Page 23 of Dark Little Game
“Wes told me that Hunter always used to get suspended from school for fights,” Noah says.
I nod. “He never got along with Wes. He kept his distance from us unless it was for a fight. Always had knives on him, all that sort of shit.”
“Bet the girlslovedthat. Bad boy with a pretty face.”
“Hunter had whichever girl he wanted. Never for very long.”
Noah’s looking at Hunter like he’s a choice piece of meat. “He could be good for us. We need someone threatening in Onyx, other than Roman.”
“Can we stop talking about him? It’s bad enough that he’s here.”
“Fine. How did it go, visiting Ethan earlier in the hospital?” Noah asks me.
I stopped by the hospital for an hour today, and I was one of many visitors in Ethan’s room.
“He can’t really talk much, but he’s going to make a full recovery, same as James. Some miracle shit, I’m telling you.”
Noah shakes his head. “It has to be intentional.”
“What do you mean?”
Noah gives me a serious look. “Both James and Ethan were attacked, but both of them will make full recoveries,” he says. “I think that’s on purpose. I think people don’t want them dead—they just want to fucking scare them, and terrify us.”
I chew the inside of my cheek.
Could that be real?
Are the attackers just trying to send a message, or is their intent to kill, and they’re just bad at finishing the job?
I’m not sure which is more believable.
Weston cuts across the room a minute later, heading straight for me and giving me a pained look.
“Kill me,” he mutters as he steps over, pouring himself some champagne.
“Come on. Is your brother dearest really that bad?” Noah asks.
“He’s playing nice now, but I don’t trust it,” Weston says. “Hunter must have decided to transfer to Crimson College months and months ago, because the process isn’t fast. And then he somehow sweet-talks Roman into letting him into Onyx? It’ssus. As fuck.”
“Quit sayingsus. The word is ‘suspicious,’ and it works just fine,” Noah tells us. “You know that word has Latin roots, too?Suspiciosus.”
“Is he ever going to stop giving us Latin lessons?” Weston asks me.
“I doubt it.”
Noah grins as he reaches over and flicks me on the front of my shoulder.
“Fuck, I’m still healing there,” I say, smoothing my fingers over the area.
“Oh, God. Sorry. Forgot about the tattoos.”
I only got my new wing tattoos along my collarbone a few days before I returned to campus.
The decision was made on such a whim that sometimes when I look in the mirror I’ve been doing a double take, forgetting that I still have them.
Ink on my skin, forever.
And the memory of a night when the world felt like it was mine.
