My Milf Conqueror System novel Chapter 23

Chapter 23: The muscle

Ethan’s dorm room looked like a conspiracy theorist’s bunker. He had cleared off his whiteboard and drawn a crude pyramid. At the top, he’d written BRAD (The Enemy) in red marker. Below that, The Lacrosse Bros.

"Okay," Ethan said, pacing the small room. "Here’s the situation. Brad isn’t just talking anymore. He’s mobilizing. I heard from a guy in Sigma Chi that they’re planning to ’check’ you at the Greek Week mixer on Friday. Publicly."

"Check me?" I asked, leaning against the doorframe. "Like, physically?"

"Like, ’accidentally’ spill a keg on you, or shove you into a fountain, or start a fight they know they can win because there are six of them and one of you." Ethan stopped pacing. "Jake, you’ve got the suit, you’ve got the girl, you’ve got the attitude. But you don’t have the muscle. You’re literally a general without an army."

He was right. My "Intimidation" skill was high, but it relied on psychological pressure. If Brad decided to throw a punch, a high charisma stat wouldn’t stop a fist.

I looked at the System interface floating in my vision.

[Mission: The Inner Circle]

[Objective: Recruit "The Muscle"]

[Candidate Detected: Darius King]

[Profile: Junior, Linebacker, Scholarship Student. Status: Outsider.]

"Darius King," I said.

Ethan blinked. "The linebacker? Dude, he’s terrifying. He put a guy in the hospital last season for making a ’your mom’ joke. He hates everyone."

"He hates entitled people," I corrected. "He’s a scholarship kid, like me. He works security at The Box on weekends because his stipend doesn’t cover his rent."

"And you think he’s going to help you? He thinks you’re one of them now. Mr. Met Gala."

"That’s exactly why he’ll listen," I said, pushing off the doorframe. "Because I’m going to offer him something Brad never would."

"What? Friendship?"

"Respect," I said. "And a paycheck."

...

I found Darius in the university weight room. It was the old gym in the basement, the one with rusted plates and no air conditioning—the place where the serious lifters went to avoid the influencers upstairs.

Darius was deadlifting. The bar was bending under the weight. He was a mountain of a human being, six-foot-four with shoulders that looked like they could tackle a truck. He wore a faded hoodie and headphones, his expression a mask of intense focus.

I waited until he finished his set. The bar slammed to the floor with a sound like a gunshot.

He stood up, wiping sweat from his forehead, and saw me. His eyes narrowed.

"If it isn’t the celebrity," he grunted. "You lost? The cardio machines are upstairs."

"I’m looking for you, Darius."

He grabbed his water bottle, ignoring me. "I don’t sign autographs. And I don’t care about your little internet fame."

"I heard you’re looking for extra shifts," I said. "At The Box."

He stopped. Slowly, he turned back to face me. "You stalking me?"

"Research, Darius. There’s a difference." I corrected. "I know you’re working twenty hours a week on top of practice and classes. I also know that the owner of The Box shorts your tips sometimes."

Darius crossed his arms. His biceps were the size of my head. "So? You writing a book?"

"Even better, I’m offering you a job opportunity."

He laughed, a harsh, barking sound. "Let me guess. You want me to beat up someone who looked at your shoes wrong? I’m not a hitman, pretty boy."

"I don’t want a hit man, and I’m not a pretty boy. " I said, keeping my voice even. "I want a Director of Security."

Darius raised an eyebrow. "A what?"

"I run a consulting firm," I lied smoothly. "We handle high-profile clients. Sensitive information. I need someone to manage my personal security during campus events. Someone professional. Someone intimidating. Someone who can easily de-escalate a situation before it starts."

I pulled a folded envelope from my jacket pocket and held it out.

"Five hundred a week. For ten hours of work. It ain’t much work, mostly just standing around looking dangerous while I talk to people."

Darius looked at the envelope, then at me. "Five hundred?"

"Cash. Upfront."

He took the envelope. He didn’t open it. He just weighed it in his hand.

"Why me?" he asked, his voice lower now. "You could hire a pro with this amount."

"Because we are both scholarship students," I said. "And because you hate Brad and his crew as much as I do."

A slow grin spread across Darius’s face. It was terrifying.

"Brad’s a bitch," he agreed.

"He’s planning to jump me at the mixer on Friday."

Darius snorted. "Of course he is."

"I don’t want to fight him," I said. "I want to humiliate him. I want him to see that he can’t touch me. Can you handle that?"

Darius pocketed the envelope. He picked up his towel.

"Mr. Hart," he said, his voice mocking but respectful. "What time do we start?"

[Ally Recruited: Darius King (The Muscle)]

[Loyalty: Transactional]

[Intimidation Rating: Maximum]

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