29. Vogue

On my mid-morning break,I head to the quad to meet Thayer. He's already there waiting. When I reach him, my phone buzzes in my pocket, and I slip it out to see Alex's name flashing on the screen. "Meet me in the northwest courtyard." The message is cryptic, setting off alarm bells in my mind. Thayer peers at the screen when I hold it up for him, his gaze sharp as he senses my unease.

Thayer's eyes narrow when he reads it, protective instincts kicking in immediately. "I'm coming with you," he insists, and I don't argue.

The campus is busy as we make our way to the designated spot, the overcast day throwing a chill in the air.

Thayer slips my hand into his as we hurry along, heading towards the courtyard in silence.

Alex waits, standing practically in the bushes on the far side, his hands shoved into his jacket pockets, his face a blank mask. "Vogue," he greets, nodding at Thayer with a guarded look.

"Alex," I acknowledge, keeping my voice steady. "What have you got?"

He glances around before speaking, "The leak isn't mine, but it's all of ours. Some asshole working out of Crestmont for the opposition."

"Who?" Thayer asks before I can open my mouth.

His voice cuts like a knife, all business, no bullshit. Alex's jaw tightens, and his eyes flicker with something dark and dangerous.

"It's Harrow. Professor Harrow," he spits out the name like it's poison. "He's been feeding them information about everyone's movements around the university."

"Who is them?" I murmur as my body tenses at the revelation. Professor fucking Harrow - the economics professor with the tweed jackets and patronising smile. I had sat through his lectures, taking notes, listening, soaking up his knowledge, never imagining he was constructing a whole different narrative for our rivals.

"That remains to be seen," Alex says with a frustrated sigh.

"Then how can you be so sure?" Thayer asks.

"Jess overheard him. That's why she was so sketchy this morning. She hadn't had time to fill me in when you arrived, and things swung a different way."

"And you trust her?" I ask sceptically.

Alex gives me a scathing glare. "She's my sister."

"Son of a bitch," Thayer growls beside me, clearly believing Alex, his grip on my hand tightening almost painfully. "We need to take care of this."

"Thanks for bringing this to us," I tell Alex, grateful despite the knot of dread in my stomach.

He gives a curt nod and then disappears into the crowd of students crossing the courtyard as if he were never there.

As soon as Alex leaves, Thayer pulls out his phone and sends a quick message to Callum, Quentin, and Harrison.

He hauls me across the courtyard, and I scramble to keep up. "Where are we going?"

"Home."

"I've got classes this afternoon."

"Tough shit."

"Hey," I snap, planting my feet so he has no choice but to stop. "This is my post-grad degree you're callously discarding."

"One afternoon won't make any difference."

"You hope," I grit out and start walking again as he moves off.

A few minutes later, Thayer opens the door to the penthouse, and we stride in. It closes with a soft click, sealing us in with the weight of our secrets.

Quentin, Callum and Harry are already there, making me wonder if any of them even went to class today.

"Alex gave up the traitor's name," I start, my voice low and urgent. I spill out the details, watching their faces harden with each word.

"Wow, really?" Quentin says, running a hand through his hair, visibly trying to keep his cool. "What a dick. Who is he working for?"

"That's the thing we need to find out. All we know is that Jess, Alex's sister, overheard him talking to someone this morning, giving up campus secrets."

"Alex?" Quen's eyes are rock hard, jealousy searing through the room like a wild thing.

"The head of the student body. Fancy themselves as hardcore," Thayer interjects with a wave of his hand, dismissing them.

Callum stands, his posture rigid, the weight of his family legacy and responsibility clear in his stance. "We need to move on this information. If we're right, this could be a huge takedown."

"Agreed," Harrison says, his analytical mind already turning over scenarios. "But we need to consider the risks."

"Do we think it's the Vipers?" I ask tentatively, not really looking for another rumble with them.

"Maybe—" Harry starts, but Quen cuts him off.

"Probably. You ready for that, baby girl?"

"Yeah," I say, hoping it came out like I mean it. "Although, what good am I? I can't fight, I can't use a weapon."

"You see things no one else does," Harry says. "You can be look-out."

Beaming at him that I've been given an important job that doesn't include me making a fool of myself or getting myself killed, I nod. "I can do that. Whatever we do, though, we can't let this chance slip. This has to be dealt with by us."

"What about Alex?" Thayer asks, his usual lack of emotion in his tone making it hard to figure out what he's thinking.

"If Alex thought he could handle it, I highly doubt he would've given the information to us."

"Unless it's a trap."

All eyes land on Callum. "Thanks for that," I murmur.

He chuckles. "We'll handle it, no matter what it is."

Nods of agreement follow, and a silent pact forms between us. We're ready to step into the shit, aware that the decisions we make could change everything at Crestmont University.

