Chapter 2 The Final One
MARNI
No one sneaks past them.
Not unnoticed. Not untouched.
That’s what I’ve learned during my four years at Blueridge High.
This school isn’t like other schools. It doesn’t run on rules or teachers or student councils, or even the principal. It runs on them.
Four boys. Four kings. Four problems no one is brave—or stupid enough—to challenge.
A pack of ridiculously hot football stars who dragged the team out of a fifteen-year championship drought and turned them into legends. Three titles in four years. A legacy built on dominance and fear. As freshmen, they skipped junior varsity entirely and walked straight onto varsity like they owned it. Like they’d always belonged there.
And even though they didn’t win it all that first year, they learned something much more valuable than victory.
They learned how to destroy.
They didn’t crumble from the loss. They adapted. They sharpened themselves into something unbreakable. Unbeatable.
By the time sophomore year rolled around, they weren’t just good—they were inevitable. By junior year, they were untouchable.
But now?
As seniors they’re a warning.
They’re called the Four Deadly Sins. Yeah. Like the Bible. Except this version feels a lot less fictional. There used to be more of them. Seven, technically. Until two got girlfriends and softened. And one moved away. But the rest? They stayed exactly the same. And trust me, the name isn’t an exaggeration.
Jethro Winters. Kingston Scott. Spencer Ross. Damon Hunt. They’re the epitome of sin. They own this place. Not officially. Not on paper. But everyone knows it. Teachers look the other way. Students fall in line. And if you don’t, you learn to. Fast.
They’re worshipped here. Feared more than they’re loved. Untouchable in that way people only get when they have everything; Money, power, looks, attention, praise, connections, and absolutely no reason to be good.
Future politicians. CEOs. Pro athletes. Boys who have never been told no. Boys who wouldn’t listen if they were.
They rule this place like royalty—even if only one of them actually has the name to match. Walking, talking vices with their futures already paved out in front of them, born to parents who practically own half the state while the other half answers to them.
They’re treated like Gods of the school. Not just because of what they do on the football field, but because of who they are off it. And they lean into it. Hard.
Each of them wears a title.
A brand.
A sin.
Damon Hunt is Lust. Pretty in a way that feels intentional. Like he knows exactly what he’s doing when he looks at you. Raven-black hair, come-hither green eyes, a tall, sculpted body honed by his role as the team’s placekicker. His smile promises things he has no intention of giving, and somehow, that only makes people want him more. Add in that lazy swagger and dangerously smooth charm, and he’s impossible to resist.
Spencer Ross is Greed. Quiet. Calculated. Sandy blond hair, always a little messy, pale gray eyes that miss nothing, and a runner’s build made for endurance. He’s never satisfied. Always pushing, always wanting more. Straight A student. Top of every class. Perfect scores. Endless ambition. And its still not enough.
Kingston Scott is Wrath. You hear him before you see him. Heavy steps. Short temper. Built like a weapon and just as eager to be used. Brown hair, warm chocolate eyes, and a fuse so short it might as well be nonexistent. As a tight end, he hits hard and doesn’t mind hitting back harder—sometimes just for the thrill of it.
And then...
There’s Jethro.
Everything bends around him.
Quarterback. Point guard in basketball season. Captain. Leader.
Pride.
Everything starts and ends with him. The one who leads the rest.
Jethro Winters is Pride personified. Every glance, every whisper, every silence shifts when he passes. Pretty blond hair, piercing blue eyes, that effortless, infuriating perfection and unwavering control and restraint, with a body carved like he was built to be worshipped. He doesn’t just walk through the halls. He claims them.
The guy doesn’t demand attention. He expects it. And he gets it, too. Because people like Jethro don’t just exist. They take. They own.
His ego isn’t just big. It’s justified. Reinforced by every victory, every look, every person who’s ever fallen at his feet, every poor soul he’s ever destroyed, and every girl who’s ever lost her panties to him. He knows exactly what he is: every teenage fantasy brought to life. A wet dream, really, so long as he keeps that arrogant, sinful mouth shut in said wet dream. And even worse? He knows how to exploit his arrogant good looks to get what he wants.
All four of them are devastatingly beautiful. And all four of them are cruel. And if you’re not careful... They’ll ruin you. Because if they notice you? If you somehow manage to catch their attention? That’s it. You don’t just walk away from the Four Deadly Sins. You survive them... If you’re lucky.
