Page 42 of The Vipers and Their Venom

And she’s in West House.

I’m excited about her proximity. It’s all I can do to stop myself from rushing through the building to find her room and bang on the door and announce who I am. But I remember my mom’s warnings, and I know I have to be more cautious. It still doesn’t stop me from looking at the faces of every girl I pass, wondering if they might be Reagan. I probably look like a freak, gawping at everyone. I’m also walking somewhat cautiously. I’venever had that much attention between my legs before, and I’m feeling the effects of it today. They only used their fingers and mouths on me, and I wonder if I’ll be bedbound if I ever give in and fuck them. Likely, if Zane gets that monster of his near me.

Not that I’m thinking about doing such a thing, of course. I’m not thinking about it when the familiar tingling starts up at my core, and I’m not thinking about it when I have to squeeze my thighs together while I’m in class, and I’m definitely not thinking about it when I spot the back of Zane’s head as he walks down the hall.

My heart beats faster at the sight of him, but I hang back and press myself to a bank of lockers, not wanting to be seen.

I have zero experience in this situation. What am I supposed to do? Act as though nothing has happened between us? Will he even acknowledge me, or will he just look straight past me? I haven’t seen either of the twins yet, and I’m grateful for that. Unless I get a good look at them, I won’t know if I’m speaking to Lex or Saint. I’m so confused about them. I’d thought Saint was the decent guy, and Lex was the asshole, but after last night, I’m doubting everything.

I sit through my classes, simultaneously watching for any hint that someone might be my sister, or know my sister, and also being hugely aware of the possibility of running into any of the Vipers. Each time I think I spot one of them, adrenaline kicks through my veins, and I’m left spun out and breathless.

Lunchtime arrives, and I force myself to go to the cafeteria. I can’t live on vending machine food the entire time I’m here. The cafeteria is a bustling mass of students, and, just like any time I come across people here, I scan their faces, hoping I’ll see something in one of the girls’ faces that I’ll recognize. I know it’s stupid, but a part of me is expecting Reagan to be my twin, like I’ll find her, and we’ll stare at each other like we’re both looking in a mirror. That’s not going to happen, though. Not only doesshe have a different dad, but she also grew up in a completely different lifestyle than mine.

The thought makes me wonder about her life growing up. Has she been happy? Mom said that Jarl Olsen was a terrible man, that he raped her and then threatened to kill her baby—something that breaks my heart every time I think about it. My mom never gave me any clue that she’d gone through something so traumatic, though now I think back, there were often times I’d find her sitting, staring out into nothing, with her eyes teary. Had she been thinking about her stolen daughter? What kind of father would Jarl Olsen have made? Had he cherished Reagan, or had he sent her off to places like this so he wouldn’t have to deal with her?

My stomach growls, reminding me where I am. I’m starving. I have to admit the food provided looks to be far better than anything I’ve had at school before, but that’s hardly surprising considering the insane fee the students’ families are paying for them to go here. On that kind of money, we should be eating smoked salmon and caviar for every meal.

I go to the pasta bar, joining the line, select a tray, then pile my dish with penne. Then I add a scoop of cheese sauce and some bacon bits. I finish it off with a side of broccoli, so I don’t feel like I’m being completely unhealthy.

A male voice comes from my side—one I don’t recognize. He’s speaking in that way people do when they’re pretending they don’t want to be heard, while clearly intending for the person to hear.

“She might want to skip the cheese sauce and bacon.”

His friend laughs. “She might want to skip the pasta, too.”

“I bet someone like her puts on weight even if she just ate the broccoli.”

They snigger together, and my cheeks burn. I’m frozen on the spot, my tray balanced in my hands. I want to vanish. I’m sure everyone has heard, even though such a thing is impossible.

My weight has never been something I’ve been particularly conscious of. I’m aware that I have curves, but I’m normally confident in my own skin. Plenty of the biker girls are curvy, and those men seem to like their women with more than a handful to spare. Here, though, I stand out. I’m not tall and model thin like most of the other girls, and the skin I have is covered in tats. It’s no wonder they’re singling me out.

I draw as much inner strength as I can find and force myself to lift my chin and face them.

“Did you have something you wanted to say to me?”

They exchange a glance, and the first guy clears his throat. I see that moment when the lesser side of his nature wins, and just before he speaks his mouth kicks up in a smirk. “Yeah. You might want to think about the salad bar instead of the pasta bar.”

I grit my teeth. “And why is that?” I hold his gaze and put as much confidence into my voice as I can.

He seems flustered now. He doesn’t like being forced to say it directly to my face. Everyone is looking, too, and the low chatter that had been filling the air has died away. All focus is on us.

“Well,” he says, and gestures up and down my body, “’cause you’re kind of fat.”

I lift my tray, literally about to throw my food in his face, but I don’t get the chance.

A huge fist comes flying from out of nowhere and slams into the guy’s jaw. I stagger backward, somehow managing to keep my tray balanced, as Zane’s massive form fills the space between me and the guy who just insulted me.

The cafeteria erupts in hoots and cheers.

“What the fuck, dude?” the guy exclaims, then he lifts his own tray and takes a swing at Zane.

Mistake. Big mistake.

Despite his size, Zane ducks, avoiding the tray. The guy’s eyes go wide as Zane wrenches it out of his hands, and then uses it to smash him across the head. The tray splits in two, and the crack it makes echoes through the air.

The strangest part of all this is that Zane remains completely silent. In a normal fight, there would be growls and shouts, and insults thrown, but the only noise Zane makes is that of his heavy breathing and the squeak of his shoes on the floor.

The guy goes down heavily. He’s bleeding from the nose where Zane punched him, and now a trickle of blood runs from his hairline.

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