I watch Callum, his eyes like steel traps set for the unwary, as he lays out the plan to take down the traitor. Quentin stands beside him, silent and brooding, his mind working over every angle of our approach. They're both ready, born for this kind of conflict, while my own heart races with fear.

"Harrow's last class ends in fifteen minutes," Callum states. "So, we follow him. If he was talking to his contact this morning, there will likely be a hand off of some kind later."

"How can you be so sure?"

"It's how shit works. He is a lone wolf on campus, and lone wolves are dangerous. They need reigning in by the alphas."

"Okay." I nod, taking that in, even though I'm not really sure what he means.

"Time to move out." Callum's voice cuts through the charged atmosphere. We all nod and exit the penthouse, stepping out into the unknown.

You've got this, Vogue. Unknown is familiar. You are good on your feet and can adapt when you need to.

My little pep talk boosts my confidence a little as we slide into the black van still parked up outside after the other night's rescue. It brings back memories of fear, being chained up with no way out, but now isn't the time to think about that.

But even as I shove it aside, another thought worms its way into my brain. My father. Aaron McGowan. A ghost from a past I never knew, yet whose legacy now clings to me, heavy and unshakeable. I've spent years not knowing him, not wanting to know him, but everything has changed. The secrets unearthed today prove that nothing can stay buried forever.

I need to confront him, but that's a fucked-up mess for another day.

As we drive, the guys talk in low tones, strategies weaving in and out with the ease of those who've played this game their whole lives. I listen, trying to piece together my role in all this chaos. Feeling like an outsider and yet right in the thick of it.

The van slows to a crawl as we near the economics building, where Harrow's class is letting out. Students spill from the doors and fan out across the campus. We wait with bated breath for one in particular to emerge.

"There." Quentin points. Harrow steps out, his eyes darting around nervously, a sure sign he's about to do something shady as fuck.

We watch as he slides into his old sedan and drives off too quickly. Keeping our distance, Callum manoeuvres in behind him, steady as hell despite the tension crackling in the air. My heart hammers against my ribcage, a relentless drumbeat echoing the danger we're creeping into.

We follow Harrow through a tangled web of streets, away from Crestmont University's polished exterior and deeper into a side of town that looks like it belongs in Westfield. It's the kind of place that doesn't get a second glance from the police unless they're looking to score something themselves.

As we tail Harrow into an abandoned warehouse district, Callum hangs back even more. We stand out like a sore thumb with no other cars around.

My thoughts scatter like leaves in a storm. This is where I come in—eyes peeled for anything out of place, any sign of danger that might be waiting to pounce.

"Here," Harry says, pushing a black box into my hands. "You might need these."

Binoculars. That doesn't bode well for how far back we need to tail now.

Callum pulls over and we watch as Harrow finally pulls to a stop some way down the street.

We sit in silence when Harrow doesn't move, watching as another figure slips out from the shadows and joins him in the car. They set off again, so we move as well, crawling along in their wake.

The tension in the van becomes tangible, wrapping around my throat like a noose as we follow Harrow's car. Scanning for any sign of an ambush from the back of this van is becoming increasingly hard work. My fingers tap an anxious rhythm on the binoculars' casing.

Every whisper of movement is a threat, every shadow a potential enemy. My guts twist with nerves because failure isn't just about fucking up—it's life or death in this game.

Quentin leans forward, his focused gaze never leaving the sedan. "We need to know where they're going. But more importantly, who he's meeting."

"Yeah," Callum agrees, his voice low and even. "If it's the Vipers, we're walking into a shitstorm."

"Shitstorm or not," Harrison murmurs from the seat next to me, his business-like attitude unbreakable even now, "we're ready for them."

I nod, trying to mirror his confidence. "Let's just hope Harrow leads us straight to the fucking traitors."

As we edge further into the warren of warehouses and decrepit structures, I feel like we're entering the belly of the beast. This is no student drama—this is real mob shit.

We watch as Harrow's car finally stops in front of one of the many rundown buildings. It's nondescript—it could be anything from storage for stolen goods to a meth lab.

Harrow and the other guy exit Harrow's car and disappear into the building without so much as a backward glance. We wait silently for Harrow to make his next move.

"We need to bail," Callum states suddenly. "There is no way they haven't spotted us."

"Yeah," Quen says.

And then a blast goes off and we all brace for something.

But it's just a flare shooting into the sky.

"Drugs," Quen says. "That's the signal, for we've got some, come and get it."

"Really?" I ask, scrunching up my nose.

"Works," Thayer says.

"Yeah, I guess so."

"Watch," Harry murmurs, close to my ear.

"Moving first," Callum mutters. "Let's get to higher ground."

We pile out of the van as silently as possible, creeping through the alleys on foot as Thayer leads us directly to a building close by. He pulls something out of his back pocket and crouches down at the lock.

