Across from us, Nico sat on a leather couch with his MacBook balanced on his lap and his feet propped on the cedar coffee table. He was typing fast, probably hacking into something.
“How’s our buddy Jett?” Brooks asked, rolling a joint between his fingers.
I glanced at my Rolex. “Fingers crossed he’sdead by now.”
“Hey, assholes,” Cassian announced as he returned, zipping his fly and strolling toward us. His gaze landed on me. “You couldn’t even get me a drink? Ungrateful prick. You’re welcome for the help tonight.”
I lifted my crystal tumbler in a fake toast. “You should be thanking me. You enjoy violence.” I drained the rest of the bourbon and extended the empty glass toward him. “Pour me another while you’re at it.”
He answered with a smirk and a quick flick of his middle finger before heading for the bar. “Go fuck yourself.”
I launched the glass across the room. It shattered against the back of his head with a loud crack.
Cassian didn’t even slow down, just laughed and flipped me off over his shoulder again as he kept walking.
“Did you send the video to Jett’s dad?” Nico asked without looking up from his MacBook.
“Sure did.” I shifted on the leather couch and pulled my phone from my pocket. The screen lit up when I unlocked it.
Reginald’s reply waited for me.
One word:OK.
I held up the phone so the others could see. “Nothing like fatherly love.”
Before tracking down Blair earlier tonight, I’d sent Reginald the video Nico had pulled from the library cameras. The video showed Jett spilling his mouth about the Night Sons like a drunk idiot begging to be killed.
Reginald, an Elder Night Son, understood the rules.
The rules had existed long before he was even born. Either we punished him or Jett. Bloodlines didn’t matter when rules were broken. Not even if your great-great-great-great grand-fucking-ancestor had been one of the First Benefactors themselves. If you talked, then you died.
Jett had already proven himself a waste of oxygen, so Reginald had made the smart choice and offered up his son withouthesitation.
He’d come to Saint Vale convinced he’d easily become a Night Son and that his bloodline would secure his place, but he was severely mistaken.
Reginald tried to pull every string he could reach, but that wasn’t enough. Becoming a Night Son required unanimous approval from all Current Sons, ones who still attended the university.
You had to pass the tests and prove your loyalty.
And none of us trusted Jett, so we all voted no.
Unfortunately, though, we couldn’t kill him for shits and giggles, so we were forced to tolerate his existence and the way he seemed to always appear everywhere and annoy the shit out of us.
Finally, we had gotten permission to get rid of him. It’d felt like Christmas fucking morning.
Cassian returned from the bar with a bottle of vodka dangling from his bruised hand. He fell onto the couch beside Nico and dragged a hand through his dark hair before lifting the bottle to his mouth.
“And how’s your new Fawn?” Brooks asked, licking the edge of the rolling paper as he finished the joint.
“Boring,” Cassian said, taking a swig from the bottle. “She didn’t shed a single tear tonight.” He drank for a solid ten seconds and didn’t lower the bottle until it was almost empty.
“Your last one was boring too,” Brooks replied, fishing a lighter from his pocket. “She had the personality of a fucking squid. I’d jump out of a window if I were her too.” He sparked the flame and lit the joint. The tip burned red as smoke curled in the air along with his words. “I was disappointed when you chose her.”
“Money always talks,” Nico muttered from behind his screen.
“You do know that’s against the rules?” Brooks added, taking a long drag of the joint before passing it to me.
I leaned back and inhaled slowly.
