Page 18 of The Vipers and Their Venom

How am I going to find her?

I need to talk to other students, that’s for sure, and they’re only going to open up to me if they think they can trust me. I’ve never been the most open of people, and acting relaxed and friendly in this place isn’t going to be easy. Plus, the ones I really need to talk to are those in the years above me. They’re the ones who’ll know her.

My thoughts instantly go to the two guys I now know are twins. They’re in their third year, which is the same year as my sister. Do they know her? This isn’t a huge college—population-wise—and while I’m sure it’s not possible for everyone to know everyone else, they must have at least heard of her. But I don’t even know what house she’s in. I’m in West House, apparently, but which one is she?

I bite my lower lip, remembering how obnoxious the first brother was. I can’t imagine him being happy to answer any of my questions, but perhaps the other one—Saint—will be willing to talk to me. I suddenly find myself wishing I’d been a little more friendly toward him. Had I come across as a total bitch? I couldn’t help it. Being a young woman, alone, in a secludedarea, and having a strange man approach is bound to put up my defenses. What is it they say about how women would rather come across a bear than a man when they’re alone in the woods?

I can talk to the twins—or Saint, at least—but I ought to wait until I’ve had a little longer to get to know them. It’s going to look very suspicious if I bring Reagan up right away, and I have no idea who I can and can’t trust here. I did promise my mom I wouldn’t go asking for her by name in case word gets back to her father. The idea of waiting around for ages, though, twiddling my thumbs for weeks while I learn who can be approached, is too much. I need answers, and I’ve never been the most patient person.

The other place I could look for clues, of course, would be the dean’s office. Would he keep records there? Normally, I’d assume everything would be online, but this place seems to do things old style. In my head, I picture big metal filing cabinets with brown manilla folders hidden inside. I have no idea if Dean Rossi would think that those kinds of files would be safer than those that could be hacked online, but something tells me he’s the kind who’d think that way.

You can shred paper, but online records are forever. The MC club keeps much of their records old school, ledgers, notebooks, files. All locked away, and all able to be shredded or even burned if needed. That way they can destroy it all and leave no trace. I’m pretty sure a place like this will follow similar protocols.

Voices drift down the corridor toward me, and then two blondes come into view. They’re both tall and skinny and dripping in designer clothes—my complete opposites. I feel short and squat and scruffy in comparison, and their sweeping gaze is filled with a ready disdain that tells me they think so too.

“Hey, you’re the new girl, aren’t you?” the slightly taller blonde asks. “I saw you arrive. From up in one of the classrooms. You in a biker gang?”

I laugh. “Women aren’t allowed in the gang, but my father is. He runs it.”

I can’t hide the pride in my tone and force myself to square my shoulders and lift my chin. I need to remember where I’m from.

She holds out her hand, and there’s an imperiousness to the way she does so that rubs me the wrong way, but still, I need to remember I’m here to make friends. I take her hand and shake briefly.

“I’m Verity,” she says. “This is my friend, Tabitha.”

“Hi. Pleased to meet you both. I’m Vani.”

“Varney?” Verity mispronounces my name, and I’m sure from her smirk it’s on purpose.

“Vani,” I say, hardening the ‘a.’

“Oh, right. That’s an unusual name.” Once more her gaze trails down my body, and I can feel her assessing my weight and stats. “What year are you?”

“I’m a freshman.”

“Oh, I see. We’re not in your year, or we’d have taken you under our wing, wouldn’t we, Tabitha?”

The other blonde nods and simpers up at Verity as if she’s the queen of England or something. It’s on the tip of my tongue to blurt out if they know Reagan, but I manage to hold myself back. If they know her, it’ll only get back to her that I’m asking about her, and then she may contact her dad. I need to be more discreet.

Another group of girls walks by, and they cast us glances, but none of them smile, not only at me, but not at Verity either.

This place is colder than the faces of the men on the walls, and just as gloomy.

“Well, Varney,” Verity says with another fake smile. “We will see you around.”

She and her friend link arms and walk off, and I’m suddenly all alone in the corridor again.

I look at the portrait above me. “I wonder if any of you thought this place would be so full of spoiled fuckers when you built it, huh?”

He doesn’t answer and merely carries on glaring at me.

Sighing, I continue my search for the main stairwell so I can go back to my room and consider the sanity of searching Mr. Rossi’s office.

I take a corner to walk down yet another endless corridor, hoping I’m heading toward the stairs that will take me back up to my room, and slam into a wall of hard muscle.

I cry out in surprise, and the person I’ve just walked into gives a strange kind of hiss.

It takes me a second, but then I realize it’s the same guy who’d watched me arrive.

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