Page 103 of The Deceptions

"Once is fucking enough, Liv," he grumbles, running a hand down his face. "Seems he has it out for you."

I shrug. "He might. But Hux seems to think I should join their frat."

Jordy cringes. "Be careful around them."

"You think I won't be?" I raise a brow as we weave through the crowds, spying Simon by the bar with three drinks waiting in front of him.

"They're..."

"Dead to me," I hiss. "They..." I lean in further so no one else can hear me. "Killed me, Jordy. They stood by and..." I run a finger over my throat for dramatic effect. "They're nothing to me but a fucking job. A means to an end. The quicker I get the fuck out of this town and can return to being Olivia, the fucking better.” I raise a brow to emphasize my point.

Jordy nods a few times. "Okay. I believe you." He doesn't. I can tell by the tone of his voice that he thinks I'm about to spiral down the rabbit hole and they're the center.

But I'm not.

Those three can rot in fucking Hell for what they did to me. In fact, I'm going to make sure they do. One way or another, my old besties are going to wish they had actually murdered me, because I'm about to tie them to this murder if it's the last thing I do.

“Why areyou looking at the door like that?” It’s odd to see him so frozen. Emotionless, even. Not that he shows what he’s thinking very often. But Oliver? He ruffled Malic’s feathers.

And no one ever does that.

Not me. Huxley. Macklyn. Or even that fuck JJ.

Malic only responds to our boss and his demands. He is extremely loyal like that. For good reason, I guess. The man basically pulled him from a cage and gave him purpose again. Instead of being stuck in a small hotel room, watching what he had to watch. I shudder at the thought of it all. My stomach tightens.

We all go through shit, I guess. Some more than others. What you do with that shit matters, though. Mal and I work for the big boss, recruiting new members to our cause. Slowly but surely, we’re taking this city back from its evil overlord. Nathanial Franco. Who has overstayed his welcome by at least thirty years.I don’t know who died and gave him the crown, but we’re going to snatch it off his head and wear it ourselves.

“Mal,” I say, snapping my fingers in front of his face.

Nope. Nothing. Not an ounce of recognition. Wonderful. I sigh. See? Mal doesn’t respond to me, either. And I’m his goddamn keeper. At least that’s what he says. I’m more the watchful eye that keeps him out of major situations. Like murder or assault charges. No biggie. Although, our boss could snap his fingers and free us from anything. I try not to let it escalate to that.

Malic won’t take his darkening eyes off the double doors leading out of the locker room. I’d never tell those assholes that they built something pretty cool here. Especially in this fucking town. This fighting arena with booze and plenty of money coming in from our peers, fuels us to live another miserable day. It serves its purpose. This neutral place is where we go when we want to beat the shit out of other people, make some money, or maybe make some connections.

Malic’s eyes narrow, and he purses his lips. Fuck. He’s deep in thought about something. Which is never fucking good. It means he’s plotting. It could be a death, a fight, or fucking someone.

It’s frightening.

And I don’t get scared easily.

Mal finally peels his eyes away from the door with a frown, shaking his head. “No reason,” he finally states, answering my question from five minutes ago, while humming a song under his breath as he undresses, leaving him in only a pair of gym shorts. Ready for the fight ahead. Tonight, the status of our frat balances on the edge.

If we win—everyone will flock to us. If we lose—everyone will run to Hux and his crew of idiots like they always do.

Fuck. We have to win this.

I blink several times. Just like that, he’s snapped out of whatever had him captive and moves around like his normal self.

I don’t believe him for a fucking second. It’s nothing? There’s something there. And it all has to do with the new guy who knocked out fucking Brutus. Idiot. Now, that motherfucker is going to be gunning for the scrawny kid. Probably snap him in two when he least suspects it. Great. Another murder on campus. At least this time, we’ll know who the culprit is.

The question still stands, though. Who is Oliver Davenport? Where the fuck did he come from? Transfers so late in one’s college career don't usually happen. Especially here at Greenwood U. There’s still that nagging feeling in the pit of my stomach from when we first met. He’s cagey, at best. Avoiding eye contact and tensing his muscles. Underneath his loose clothes and soft skin, he’s hiding something big.

Maybe that’s why Mal was staring after him. The man’s a human lie detector. Well, sometimes. He can sniff out a lie in a matter of seconds. Shit. I’m going to have to keep my eyes on him for a whole new reason so he doesn’t squish Oliver before we can get some answers from him.

Malic freezes again. His eyes wandering back to the damn doors. Something sparks in his eyes, and my stomach drops. Fuck! I know that face. That’s the face of determination and wanting. Shit. Is that desire?

He wants this bastard in our club.

“You want him in?” Just call me the Malic-whisperer. Sometimes I feel like I know him better than I know myself.