“Easy, killer. I can practically smell your boner from here,” Dove said.
Gift flushed, shifting uncomfortably. “Shut up,” he managed.
“He really makes you that horny?” Payton asked, studying Park like he just didn’t get it.
Drake leaned back, dropping his gaze to Gift’s lap. “Clearly.”
Gift slapped Drake’s arm then leaned forward. “I’m a twenty-one-year-old virgin,” he whispered. “A strong wind makes me horny.”
Drake barked out a laugh that he tried to cover with a cough, earning a number of reactions from those around them. Gift gave Drake a hard stare, but it was lost on him. He couldn’t care less about Gift’s embarrassment. Literally.
“So, are we re-enactingCSI: Las Vegasinstead of classes?” Diego asked, his expression borderline pissy.
Diego was attractive but not in an overt way. If he were cast in a movie with a love triangle, Diego would be the one everyone knew was going to lose—not because of his heart but because he was just not quite leading man pretty.
He was on the shorter side, maybe five-nine, he was slender, and had angular features that Gift thought made him look like a fox—the animal kind. He had hazel eyes and wavy hair the same mahogany color as the wooden bookcases. He wore his uniform with his tie too loose and his pants too low and his long hair fastened on top of his head in a style that was somewhere between Japanese samurai and hippy man-bun.
“I’m afraid not,” Archer said. “You will be expected to attend classes during the day. This will be homework.”
More groans.
Gift continued to stare at Diego. Their interactions were limited, but Gift thought he seemed okay. His sarcasm and skepticism made him the perfect counterpart for Persephone. She was beautiful, but she was cold-blooded. If Gift was being honest, everybody in the school was beautiful.
When he’d brought it up, Payton had just laughed. Dove had said it was pretty privilege. When Gift had asked what she meant, she said pretty people got away with anything, even murder. The world just couldn’t fathom rich, beautiful people doing unspeakable things, no matter how much history had proven otherwise. It was just one more layer of protection to a cover that was already coated in Teflon.
“Only this place would make murdering some poor bastard homework,” Moses quipped, his South African accent pleasantly lilting.
“Watch your language,” Kendrick snapped, leveling a glare at Moses.
Moses sat up straighter in his seat, tilting his head to level an empty stare at Kendrick.
“Kendrick keeps talking shit to Mos, I’m not sure he’s going to make it out of here,” Dove whispered. “I heard he once beat a teacher near to death with a baseball bat for giving him an A- on a test.”
“I heard he ran her car off the road,” Remi whispered back.
Moses Okeke—Mos to his friends, if he had any—was named after his adopted father, an international arms dealer. Raised in one of the wealthiest families in Johannesburg, Mos carried himself as exactly what he was: the heir to a billion dollar dynasty, and he expected the world to act accordingly.
But he wasn’t just arrogant, he was fastidious. He wore the school uniform exactly as the handbook stated. He shined his thousand dollar shoes nightly, then placed them in a perfect line exactly one inch apart. He wore his hair shorn almost down to the scalp. His eyes were so deep brown you couldn’t tell where his irises ended and his pupils began. His skin was such a deep, rich obsidian it seemed to absorb the light around him, making Gift feel like he was in the presence of a God.
But not a benevolent one.
According to Payton, Mos was the worst of them. At least, the worst of Peregrin Pod. His handler, Lennon, said he color coded his clothes, used gloves when he ate, and would only sleep in absolute silence without earplugs.
Almost as if she could hear Gift’s thoughts, Dove leaned in, her hair brushing his shoulder. “There’s a rumor that during the first week of school, Lennon left an apple core on his side table. They say he found it on his pillow beside his head, stabbed through with a knife.”
“I heard Mos was just sitting on his bed, staring. Waiting for him to wake up,” Payton said.
“Creepy,” Remi whispered, staring in Mos’s direction, gasping audibly when he looked back.
“But it was just a rumor,” Gift recalled.
There were a lot of those at the Watch.
About all of them.
“After final classes, you’ll meet in the Peregrine Pod library where you’ll receive your case and the evidence you’ll need to start your investigation. You will receive no help from your instructors. This one is entirely on you,” Kendrick intoned, as if this was a matter of grave importance.
Gift didn’t know who he was trying to persuade. The handlers? They all knew their jobs were only as secure as the asset assigned to them.
