I ended up telling him everything—well, almost everything. I explained how I had no ties to either gang but that after beating up a few bullies, both factions were suddenly interested in recruiting me. I made it clear that I wanted no part of either. Of course, I left out the part about being reborn and the fact that Jared's father had personally called me. I wasn't even sure if the cops knew who the Vultures' leader was. Hell, I hadn't been entirely sure myself until yesterday. In the end, my story had to be vague. If I said too much, I'd have to explain why I knew so much about gang life and territory, which would lead to questions I couldn't answer without sounding like a lunatic. Explaining that voices only I could hear were telling me to complete tasks? Yeah, that was a one-way ticket to a padded cell. So instead, I played the part of the scared little kid who didn't know what to do. And it worked. "I'm glad you told me the truth," Dean said after a pause. Then, tilting his
Damien handled his wine well—too well, maybe. His only problem was that he talked too much when he drank, saying whatever flirtatious thing came to mind. Liquid courage at its finest. Fresh air seemed to be working on him as we took a detour through a park. The streetlights buzzed overhead, casting long shadows along the paved path. "So you went with Jason that day, and now he's hospitalized?" Damien repeated, still trying to piece everything together. "But to think that the Vulture gang is recruiting high schoolers... that's pretty scary." "It's been like that for a long time." I exhaled. "Can't believe I got caught up with them again." "Again?" He gave me a curious look. "You knew them before?" "Something like that." More than something—I'd almost destroyed them before I died. Damien studied me carefully. "Is that why you've been so different?" "In a way." I glanced at him. "Am I really that different?" "You're definitely different now. You don't take shit from anybody like
{TW: Violence, Death} I'm so stupid! Why the fuck would I promise him that I'd get revenge? I already told the cops everything, so why did I have to run my mouth and keep the event going? I blame Damien for this! It's all his fault that shit is getting fucked up for me at the moment. [New Mission: Revenge for Jason Award: Personality Types Revealed Penalty: Hospitalization] Like I was going to go out of my way to find them. I'd just call Damien's dad and tell him to get a move on. Where's that card he gave me with his number? Before I could find it, my phone suddenly rang with an unknown number. "Hello?" I answered. "Is this Jack Spencer?" a gruff voice asked. I don't want to look, so you send them to me? Fucking pushy! "Who is this?" I hissed. "I'm Declan McIntyre from the Vulture gang. Where are you now? Come out to the school library in thirty minutes," he said. "Sure, whatever. Let's meet," I said, hanging up the phone. Saves me a lot of trouble, I gues
{TW: death, violence} "YOU MIGHT AS WELL COME OUT!!!" Mark yelled. I could hear the fear in his voice. Must be the first time he saw someone close to him die. I glanced around the storage closet, scanning for something useful. My eyes landed on a twenty-pound kettlebell. This should do the trick. As I picked it up, my fingers barely had time to grip the handle before the shelf beside me tipped over, crashing to the ground with a deafening clang. "FOUND YOU!!" Mark's scream came from directly outside the closet. The door flung open, and in that instant, I swung upward with everything I had. CRACK. The kettlebell slammed into the base of his skull. His body jerked as if his muscles had short-circuited, then collapsed instantly. I grabbed him under the arms, dragging his limp body into the closet and kicking the door shut behind me. I reached up, twisting the inside lock shut just as another set of footsteps approached. "What the hell? Matt!?" Declan. Mark twit
{TW: violence} He was a fucking piece of shit. People like him don't stop unless someone stops them. If I let him live, he'd just go after someone else—some other poor kid, alone on the streets, who wouldn't be able to fight back. I couldn't let that happen. John was crawling toward the wall, dragging himself slowly. His body trembled, soaked in sweat. His face had gone deathly pale, and I could see the way he was swallowing hard, trying to hold back the bile rising in his throat. He looked like he was about to pass out. I crouched down to his level, staring into his face. That look of pure terror... God, it was beautiful. I could get addicted to this feeling. "P-Please," John whispered. Still conscious? How? I smirked. "Please what? Please hit me? Well, if you insist!" I backhanded him across the face. CRACK. John let out a painful shriek as he collapsed onto his side, clutching his cheek. Blood dripped from his mouth, staining the floor as he coughed.
