Reed ended up breaking my nose during the ensuing brawl. It wasn’t the first time, and it definitely won’t be the last fight we’ll ever have.
The server at the counter greets us with a bubbly smile, her blond ponytail swaying. “What can I get for you guys tonight?”
“I'll take a large meatball sub, extra cheese and peppers,” I say, my mouth watering. “And my friend here will have. . .”
“Make that two large meatball subs, extra cheese.” Raiyne grins, rubbing his stomach.
Ten minutes later, walking across the parking lot, our food in hand and the warm scent of melted cheese wafting up from thebags, my footsteps falter at the sight of the five figures standing in front of us, dressed head to toe in black.
Jackson fucking Reed and his four friends.
If there's one group of people I hate more than anything, it's this one. Entitled rich assholes, with a healthy dose of psychosis to boot. They rival the Serpents in almost every way, except for one key difference—wealth. Not that anyone at our school is poor, but none of us are in the top point-five-percent of rich families the way these spawns of Satan are.
“What the fuck do you want?” Raiyne snarls, his voice dripping with venom.
“Just your friendly welcoming party.” Jackson’s gaze bounces from Raiyne to me, his light green eyes as intense as touching a bare wire. “Did you buy me dinner too?”
“Eat shit.”
He just snorts, dismissing my weak comeback with a wave of his hand.
Jackson runs his hands through his wavy chestnut hair, and I turn my eyes from him to his teammate, who’s bouncing on his toes like a deranged jackrabbit, a crystalline mask decorated like a demon nun—complete with an upside down cross—covering his face.
Viktor Novotny.
He, along with Connor Walsh and Zach Knight, are on a whole other level of dangerous compared to Jackson and Alexei Petrov.
I turn back to Jackson, my jaw clenched so tightly my teeth grind together. “Leave it for the games, asshole.”
“Uh . . . no.” He smirks, his eyes glinting with malice.
“So what? We’re going to fight in the parking lot with cameras all around? Thought you were smarter than that.”
Novotny chuckles behind his mask, the sinister sound sending a chill down my spine.
Jackson steps closer, invading my personal space. “Figured a celebratory hunt was in order. Thought you Serpents would appreciate the irony.”
Fuck.
Raiyne's lips curl into an evil half-smile as his eyes glitter. Of course he'd like the idea. But I don't.
The Serpents hunt a different kind of prey, ones we've made sure deserve it. Because they don't walk out alive. I hardly participate—only when the victim has committed some atrocity that I'm truly passionate about punishing them for.
“Guess you two should start running.” Petrov clenches and unclenches his fists, the veins in his forearms bulging. “Five, four—”
Jackson's smile turns wolfish, his gleaming white teeth bared. “Three, two—”
God fucking dammit.
Raiyne drops his food, bending at the knees like he's about to take off sprinting.
“Reed, cut the shit. Now.”
“Better run, bitch.” His lips peel back into a snarl. “One.”
I spin on my heels and take off running through the parking lot as fast as my legs will carry me, Raiyne to my left, matching me stride for stride.
“These fuckers are crazy.” My teammate sounds both pissed and intrigued. “Can’t believe they ruined dinner. I was really looking forward to that sandwich.”
