Fallen Bast*rd

Ax/Weston -21 years old

Listening to my brother whine about some girl at college he's been chasing after is doing my head in. Still, being the wise, somewhat older brother means I listen, even when it's obvious to me she's playing him for his connection to the Fallen Sinners; all they ever seem to want is the influence and the clout that comes from being linked to a legacy.

At this rate, JJ might as well have a sign on his back that says, 'free access to prestige'.

"So, you're telling me that after three whole weeks of classroom drop-offs, she's only just given you her number?" I ask JJ, hoping he'll notice that something ain't quite right.

But, as usual, he glosses over my question.

"Yeah" He pauses, a thoughtful look flickering across his face.

"We're in the same study group, so you know, it made sense." He says, oblivious to the fact that this study group doesn't just include him.

I swear, if clueless had a poster boy, JJ would be it.

"You know, maybe you shouldn't pin all your hopes on one girl? Maybe explore your options; it's the last year of college before uni." I say, praying he takes the hint, but JJ shrugs it off like always.

Clearly the girl isn't interested; she's been to multiple club parties, and the most she's ever said to him is 'hi' or 'can I get a beer.' Still, JJ acts like he's winning.

"Well, at least I'm making a move on the girl I like," JJ fires back, making me pause mid-sip of my beer. A smug look graces his face.

"Not this again," I sigh, knowing the subject I'd hoped to avoid was about to backfire.

"Oh, come on, Ax. Since Willa's 17th birthday, your eyes have been glued to her arse. You practically stop breathing every time a prospect talks to her." He leans back in his chair, his gaze wandering across the room. I follow his gaze as Willa and Georgie bug the hell out of Byte, our resident techno-nerd. My jaw tenses as I avert my gaze and knock back another mouthful of beer.

"Yeah, you're not bothered by your brothers talking to her at all," the smug bastard laughs. Arsehole.

Three weeks later

I glance over the scattered documents, feeling the confusion settle in. "Byte, can you walk me through what the f**k this all is?" I ask, trying to piece together the details alongside Remi, my VP, and Stray, our accountant.

Byte sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose as he responds, "Honestly, boss, we should get the girls in to explain this. They're the ones who found it." He grabs a remote and lowers the screen concealed above us, preparing to show his findings.

Byte gestures towards the documents. "These are the ledgers from the dockside bar and restaurant, and these are from Kings, 'the gentlemen's club," he explains, using air quotes.

Turning to Stray, he asks, "These are last month's filings, right?" Stray scans the paperwork, nodding.

"They look similar enough, but something isn't adding up," he notes, inspecting the figures more closely.

Agreeing, Byte continues, "Last week, I warned the girls about their questionable online activities, threatening to bring it up with Bear and Butch."

He pauses, brings up a window, and runs a mock model of their money-siphoning scheme on the screen: for every transaction, they'd skim off a penny or a pound depending on its size. The room grew tense as realisation set in.

Remi lets out a low chuckle, shaking his head. "Well, Ax, it looks like the club princesses are sticky-fingered thieves," he remarks, examining the evidence. Stray studies the scheme with a faint smile.

"It's a smart setup? not sustainable, but it's made them a tidy sum," he says, his tone almost admiring their handiwork despite the situation.

Byte settles back into his seat, defeated. "As payback for my threat, they hacked into my system and found all this." The irony isn't lost on anyone; his supposedly unhackable setup outmanoeuvred by two seventeen-year-olds.

I take charge, outlining the next steps. "Remi, you and Byte need to round up everyone with access to the accounts and anyone responsible for bookkeeping across all three businesses.

Bring whoever you need for support. Stray, you and your assistant should dig through both paper and electronic records to pinpoint when this shadow ledger started. If you need a forensic bookkeeper, get one involved." I stand, pushing away from the table.

The weight of the situation presses on me, and I know I need a moment to clear my head. God, how do I tell my parents that their angels are goddamn outlaws?

On my way to the common room, Sandy intercepts me, offering to help relieve my stress. I politely decline, my mind focused elsewhere. What I really need is a cold beer and a ride to clear my thoughts, a bit of solitude before facing what comes next.