Page 118 of Bad for Me

The Order of the Crows could though.

As a fifth generation Graveston legacy, it was already a foregone conclusion that I’d attend the university as well. That is, until I had a vehicular manslaughter charge on my record. The Order promised to wipe my slate clean and to give me anything and everything I could ever want for the rest of my life, so long as I did their dirty work. I was seventeen and I said yes in a heartbeat. I had no idea what their “dirty work” entailed, despite the fact that my father—a former Crow himself—tried to warn me as much as he could.

That accident changed me for the worse and the better. I never thought something similar would do the same for Everly. Or maybe she was never the spoiled, egotistical brat that I was. She certainly doesn’t seem like the monster I tried to convince myself she is. Her smile is sweet and kind, she has a passion for literature just like I do, and she sticks up for her gold-digging mother. But where did she learn that from if her mother is as awful as I thought?

My stepsister’s soft smile flickers in my mind, replacing the awful visions from before. It’s the same smile she wore right before I bullied her in front of her peers like an asshole. She was obviously so excited to see me, but why? When my father told me she was in my class, I assumed she was going to try to trick me into getting what she didn’t deserve, just like her mother did with my father. But there wasn’t an ounce of deceit in her wide, hopeful eyes, and now all of my preconceived notions about both of them are turning upside down.

“Damn it all to hell,” I mutter and open GravChat, the Graveston University app that had its beginnings even before I was a freshman.

Before technology ruled our world, on-campus rumors went around via word of mouth and the campus newspaper. Back when I attended school here, the gossip mostly spread through text message and email chains. Eventually, some computer science whiz kid figured out a darknet app where every student with a Graveston email address can post vague statuses and submit out of context blurry pictures anonymously. Once you see the rumor posts in your feed, they disappear. They can’t be screenshotted, and whoever made the website coded it to remove names and blur photos, effectively spreading gossip that can never be verified or fully squashed.

It’s the wild, wild west of the rumor mill, and I’m shocked that the Order hasn’t shut it down yet. Granted, the students could do the same with any other social media app and result in even more damage, but why tell the truth if you can start a salacious, unsubstantiated rumor to cause a little harmless chaos between classes? Not only that, but there has always been one particular poster that seems to have the best, most reliable information and only posts on GC. The students will scour the feed hourly for an OOTF, short for “Out of the Fog,” a hashtag that indicates whatever follows covers a piece of never before posted gossip. That one hashtag alone has addicted nearly every student to the app. If GC gets taken down, ten other apps will pop up to feed that craving. Besides, it’s not like any of the rumors are ever that damning. The day real damage might be done will no doubt be the day the Order snuffs the whole website—and its creator—out.

But for now, it’s something to pass the time.

The first post is an OOTF, meaning no one’s reported it before, but I recognize its contents because I was there. It’s a blurry picture of a short, blue-haired young woman that someone must’ve taken when she fled my class yesterday morning. Big deal. I’m more pissed that someone used their phone when I specifically said no technology. If I’m bored enough, maybe I’ll figure out the trajectory of the picture and what asshole to embarrass in my next lecture.

Below that post is one typed out line of more entertaining gossip. Someone apparently cursed out Belinda, the sweet elderly barista who’s worked at The Mid maybe even longer than I’ve been alive. Whoever did that to her was an idiot. The woman is the fastest and most competent employee on Graveston’s campus. When she’s serving a customer she likes, the crow’s feet beside her rheumy blue eyes deepen, and the many wrinkles in her pale skin lift up into a smile. Why would anyone want to start their day devastating a kind-hearted face like that? Plus, if you make an enemy out of her, you can kiss your on-campus coffee goodbye. She’s always been good to me, so whoever so much as hurts that sweet old lady’s feelings is on my shit list too.

As I scroll through the influx of back-to-school rumors, my eyes begin to glaze over.

Until sunny blonde hair clears my vision.

