, and whip around. “Jesus, Knox. Get a bell. Don’t sneak up on people like that.”

“I’ll take that as a yes. Any luck figuring out who this Luca douche is?”

“No, she’s on the struggle bus,” Ellie blurts from across the bathroom. “She stayed up half the night trying to crack it. No luck. This guy’s good. Like total Ze—”

“Ellie,” Haley cuts in, voice sharp.

“No, it’s okay,” I say. “I can’t be afraid to say his name forever.” I exhale. “And yeah, Knox. She’s right. No luck. Not even a breadcrumb.”

“You want me to take a stab at it?” he offers, already pulling out his phone.

“You can try,” I say shrugging. “But I’ve already run it through our entire server. Used every tool we’ve got, even Laing’s arsenal. Nothing. It’s like this Luca guy’s a ghost.”

Ellie’s phone rings. She groans, answers. “Yes, Cal. We’re on our way. Calm the fuck down.”

She hangs up with a dramatic sigh. “Boys. Zero chill. Come on, bitches, we gotta go.”

♥♥♥

Carrington Row is already thumping by the time we pull up. Latin beats pulse through the marble entrance. Bodies everywhere, glittering lights bouncing off glass, sweat, and too many tequila shots. This isn’t your average frat party, it’s Wexley elite. Cinco de Mayo, Carrington Row style, and we’re the main event.

Ellie shimmers in hot pink trimmed with gold, her curves hugged like a second skin. Her curls bouncing around her shoulders like she just stepped out of a Vogue shoot in Havana.

Haley is a weapon in deep teal, strappy mesh bodysuit, glitter flashing at her collarbones, and a ponytail that cracks like a whip every time she turns.

I’m in deep purple, wet velvet under the strobes, skin-baring cutouts, plunging neckline and rhinestoned fabric clinging like it’s been painted on my curves.

We match without matching. A statement. A Rico masterpiece. One look and the crowd knows that we didn’t come to play. We came to conquer.

“Let’s make it quick,” Haley mutters, smoothing her hips. “Dance, slay, tequila. In that order.”

We move toward the stage and get in to position behind the curtain. The lights dim. A low whistle slices through the noise, followed by Knox’s voice blaring through the speakers like he owns the goddamn city.

“Yo, yo, yo—welcome to the fuckin’ Row!”

The crowd erupts. Drinks slosh. Someone yellsTrifectabefore we’ve even hit the floor.

Knox keeps going, hyped as hell from the DJ booth. “Y’all didn’t think we’d throw a Cinco de Mayo party without a little heat, right?”

He lets it breathe for a second, the beat crawling in like tension before a kiss. “Alright, Wexley, hope you’re ready to lose your damn minds. Straight from the heart of this savage little kingdom… give it up for the one, the only, The Trifecta!”

Ellie peeks out from behind the curtain and mouths,Oh my god, he’s so dramatic,just before Knox’s voice booms again.

“First up is the sweetheart of the group, our little chaos in pink,Ellie Whitmore!”