Page 4 of Fatal Scheme

Everything I’m seeing is right out of a comedy film, and color me shocked to find out this is really how college parties are.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see a set of tattooed arms that I’d recognize anywhere, and my gaze follows the path he takes, my research paying off as I instantly know him as one of my targets: Jasper Masseria.

In person, he’s taller than I realized, even for me as I sit at a comfortable five-foot-six. He’s muscular, too, his arms barely fitting in the t-shirt he’s wearing, and I try not to stare, but the sea of people literally move to let him walk by as if he’s royalty, or just too scary for their little prep school.

In person, he’s much more gorgeous than I expected, the real thing much more intriguing than pieces of paper tucked inside a manila folder, but still, this is a scouting mission, not a full blown face-to-face operation.

After a few minutes he emerges from the kitchen, and I swear, in my peripheral vision, it seems like he’s walking straight toward me.

My mind is scrambling, but I do my best to seem nonchalant, like I’m just an average party-goer, except he and I both stick out like black-clad sore thumbs amongst these brightly colored kids, and it doesn’t take long for him to invade my space.

“I’ve never seen you here before,” he starts, and I have to bite my tongue in order not to laugh at such a ridiculous opening line.

The mission is everything, I hear echoing around my head, and rather than saying anything, I take a big sip of my drink, finishing the liquor before slamming my empty cup against his chest.

“Vodka. Straight. No ice.”

TWO

JASPER

The first few weeks of a new school year are the most intriguing, almost like stalking new prey while they all frolic on campus trying to find their way.

Ninety percent of the girls steer clear from me, hearing the rumors that follow me around like a bad aura, but the rare few that try to dip their toes in the water only realize that they’re stepping in hot lava, a place they don’t want to be.

I’m content with that, though, never wanting to drag someone into the life I’m forced to live behind closed doors, and the horrible things I’ve done to survive.

Even so, when the annual Emory Row Party kicks off, I can’t help but watch the new girls parade around like bait, their tiny, bright-colored dresses alluring, even if I’m only picturing what those various shades would look like on my bedroom floor.

“Seriously, Massi? You’re just setting a trap to kill at this point, leave those poor girls alone,” Tyson argues from the opposite side of the room, his judgmental attitude only pushing me to do what I want, rather than what he says.

Tyson and I are a part of a forced family, like a marriage a little kid pushes back on every chance he gets, but at the end of the day, I gained a brother, and for that, I’ll always be thankful.

We were raised the same, but our personalities, approach, and views on this life we ended up in are drastically different, and I can’t help the fact that I’m the one who takes the brunt of the physical jobs, the ones that demand more.

No matter what, I protect Tyson at any and all costs, taking the worst of it, just so he can enjoy life on the high horse he pretends to ride on.

“I just want to check out the new blood, Ty. You could let up a little, come down for a drink or two,” I propose, but he’s stubborn, only rolling his eyes as the bedroom door slams behind him.

Things have been escalating recently, with violence breaking out too close to home, and while it’s my territory to defend, Tyson was grandfathered into a life he never wanted in the first place.

He has to fight alongside me, and although it was never supposed to come to this, he can’t wrap his head around the fact that we were bred to kill.

I, on the other hand, embrace that side of myself, always using the skills I was trained in to survive. It hasn’t come to a head yet, but an all out war is brewing, and the fact that we’re mid-level lackeys only serves as a reminder that we’re running out of time.

Time to be young, time to be kids, time before we have to become the very thing we’ve envisioned getting away from.

So, when a party brings itself right to our doorstep, I can’t say no to a chance at letting loose, considering the fact that we own this frat house, and have a say over what happens here, unbeknownst to the preppy idiots who think they run the place.

“Massi, I don’t think this is your scene,” one kid says as I make my way down the stairs, his scrawny frame pressing against the banister while I walk.

“I’m just grabbing a drink, in my own house, is that okay Eli?” I snap, wanting to rip his head from his body, only leaving the collared shirt hanging off his neck, but choosing to play nice.

“Of course. I think … I think you should go ahead,” he stutters, almost launching himself over the railing, and I can’t help but smile as I inhale his fear like a cheap cologne.

Bright colors explode across my vision as I make my way through the room, heading for the kitchen where the alcohol is always free-flowing and accessible, something I make sure of.

There are benefits to being the richest kid on campus, especially when your mafia-boss father donates enough money to ensure that no matter how many laws you break, you stay enrolled.