Aiden finally spoke, his voice carrying that natural authority that made everyone shut up and listen—like Moses if Moses had been born with a trust fund and a personality disorder.
"Brett made his bed. He can lie in it. None of us are going down because he couldn't handle one fight."
The fear was naked now. Raw. Seven boys who'd never had to be afraid of anything in their privileged little lives—except maybe running out of daddy's money—and here they were, terrified of a shadow that might or might not show up to collect.
Delicious.
Brett looked at them—his friends, his crew, his brothers-in-arseholery—and saw nothing but rats polishing their resumes for the sinking ship.
Something in him crumbled.
Brett Castellano—golden boy, Academy king, the guy who'd made Phei's life a living hell for three years—dropped his head to the cold tile floor. Forehead pressed against it like he was praying to the god of lost causes.
Please.
