Page 20 of Ruthless Raiders

Conner’s been attractive since we were kids. That hasn’t changed. Loosely curled chestnut-brown hair that always falls too perfectly over his forehead, lean build that looks deceptively soft—until you see him shirtless. Then it’s all sharp edges and carved muscle, like someone engineered him in a lab at 2% body fat.

Harder than a fucking wall of China.

And I’d know. Because once, when I was twelve, my father drop-kicked me into it.

I clear my throat, and place the folder onto the table. “ Hey I need a favor.”

“No, you’re an arsehole.”

“Fuck off.” I snort, a small chuckle leaves my lips just as he ties the string around his tool sleeve.

“Gladly.”

“Kilgore,” I snarl. “Tomorrow Jasmine Rivera will be in your class.”

“I am not traumatizing someone because they will not fuck you, Lan.” He lazily drawls, giving me a bored look.

I roll my eyes. “It’s not that. She’s the girl I’m assigned to protect.”

Conner’s eyebrows lift a millimeter.

“She’s the reason I’ve been running around on a leash. The Raiders are breaking off from the Italians, signing a deal with the Cartel. And I’m the babysitter until that deal is solidified.”

Conner lets out a slow, unimpressed breath and goes back to sorting his kit into his larger briefcase.

“She’s sharp. Smart mouth on her,” I mutter, more to myself than to him. “Pisses me off daily. You’d hate her.”

Conner finally looks up, eyes like polished glass. He doesn’t laugh. Doesn’t smirk.

“Fine,” he huffs. “I will watch her, if you leave. I need quiet to dismember this body, and your voice is fucking up the rhythm.”

I raise my hands in surrender. “Fine, just do me the favor.”

“Fine, now go. I’m not you,” he mutters, turning back to the table. “I don’t need an audience.”

I watch him for another second, then turn and head for the stairs.

“Burn those clothes,” he calls after me, just as the sound of a chainsaw rings through the room.

I nod, already knowing the drill. I slip out through the maintenance grate and emerge into a narrow alleyway off Midtown—rain-soaked, neon-lit, cluttered with late-night trash and the low murmur of a city that never gives a fuck.

My phone buzzes in my pocket the moment I hit the street.

Twelve missed messages.

Peach:Where are you

Peach:You said to wait for you, and I am BORED!

Peach:Are you dead or just being a dick?

Peach:Hello??? Earth to the worst stalker ever!

Peach:Landon, you suck!

Awe, my peach got bored without me around. I scroll down and spot the notification from the tracker.

[ALERT: Peach has exited the Haven Towers complex — 4 hours ago.]