The blurry filter can’t hide her figure from me. I held her yesterday and my fingers still tingle at the memory of her curves. I memorized as much as I could of them even as I tried to push her away. The filter also does shit to disguise where she’s partying, and that some fucker isdancingwith her.

My stomach drops and nausea rises in my throat. I told her I needed to keep her safe, but she’s at the most dangerous place on campus. And the guy behind her? If I can figure out who that bastard is, he’s fucking dead. No one is allowed to touch what’s mine.

She’s not yours.

“Fuck you,” I curse the part of me that pushed her away yesterday as I check the time stamp on the post. Ten minutes ago. She’ll still be there if I leave now.

I hop off of my couch and sprint out of my apartment straight to my BMW, cursing myself again the whole way for good measure.

If I hadn’t been such a dick, she would’ve trusted me and told me about this party. She also would’ve trusted me when I told her Corvus House is bad fucking news. Now she doesn’t know that she’s in danger, and it’s all my fault.

Graveston University’s historic campus surrounds a horseshoe shaped green, and Corvus House is one of its oldest buildings, constructed behind the Trinity Chapel at the head of the horseshoe. All of which are on theoppositeside of the faculty apartments where I am, meaning I have to drive around the horseshoe to get there. It would have been faster for me to run across the green, but if I’m going to drag my stepsister out of that party kicking and screaming, I need a getaway car to do it.

I build my plan of action as I speed through the campus’ yellow traffic lights until I get to Corvus. The house’s gorgeous stone, gothic architecture is lit up with gaudy Christmas and strobe lights. Although it’s one of the smaller buildings on campus, hundreds of students spill out of it, running, dancing, and drinking inside and out of every open door and window without a care in the world. I used to be just like them, but now Everly’s safety consumes me.

I park outside the place I called home for four years and leap out, slamming the door behind me before sprinting through the open iron gate and onto the grounds. For a horrifying split-second, I worry that I’m going to have to search every square foot to find her. But at my arrival, the crowd in front of me stills, and a pair of wide, bright, sky-blue eyes catch my attention in the swirl of lights around us.

I straighten, trying to regain my composure, and I reach out, waving her over. “Everly, come with me. Now.”

She frowns and opens her mouth to argue. I’m practically shaking, hoping she’ll come with me without making a scene. The last thing I want is for my stepsister to be on the Crows’ radar. The Order’s henchmen infiltrate the Corvus fraternity every four years, and if any of them hurt her, I’ll turn on the Order in a heartbeat.

I’m fully prepared to toss her over my shoulder if I have to. But my chest aches for reasons I don’t have time to analyze, and I need her safenow. A softer approach will get me what we both need.

My eyes widen, silently pleading with her as I beg out loud. “Everly… please.”

Her hard expression melts, and she pushes through the crowd to come straight to me. Somehow the crowd’s whispers are louder than the music, but I ignore it all, refusing to take my eyes off of my stepsister, reassuring my racing heartbeat that she’s safe.

Once she’s within a foot of me, I grab her hand and tug her to my car. She doesn’t resist, and after I open the door, she slides right inside. I bend my head, hoping like hell no one snaps a picture. If the Crows know what’s good for us all, they’ll make any pictures taken of this disappear. Doing so will save their asses for throwing a kegger with underaged students in attendance and my ass for acting suspicious as hell.

Thankfully, I don’t see any flashing phones as I slide into my seat and peel out of the parking spot I made up. Once I get to the first stop sign, I keep my foot on the brake and shift to assess her underneath the corner streetlamp’s dim light.

Her tan, sequin dress nearly matches her skin tone, giving the illusion that she’s naked. Possessive jealousy heats my skin at the thought that any of those idiotic college bastards made the same connection.

She rolled a light sheen of body glitter all over her skin, highlighting the curves of her full breasts where the low neckline pushes them up. Her hair is free-flowing soft curls of sunshine, and her makeup is effortless. My mouth waters to taste her glossy pink lips, until my gaze reaches her furrowed brow and confused eyes. I swallow and return my focus back to the street before continuing to the women’s dorms.

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