“I’m already looking into it,” Thiago responds, with a quickness that tells me that if he didn’t release the video himself, he knows who did it.
Everyone turns to him, to which he shrugs.
“You are?” Peter asks cautiously.
Thiago nods, taking another slow sip of his drink. “Of course, I am. They were in a red room, which means whoever recorded is aware of the club.”
That has everyone going quiet.
The threat is real; there’s no safe space when even the red rooms are being bugged, and that’s a problem for everyone involved. Nobody argues with his reason; they all just give small knowing smiles before the conversation switches to business and the auction, which is the guise for the human trafficking within the university. Like I’ve said before, you are just cattle for people who have it all. They talk about the numbers and the girls and guys who will participate. Once everything is concluded, the donors exit the room with their pets in hand.
Petals, half their age, on their knees with flaccid cocks in their mouths. I remain in place; only Peter, Ezra, and Thiago remain. Wyatt wasn’t here when I arrived, and neither was Nico. Elijah is off with a petal, and I remain waiting like a dog for my owner to make his demand. Safra lifts a hand.
“You can go,” he says, his tone cold and detached.
I don’t question him. I only exit the room, thankful that Safra seems busy tonight.
When I make it to the hall, one of the red doors swings open, and Mr. J steps out, adjusting his pants. Instantly, my muscles go rigid, bile working its way up my throat, and all I can think about is Nico. I wait for him to leave, the asshole not bothering to close the door. And there’s Nico, lying on the bed, back turned towards the door, scratches adorning the muscles of his back. My teeth gnash together, my heart hammering wildly againstmy chest, as my hand clenches and unclenches. Seeing him like this hurts more than anything I have ever endured. He doesn’t deserve it, not someone as pure as him.
The urge to step inside has me taking a step forward only to be halted by the sound of Nico’s voice. “Go away…”
I didn’t want to… But I do.
I give him the space, because that’s the least I can do. He’s lost so much agency that, as a friend, the least I can do is respect his need to be alone. I just wish he didn’t. I’m here for him… My only hope is that one day he could see it. I leave before anyone notices, driving my bike back to the dorm. I don’t wear a helmet as I ride down the deserted roads.
It’s late out, and the streets are still wet from all the rain. My hand curls around the throttle, pushing it to greater speed, feeling the wind drift through my hair, as if it could clear my thoughts. When I make it back to the dorm, there’s no light on, and Wyatt is nowhere to be seen.
My shoulders sag, and the stillness in the space is a welcome reprieve. My feet shuffle towards my bed, and that’s when I spot it, the large box, wrapped in gold paper, with a black bow and a note that says,
My pulse quickens as I crumple the small white notecard and toss it aside before opening the box. My hand digs inside, pulling out the white fabric. A toga, draped low on the hip with gold trim and a gold armor piece that catches the light alongside a gold leaf crown. Fucking Achilles-inspired costume designed by Safra himself—I’m sure.
Chapter Seventeen
Thiago
For the first time in days, the sun is out, and it’s uncharacteristically warm for February. I bite down on my steak and bean burrito, the foil crinkling as I walk towards the field. It’s an odd day; no one really needs anything. My phone hasn’t been blowing up with notifications like it usually is, and the club chat is silent, no donors demanding updates.
No Peter. Just quiet.
This is the closest feeling to peace I’ll ever get. I stop midway, watching as Nico taps the ball with his feet, rolling behind it before launching it towards the goal. Zayden blocks using his head, the thud echoing across the empty bleachers.
“You trying to kill me or prove you just can’t aim?” Zayden calls, rubbing his forehead. I know he’s teasing, I’ve seen him take worse hits.
Nico covers his mouth with his hand, hiding his laugh before firing back. “You’re welcome for the practice.”
Eagerly, I finish off my burrito, taking large bites until nothing is left before tossing the paper into the trash and stepping ontothe turf. I’m not wearing any cleats, and don’t give a fuck it won’t be a fair game. The air smells like fresh cut grass, even though the field is dead crisp. I take it all in. Filling my lungs with the crisp scent, it wakes me up in a way no kind of coffee can do.
“You two look bored,” I say, jogging towards them. Adrenaline finally surges through my bloodstream. “Let me fix that.”
Zayden grins, always up for a challenge, daring me to try. Bring it on, meu principe. “You can’t even keep up with us.”
“But,baby,I’m better.” I wink, tilting my head to the side, thankful for the thin Nike headband keeping my hair out of my face. “Eyes on me, Ruas.”
Just like that, the ball’s at my feet before he speaks again. I flick it past him, sprinting down the line. He’s faster, though—always has been—and he cuts me off, shoulder to shoulder, the friction between us could spark a fire.
“You’re cocky,” he mutters.
“And you love it,” I shoot back, gaining a small gap between us.
