Page 4 of Say It Slowly

“I thought only members were invited to stuff like that,” she says, curiosity in her tone.

“Yeah, same.” I shove my hand into my messy makeup bag and find my two-year-old mascara. Pulling it out, I open the cap and start applying it. “All of this society stuff is really weird, and I’d rather not go at all, but Roman isn’t someone who respects boundaries, so...”

“Well, just be careful,” she says, sounding more concerned than usual.

I never told her about the near-death experience I had with the car a couple of days ago, so her comment surprises me. I turn to look at her. “You said that like you’re worried.”

She shrugs one shoulder. “I’ve overheard things.”

“Well, don’t keep me in suspense,” I laugh, trying to lighten the mood. “What did you overhear?”

Blinking, she glances down at her computer. I can tell she doesn’t want to tell me. “I don’t know.” She glances up at me apologetically. “There are people who are pissed you’re dating Roman. They say you don’t deserve it.”

I turn fully to face her. Could that be the reason I was nearly run over the other night? “Who said that?”

She shrugs again. “I don’t know who it was. It’s just something I overheard in the dining hall.”

I nod and finish getting ready. “No worries. I’ll be fine,” I say, wishing I really believed that.

“Well, have fun, then.”

A tribunal sounds likezerofun, actually, but I don’t say that. This event is a secret society thing and I don’t know how much I can say about it, so I opt to say nothing.

At nine-fifty sharp, there’s a knock on my door. I open it and see two guys standing in the hallway. They’re both wearing dark suits, and tall with broad shoulders. “We’re here to escort you to Rush House.”

Turning, I throw a look at Emily, mouthing the words, “Oh, my God.” She laughs and shakes her head. “Don’t wait up,” I say with a smile, shutting the door.

These guys can be my security detail anytime. For real.

We end up driving to Rush House, which seems silly, considering it’s only a ten-minute walk from my residence hall, but it saves me from having to trek all that way in heels, so I don’t complain.

At the front door of Rush House, there’s someone there to collect my phone and inspect my invitation. It’s the same guy from the other night, and with that same scowl of disapproval, he lets me pass.

About thirty people in evening wear are gathered in the foyer, milling around, waiting. The second I walk in, though, it’s like Moses parting the Red Sea—everyone takes a step away from me like I have the plague.

And I swear to God, some guy just pops up out of nowhere and thumps his stickright next to me.The sound reverberates on the hardwood floor, and it brings everyone to attention. Every. Single. Person in the foyer turns to look at me, stomping their feet in unison, forming a rhythm they all seem to know, then ending on a collective “Hoo-ah!” that jolts me.

Damn.

Was that for me? Or was I supposed to join in?

Where’s Wyn when I need her? I should have texted her to see if she was coming to this, but a quick glance around the room reveals she’s not here. I’m in this alone. So in the interest of blending in, I just stand in the corner of the foyer, waiting along with everyone else.

A couple minutes after arriving, someone wades over to me—a girl with long brown hair and bow-shaped lips. “I’m Lindsay. You can come with me,” she says.

Ah, okie dokie.

She spins on her heel, and I follow her through the crowd and down the hallway to a set of double doors that lead to the study. She opens one of the doors and waves me inside.

As I step over the threshold, I’m confronted with all four of the Sacred Sons. Jackson and Christian are lounging on the two leather sofas. Lucas is leaning against the mantel, looking at his phone, and Roman is leaning against a table, drink in hand, looking like a fuckingsnack.

He’s wearing black slacks, and a black button-down shirt, rolled up to expose his muscular forearms. His head is tilted down slightly, and his pale eyes catch on me as I walk in. I can feel his gaze like a physical touch, trailing up my bare legs, to my hips, and then settling on my cleavage, which is pretty prominently displayed—not on purpose. Cleavage is just what happens when you have large breasts.

When his pale eyes crawl up to my face, his gaze colliding with mine, a hot ember trips down my spine. I always feel a spark of heat when he looks at me like that—with dark intent. Everything about Roman is dark, andfuck,but that darkness pulls at me in ways it shouldn’t.

If a moth is drawn to a flame, I’m drawn to the shadows that flame creates.

I think they have a name for people like that—crazy.

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