He shrugs. “C gave me a mechanical pencil and fucking graph paper. Said Anvil wanted to know how I would stage things if I were planning it.”
By his appearance and manner, you wouldn’t guess War’s potential as a strategist. He looks like a guy who only steps out of the gym long enough to kick people’s asses on enforcing gigs. But Connor, C Crue’s leader, has been grooming him for bigger things, and C doesn’t waste time on lost causes.
After grabbing my computer, I drop onto the couch next to him.
War pops his knuckles. “Frats have used the Ruins for parties they don’t want associated with their own houses. And yet, they still get raided. I looked into why that happened so it won’t when we’re there.”
My eyes skim over the marked-up floor plans and photos in our shared, encrypted folder. “Noise?”
“You’d think, but it’s set pretty far back on the property. Well away from surrounding houses. Still, we’ll cover the walls with packing foam to muffle the noise.” He taps the screen, indicating areas for sound-proofing. “I checked last year’s newspapers. Turns out online chatter and light pollution were the key tip-offs. People posted photos of themselves, and police started combing the area until they spotted signs of life where there shouldn't have been.”
“Typical,” I scoff. Choosing a clandestine location and then fucking things up by outing themselves digitally.
War makes a dismissive hand gesture. “Last night, Killian and I covered the street-facing windows with blackout film. And we’re gonna have jammers to keep people from fucking live-streaming themselves.”
“How is the DJ gonna spin? His equipment is wireless.”
“Not tomorrow night.” War smiles. “We’re using cable fibers. Killian said you guys could hijack a feed.”
I nod, thinking through what that will require. “Yeah, we can do it. Power?”
“Portable generators.” He taps the screen again. “Already on site.”
I point at one of the skull-and-crossbones symbols marking different points on the schematics. “What are these?”
“Muscle.” War makes a dismissive hand gesture. “C’s sending two truckloads of Crue to help keep the peace in case we need it. Seven guys, not counting us. But those hardcore Crue guys are used to pulling their weapons immediately when there’s trouble, and we can’t have gunfire flying inside the mansion. If some rich college kid catches a bullet, all hell will break loose.”
Smothering a smile over the fact that War’s implying that anyone other than a rich college kid getting shot wouldn’t cause problems the Crue couldn’t handle. It’s also funny that War talks about students like they’re another species, when in fact, we’re GU students ourselves.
War flicks a finger at a skull marker. “I’m putting them outside on the perimeter to stop any local bangers with thoughts of crashing. You and I will handle anything that goes down in the house.”
“Sounds right.” My eyes rove over the screen.
War rises, stretching. The stitches in his thigh must pull because he scowls down at his leg.
Taking his standing as a signal the conversation’s over, I close my laptop. “By the way, Sawyer’s gonna be here tonight.” I nod toward the stairs. “I’ll use the first floor bedroom in case things get noisy.”
He shrugs. “Like I give a fuck about that kind of noise. You do need to lock her down when you go to sleep, though. ‘Cause if she snoops where she shouldn’t, I’ll kill her rather than report to the bosses that we’ve had another pussy breach of our pad’s secrets.”
I scowl. The thought of anyone hurting Sawyer causes adrenaline and testosterone to pour into my blood. My muscles contract reflexively. Yeah, no one’s touching her. Which isn’t to say I don’t understand War’s concerns. Pressing my lips into a thin line, I frown more deeply. This time I’m angry at myself. Cranberry Sauce isn’t my girlfriend. If she doesn’t behave herself, by rights, she should be subject to the consequences.
My pulse, however, registers a sustained objection. “She won’t get into trouble, War. Everything’s under lock. Same as when we’ve had girls here in the past.”
“Whatever. My warning’s on record.” He walks away but pauses halfway to the hall. “Speaking of that, neither she or your cousin are welcome at the rave. No distractions while we’re working.”
“Agreed. Killian’s girlfriend should stay home, too.”
“Killian’s preoccupied with her whether she’s in the fucking room or not. I’ll let him make up his own mind where he wants her.” War inclines his head to emphasize what he says next. “Besides, Killian’s girl knows better than to misbehave. Being chained up makes an impression.”
15
SAWYER
The boutique I visit with Ash carries high fashion vintage clothing that makes my mouth water. There’s a black 1990’s Chanel cocktail dress with signature fringe that would be perfect for the Briar Club mixer. The excitement I feel when I realize it’s in my size is quickly dashed when I learn that, at 1800 dollars, it’s way out of my price range.
Ash wrinkles her nose from across the aisle. “Plain black?”
“Chanel. Always a classic.”
