Page 17 of Freckles

Finally, he sighs and straightens, opening the exit door.

Alice leans against the wall, right outside. Her eyes narrow as she sees me in his shirt, folding her arms and giving a sniff.

Kincaid glares at her. “Francesca’s under my protection. You or any of your bitch-arse friends lay a finger on her and I’ll fuck you up.”

I sidle past her, and turn, wanting reassurance this is a one-off and I never have to speak another word to him in my life.

But he closes the door.

“Any friend of King is a friend of mine,” Alice says and gives me a knowing smile. “But don’t get used to it. The moment he tires of you, and he will, you’ll be fair game.”

She saunters along the corridor, twiddling her fingers in a mocking wave before exiting.

After a minute, I follow, crossing the quad with tense muscles, my speed increasing until I’m sprinting for the student parking lot and the safety of my car.

CHAPTERSIX

KINCAID

Tana Manor isfour stories tall with another two levels sunk underground, built from a pink and orange hued sandstone that turns blood red in the early winter sunset.

Rolls of razor wire top the six-foot-high wrought iron security fence, adding to its natural menace.

I press in the code and wait for the gates to unlock, mind filling with thoughts of Francesca while I wait. She’s probably home by now, too, skin scented from my shirt with the mud and grass and sweat from the game.

She’ll reek of me like I’ve marked her as territory.

I park in the underground garage before punching in another passcode and swipe a card to release the heavy door.

The manor has enough rooms to house twenty students but, family aside, there’s only two in residence.

Tyson who occupies the attic rooms—a computing genius my uncle considers his greatest asset, and whose talents the rest of us sorely abuse—and Onyx who lurks down in the sub-basement. With a photographic memory and an ear for accents and cadence, he’s a chameleon who can go undercover on a few minutes briefing.

Even if he weren’t such a pretty boy, his sociopathic charms alone would get him a long way. They certainly get him laid pretty much twenty-four seven.

And yeah, if it’s possible to fuck and sleep at the same time, Onyx is your man.

As if to prove my point, a girl strolls out of the internal elevator with legs for days, a swing in her hips that says she knows exactly how to work her assets. She gives a start, her expression transforming into interest as she glances from head to toe, arching an eyebrow when she meets my gaze.

I ignore her, leaping up the stairs two or three at a time. I always choose the stairs because small spaces freak me out, especially when rooming with a cousin who often plays sadistic pranks for his own amusement.

Four staircases later, I knock on Tyson’s door. “It’s King here. You in?”

He yells back, “If I keep my mouth shut, will you go away or are you asking so you can break into my room and steal my stuff?”

I push open the door when the lock releases. “Bit late to find out. Could you research a student?”

Tyson gives me the side-eye. “You could run a search yourself,” he observes with a dry smile, logging into the Westlake student portal. “What do you really need?”

And although I came to him specifically for the magic he can wrangle from any electronic source, the words don’t come easily. “A way to track someone online. Access their phone to see her messages and stuff.”

“Hermessages.” Tyson’s smile expands, and he relaxes farther back in his chair, one leg bent so his ankle rests on the other. “Am I billing this back to Lance or is this a private venture?”

“Private.”

He stares at me while I keep my face as blank as possible. Finally, he sighs, crossing his hands over his midriff and shaking his head. “C’mon man. You gotta give me more than that or I’m not doing squat.”

“She’s just a girl.”

---