70

REU might be full of posh folks who worship the queen’s pristine shoes, but they have their own club. And Serpent or not, they’d be vulnerable here. It’s not their territory. It’s Elites’ grounds. And I happen to have pissed off one of them, unintentionally—or maybe intentionally, considering all the couple shots I’ve become a fan of posting on social media lately. The last picture I posted is of Glyndon sleeping on my lap, her face hidden by my naked chest and only half of mine visible. She’s wearing shorts and a red tank top and her arms are wrapped around my middle. She wears red for me. That could and would anger him. Which is one of the reasons I posted it, not the main one, though. That would be my constant need to stake a claim on the little rabbit. Sure enough, when the door opens, the one who strides inside, dressed all in black with a golf club resting on his shoulder, is none other than Landon. Usually, the Elites put on white and gold masquerade masks during rivals’ week, b