So, the luck didn't extend to lottery tickets. I won absolutely nothing. Even more surprising was the news this morning. Since the school's surveillance system was conveniently broken at the time this happened, no suspects could be named, murder weapons were not found, and due to John's testimony, the entire incident was officially declared a case of gang violence. Apparently, the Vultures had been beaten down by a group of Roth gang associates. The deaths weren't even being looked into that much. The scene had already been thoroughly cleaned. And, thanks to what I assume was my insane luck stat, I had no scars, no bruises, and no pain when I woke up this morning. That luck was something else. If only it could give me money! Jason had texted me a few times, asking: "Was that you?" I responded with nothing but a thumbs-up emoji. And that's when I learned something I really didn't want to know—I could see people's love bars even when they weren't in the room with me and against
I rounded the corner and saw Damien facing the wall, silently freaking out. "What am I supposed to do now? I'm screwed. What am I doing?" he muttered to himself. "That's what I'm wondering," I said flatly. Damien let out a scream and spun around, clutching at his shirt like I'd just pulled a knife on him. "Fuck, you're screaming as soon as you see me now? Am I fucked up or something?" I rolled my eyes. "That's because you came out of nowhere!" Damien huffed, his face turning a shade redder. "So why're you hiding and peeping on me? What are you doing?" I asked. "What am I doing? Well, uh—" Damien turned even redder and looked away. Is he still thinking about how he kissed me and ran off right after? I wasn't. "I'll see you in class," he mumbled, clearly hoping to escape. "Why? I'm here right now." I rolled my eyes again. "Calm down, I get why you're acting like this. Just chill out and talk." Damien suddenly smiled—too wide, too bright. And before I could react, he pulled me
Club C had leveled up since my last visit in my past life. Back then, it had been a decent spot, a little underground, a little exclusive. Now, it was something else entirely—polished floors that reflected the neon lights, sleek high-end decor, and a crowd dripping with wealth and entitlement. This was the kind of place people bragged about getting into, the kind of club where tables cost more than rent. But to the rich, this was nothing. Just another night out. Lucky bastards. Jared had gotten us in like it was no big deal. It made me wonder—why did he keep claiming to be just a scholarship student when he clearly had the means to throw around money like this? "You made it!" Jared ran up to me, grinning like a kid at Christmas. Damien, of course, was right behind him. Surprisingly, he actually looked good trying to pull off the "cool guy" look. A leather jacket, of all things. "What's up, Jared? Fonzi." I nodded toward Damien. "Is the jacket really too much?" Damien frowned.
{TW: Violence} The entire passenger side of the car was crushed, and all the airbags on my side had deployed. It felt like I had been tossed violently against something soft yet hard at the same time. I let out the breath I'd been holding and kicked my door open, staggering out of the wreckage. A few gags followed, but fortunately, I hadn't eaten anything all day, so nothing came up. Holy shit, I almost killed myself! I made a mental note—never again. I wasn't cut out for driving in situations like this. I glanced into the backseat. Eli was knocked out cold, blood dripping from his forehead where he'd slammed into the window. Too bad for him, he was still breathing. I wasn't done with him yet. I pried open the passenger door and dragged him out by the back of his shirt, pulling him into the forest. The eerie darkness around me gave me the jitters, but I ignored it. I had bigger things to focus on right now. "Stupid asshole," I muttered, dragging him further. "I fucking got you. F
A week had passed, and no one had found Declan's body. Things were moving fast, and without speaking to my dad first, I took the initiative and bought everything related to McIntyre Corporations. It was a massive undertaking. We had to fire the entire board and replace them with our own people. The financial webs were deep, tracing money from offshore accounts, and the intel I'd gathered? It was a goldmine of blackmail material, exposing nearly every business owner, politician, and high-ranking official in the city. My dad didn't hesitate for a second. He immediately used this treasure trove to his advantage. He worked quickly, killing the news of Declan Sr.'s disappearance so that no one outside our circle would know what happened. My mom, of course, was confused. The official story was that Declan had fled to avoid the scandal, but I later realized something: My dad hadn't lied to her—he just didn't want to ruin her newfound peace. She had taken a liking to Jason, and Dad didn't wa
I couldn't get the system's words out of my head. "You'll soon be too preoccupied to think about it." What the hell did that mean? What could possibly take my mind off the weight of what I'd done in my past life—of Gianna, of Jason, of everything unraveling? [Mission Accomplished! You will receive secret intel!] I froze. That... that would do it. What the actual fuck was going on? I hadn't even made a move toward atonement yet, and the mission was already marked as complete? How? Why? My phone buzzed, Jason's name lighting up the screen. It was nearly 2 a.m. A part of me didn't want to answer—I was exhausted from the party and from... well, everything. But I picked up. "Hello—" "Jack?" Jason's voice was breathless, panicked, and definitely crying. "I—I need you... to come over! I need you to come over now!" He was gasping like he couldn't breathe. "What's up? Is it your dad?" "No! No! No, no—" "Tell me what happened!" I snapped, heart racing. "No! I—I can't actually say—"
