Page 16 of Cruel Legacy

Most people wouldn’t want the behemoth that is Paxton Cox hitting them with the full force of his fist, but I do. I like to train as if I’m fighting an actual opponent, and Pax is the perfect sparring partner. He’s taller than me, thicker than me, and has a mean left hook. Fighting a southpaw ups my skill level by a million percent, but today, I might as well be punching a heavy bag for all the response I’m getting.

The timer dings ending our training session. Pax goes to the other side of the room, while I plop down on the floor to work on my abs. Holden’s in the corner meditating or some shit. He’s a wall of muscle too, and lifts super heavy, but he’s all graceful and shit because he likes to do yoga.

It’s hard to reconcile the way he looks with his nature loving, tree hugging personality. He used to get so much flack about it. Now, he doesn’t share that side of himself with anyone anymore.

I say fuck all the haters, but underneath that brain, and all those muscles, he’s a sensitive soul.

Pax finishes his set of bicep curls, then moves to the pull-up bar. “We have an assignment,” he says after his first set of ten reps.

Holden cracks one eye open and says, “I didn’t get a text alert from the frat.”

“It’s not Beta Psi business.”

The only other place an assignment could come from is The League, but it’s too soon for that. Unless they’re upping our timeline. Or about to punish us for what happened during the last prank night. I’m certain it’s the latter, so I ask, “How much trouble am I in?”

Pax drops down and looks over at me. “None. I didn’t mention what happened to my father.”

“That doesn’t mean they don’t know.”

He nods and says, “This assignment came from him, but he didn’t bring it up that night.”

I let out a small sigh of relief, but Holden loses his chill. “According to Chapter twelve, subpart seven paragraph three of the bylaws, no member of The League of the Daggered Ravens may assign tasks to members of their bloodline, without the express agreement of the entire council. The council hasn’t sent us a summons to appear. So whatever assignment this is, is against the bylaws.”

Pax wipes the sweat off his forehead with his shirt, then jumps up to do another set of pull-ups. He finishes ten reps before dropping down and replying, “This is more like a favor.”

“Then we don’t have to do it.”

Holden’s right. We don’t have to but, the look on Pax’s face says he’s not so ready to dismiss his father’s request. He scrubs a hand through his hair and says what we all know to be true. “If we don’t do it, you know he’ll find a way to make us regret saying no.”

And that would be a problem. We’re not Initiates. We’re barely even prospects, but we know better than to alienate the people who’ll be issuing our tasks and deciding if we progress to the next level.

“What does he want us to do?” I ask, as I climb to my feet and walk over to the where I left my water bottle.

“The top floor is about to get crowded. He wants us to keep an eye on our new neighbor.”

Somebody’s getting fired. Everyone knows only direct descendants of the top four donors to the school can live on the tenth floor. The residents are usually the oldest children of the current generation, except in Pax’s case, he has a cousin who’s two years older than him. It’s a good thing she went to a different school, or he’d be on a different floor, or sharing a room.

Family representation from the fourth bloodline has been absent for fifty something years. That fourth room is basically a reminder of what was and a status symbol of what could be.

At any rate, I think we’ve all assumed the room would remain empty. Which is why we’re known as The Triumvirate instead of The Quadrumvirate.

“This guy, what’s his deal? He pledging a rival fraternity or something, and your dad approved him to live next door so we can get some dirt?”

“I do not know what her deal is. It’s definitely some kind of mix-up with the dorms, but he wants us to report back on her, anyway.”

“Her?” Our new neighbor’s a girl? This is a favor I can get behind. I’ve grown bored with the girls from the summer, and Eloise, my future wife, and I are still doing our own thing. We’re not due to get back together until the spring.

There’s nothing like a new project to celebrate the start of the school term. I can have some fun, while keeping an eye on the lower level legacy baby, whose family has clearly slept their way to the top floor. Hopefully, she’s learned a few cool bedroom tricks along the way.

* * *

Pax told us about his father’s request yesterday, and we spent all night brainstorming ideas about how to get the information we need on her. I’m still trying to wrap my head around the idea that someone else will be living in the fourth dorm room.

We like being up there alone, not caring about the amount of noise we make or having to worry about a lot of people coming and going on our floor.

I’m also on edge because we don’t know if The League knows about the car incident last week. We’re operating under the assumption that they don’t, but that could change at any minute.

I’m not paying attention to where I’m going, so it’s no surprise when I end up missing the street for the movie theater I’m heading to. I’ve come off campus to watch a movie.

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