Seconds later, we're in. The stale air inside clings to my skin, thick with dust and secrets. The building is a relic, all rusted pipes and crumbling concrete, but it gives us the vantage point we need.

We make our way up the stairs, each step creaking a warning under our weight. I stay close behind Callum, his back a steady reminder that I'm not alone in this madness. Quentin is right beside me, his hand occasionally brushing mine—a silent promise that he's got my back.

The top floor grants us a panoramic view of the street through grimy windows. My hands grip the binoculars, this time pulling them out of the case and raising them slowly to my eyes as I search for any movement. Harrow's car is still there, a lone beacon amidst the desolation.

"There," I point out quietly, as several shadows detach themselves and head towards the building Harrow disappeared into.

"We've got company," Quentin notes, his voice tight as he watches through his own set of binoculars. "As expected, it's the Vipers."

As expected. So, they downplayed their involvement, probably to protect me. Bastards.

"Fuck," Callum curses under his breath. We all know what this means. If the Vipers are here for the goods, then we're not just up against Harrow's treachery—we're potentially starting an all-out war.

"We need to get closer," Thayer suggests, already moving.

"You all need to get down there," I say desperately, lowering the binoculars. "We can't let those drugs loose on the street."

No. No way. Not on my watch.

"Someone has to stay here with you," Thayer says, but it doesn't look like it's going to be him; he's already halfway across the floor.

"No one knows we're here. Just go," I say urgently. "I'll be fine."

"No," Quen growls.

"Go!" I growl back. "This isn't up for debate. I will hear anyone coming a mile away. You can't creep around in this shithole. There are places to hide, I'll be fine. Go. Please." He must hear the desperation in my voice and gives me a curious stare. I meet it head-on. Yeah. I have a serious issue with drugs. I saw too many people succumb to their seduction growing up where I did, where shooting up was a natural thing. Not for me. Never for me. My future meant too much.

"Go," I grit out.

He presses something into my hand and nods once, following the rest of the guys, going against every instinct he has because he knows it's important to me. I glance down and see it's a small gun. I have no idea how to use it, but point-and-shoot seems to work in the movies. I shove it in the back of my jeans, hoping it doesn't come to that.

Turning back to the window, I adjust the binoculars, bringing the distant figures into focus as they converge on the abandoned warehouse that serves as a front for our rivals.

Below, Callum and Quentin move with a predator's grace, shadows among shadows. They're nearly identical, those two, except where life has chiselled different stories into their movements. Quentin's got that edge, a hard glint in his eyes—you don't get that growing up easy. Callum's right beside him, just as lethal but smoother, like he was born to this darkness.

Thayer and Harry split off, going around.

"Dammit, I can't see all of you," I murmur.

My phone buzzes in my pocket and I pull it out with a frown, needing to check in case it's one of the guys in trouble. It's Thayer, making sure I'm still safe. I send him the thumbs-up emoji and go back to peering through the binoculars. My gaze doesn't waver from the scene unfolding below.

Suddenly, it's all action. A door bursts open, and a gang pours out. Gunfire erupts, loud enough that it reaches me even here. I flinch—not scared, just the body's honest reaction to chaos. But my eyes stay glued to the binoculars, watching as The Crowned Syndicate goes to work.

Harrison moves like he's part of the air itself, dropping one rival after another. Callum defends Quentin's blind side, an unspoken trust between them that speaks volumes. They're a unit down there, all moving with deadly intent.

Thayer is nowhere to be seen, but then that doesn't surprise me. He's like a ninja. You don't see him unless he wants you to.

This appears to be a raid by one gang on another. I guess those flares don't work after all. All they did was alert the would-be thieves that there were drugs to steal.

My phone vibrates in my pocket again, making me jump. "Fuck, Thayer," I grouse quietly, pulling the phone out again.

But this time, it's a message from an unknown number. The words turn my blood to ice as I read them:

Vogue, your moves are bolder than I expected. We need to talk. - A.M.

Aaron McGowan. His initials burn into my retinas, and for a moment, I'm frozen.

Is it really him? Is it a trap? Or something worse?

Before I can decide on a response, another message pops up, making my heart skip a beat.

Meet me at your flat. Don't bring your friends. This is family business.

Family business. The words echo in my head, mocking, threatening. My father, a ghost from my past, now steps into the light, uninvited.

I shove the phone back into my pocket, my mind swirling with questions and fears. This isn't just another complication; it's a game changer. Aaron McGowan is dangerous—more so because he's connected by blood, and blood, as I've come to learn, can be a curse.

Gritting my teeth, I know I have to face him, to confront whatever twisted agenda he has. But not now. Now, I need to regroup, to prepare. I can't let my guard down—not when the stakes are higher than ever.