{TW: Suicide attempt} The memory came back like a bullet to the skull—sudden, searing, and impossible to ignore. I was seventeen. A parking garage bathed in that awful yellow-white light, nearly abandoned except for the low hum of flickering fluorescent tubes above me. The scent of oil and cold concrete filled the air. My footsteps were quiet, deliberate, echoing through the still space as I closed in on her. Gianna Lionetti. A cloth gripped tightly in my hand, soaked in chloroform. She didn't even have time to scream. I grabbed her from behind, pressing the cloth to her mouth and nose with a vice grip. She fought hard. Nails like razors dug into my wrist, her limbs thrashing with the kind of panic only people on the edge of death can summon. It took a full minute and a half—ninety long seconds of struggle—before her body finally sagged, unconscious in my arms. I eased her down like a sleepwalker, like she was fragile glass. Then, almost robotically, I opened the passenger door,
I sat stiffly on the edge of the velvet couch, hands clenched loosely in my lap as camera flashes exploded from every angle. The drawing room was filled to the brim with reporters—some with cameras, some already holding up mics with eager hands, all of them watching me like a hawk about to strike. This was actually kind of terrifying. The last time I'd been in front of this many cameras was... well, it wasn't exactly a shining moment. I was being perp-walked in my last life, paraded in handcuffs while people shouted for my head. The bright lights, the judgmental stares—it all felt a little too familiar. A woman in the front row leaned forward, mic close. "How did you manage to get such incredible scores?" I blinked at her. "Studying like a normal person. It's not like there was much else to do besides that and work." Click. Click. Flash. "Your first appearance on TV left people with a bad impression of you. What do you think about that?" another reporter asked. I rolled my eyes
Ok, wow. I don't even know when I lost consciousness. All I know is that I've never felt anything like that in my life. It was overwhelming—in the best, most mind-blowing way. The kind of thing that leaves your body aching, your brain blank, and your soul just a little bit altered. Eight-plus rounds. All night. Lust without restraint. I hadn't known a first-timer could go all out like that, but apparently Damien had been holding back a lot for me. I remembered everything. I'm not a virgin anymore either. Every time he said my name in the heat of it, it sounded so damn good—like music tuned specifically to my ears. He loved biting and leaving marks, and now there was an obscene amount of them all over me. My body still felt wrecked. My mind? Still trying to catch up. The first light of dawn slipped through the curtains, soft and golden, casting a gentle hue across the rumpled sheets. I turned over—and there he was. Damien's sculpted torso rose and fell with
"Jack!" Damien's voice rang out, sharp with alarm. Before I could react, Emmett's hands were around my throat, tightening like a vice. My air was cut off instantly, my vision tunneling. He was trying to choke me out. Not happening. I gritted my teeth and kicked his shin with all the force I could muster. A pained grunt escaped him as his leg buckled, his grip loosening just enough for me to break free. Seizing the opportunity, I grabbed him by the collar and yanked him forward. Then I closed my eyes and bit down on his neck. Hard. Pain shot through my jaw as my teeth sank into flesh. Warm, metallic-tasting blood rushed into my mouth, the coppery tang coating my tongue. Emmett screamed—a raw, agonized sound—as he shoved me off him, stumbling to the ground, his hands clamping over the wound, desperately trying to stop the bleeding. Spitting out the blood, I wiped my mouth on the back of my hand and spotted a large rock nearby. Perfect. I picked it up, weighing it in my hands
{TW: violence} Emmett's car screeched to a halt in front of the old warehouse, headlights cutting through the dimly lit lot. I stood waiting, arms crossed, as he slammed the door shut and stormed toward me. His glare was the hardest I'd ever seen from anyone—he sure was pissed. "Jack Spencer, you cocky asshole!" he roared. "How dare you play around with me?! Do you even know what you've done?! You motherfucker!" I smirked, unfazed. "What did I do? I followed the rules," I said casually. "You took the money and ran before the results came out. Did I scare you that much?" "You little rat!" "Only one of us is acting like a little rat right now," I taunted. "I can actually help you out if you ask nicely." "You bitch!" he spat, fists clenching at his sides. He took a deep breath, trying to compose himself, but his rage was barely held back. "Did you think it would be worth a try to fight here or something?!" Then, something changed. His glare wavered, replaced by something almost de
"Let's get fired up!" Clap-clap-clap-clap. "We are fired up!" Clap-clap-clap-clap. As the football players took the field, the cheerleaders worked to get the crowd energized, their hands clapping in perfect rhythm. "Really fired up!" Clap-clap-clap-clap. The crowd erupted into cheers, and I scanned the field, telling myself I wasn't looking for Damien and Jason—I was just looking. But when I spotted them sitting with a few other players, my stomach did a little flip. "Let's go, Tigers!" Beatrix yelled through her bullhorn. Off to the side, Jared stood in his full mascot outfit—a giant fuzzy orange-and-black-striped jumpsuit topped with an oversized tiger head. When the cheerleaders hit their final pose, he rushed in, slid to a stop on one knee, and threw out his arms like he'd just pulled off the greatest trick in the world. Idiot. The crowd clapped listlessly. A few half-hearted whistles floated through the air. The coach wasted no time, yelling for the cheerleaders to