Total pages in book: 80
Estimated words: 79781 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 399(@200wpm)___ 319(@250wpm)___ 266(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79781 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 399(@200wpm)___ 319(@250wpm)___ 266(@300wpm)
Repeatedly.
He looks like he’s trying to play the part of a young mafia kingpin’s son in a slate peacoat and black hat. The only thing I’m afraid of is his ignorance, because in my eyes, he still looks like a baby.
“There’s a new sophomore transferring into Crimson this fall,” Yegor finally says. “Someone wants him taken care of.”
“Kill him yourself. I’m done doing dirty work.”
“Not taken care of like that. Protected.”
I exhale, my chest falling.
I wasn’t expecting that.
Yegor’s favorite jobs often involve cutting limbs… breaking bones… securing prizes like molars.
Not protecting people.
I nod. “Who needs protection?”
Yegor slides his phone out of his pocket, stepping over to my side. He opens a trashy website for celebrity news, and at first I think he’s playing a cheap prank on me.
But the headline at the top reads:
Younger Landrey Brother Expelled From Manhattan U Falcons, Spiraling Amid Controversy.
The pictures show a young jock.
Very toned.
Blond.
“Pretty, isn’t he?” Yegor asks. “You know how many people would kill to spend one night with this guy?”
The first photo shows Tate Landrey outside a nightclub wearing a black tank top that seems specifically designed to show off all of his most prized muscles.
Superficial athlete’s muscles, of course.
He couldn’t last twenty seconds in a real fight.
There’s a man on his left side and a woman on his right, and both are kissing each of his cheeks, the woman digging her fingers into his blond hair. He holds up his free hand to flip off the camera, biting his lower lip.
My gaze passes over the word “bisexual” in the gossipy article about him, and I reach down to scroll past it.
“Little Landrey is coming here,” Yegor says.
I glance up. “Am I supposed to know who this person is?”
“You know who Luke Landrey is, yes? You’ve never heard of Tate?”
“Luke Landrey, the Reapers’ quarterback?”
“Someone doesn’t read the news,” Yegor says. “Tate Landrey is Luke’s younger brother. Their whole family is football royalty. Tate was set to go pro in a few years, until he got kicked off of his college team. He’s fucked. A black mark on the Landrey family. They tossed him in a summer of intensive therapy, and then decided to ship him off here upstate for his next year of college.”
I glance back at the first photo. “So this boy is coming to Crimson.”
Yegor nods. “Aleksander heard news that Luke Landrey was looking to hire a bodyguard for his brother. I thought you’d jump on the job.”
I frown.
Yegor is getting jobs from our other cousin, Aleksander, now? These two shouldn’t hold any power in the family.
They will need to be handled.
Eventually.
I keep my eyes glued to Yegor in front of me, never glancing over toward Maks in the shadows.
“I don’t want this job,” I tell Yegor. “I could only bodyguard when I’m not in my own classes, anyway.”
Yegor peers at me. “I know you don’t have that many classes this year. You only need one or two to finish. You’re trying to drag out your time in college. The whole family can see it, Roman.”
I press my tongue against the inside of my cheek, staring at him.
This is why I keep everything to myself.
Why I don’t talk to people.
I don’t tell people shit, and it has absolutely fucking nothing to do with being shy. It’s strategy. Yegor has no right to know about my schedule, my lack of classes this year, or that yes, I’m prolonging my time in college so that I don’t have to do other things.
Telling people information gives them ammunition.
I never want a single soul to have ammunition on me.
“My reasons for staying at Crimson aren’t your concern. I said I don’t want the bodyguard job.”
“You will when you know what it pays.”
“I don’t care what it pays.”
Yegor rolls his eyes at me. “Why wouldn’t you do it?”
I can tell Tate Landrey is trouble just from looking at him.
Too pretty.
Filthy rich.
Probably has gotten his way since birth.
“Is this boy actually in danger?” I ask. “Why would he need a bodyguard?”
“The kid’s gotten some death threats, typical internet bullshit. Nothing’s going to happen to him. But Luke Landrey is loaded and worried about his baby brother, so he’s willing to pay. Enormously. And I’ll get a ten percent finder’s fee, of course.”
I glance back down at the article open on Yegor’s phone again.
I scroll lower, looking at photo after photo of Tate Landrey.
I tap on another suggested article about him.
This one shows photos of him on a small yacht, apparently taken at the beginning of summer, lounging on chairs and drinking with friends.
Apparently that’s part of what a “summer of therapy” is for someone from the Landrey family. Vacations off the coast of Italy.
I'm very aware of his father and brother, even if I’ve never heard of him. A generation ago, Christopher Landrey was one of the best pro football players of all time, and now Luke Landrey is one of the most famous quarterbacks in the country.