Page 21 of Cruel Legacy

We taped a note to the windshield, which was the only thing left in his parking spot. I know for a fact he never found all the pieces to the car, because his steering wheel is in the bunker.

* * *

I pushed myself hard at the gym. My post workout high has me in a better mood when I get back to the dorm. After a nice hot shower, I’m feeling human again. More in control.

I grab a banana and a bottle of water from my kitchen before heading to breakfast. The food in the cafeteria is amazing, but we never know when Rho Beta Psi business will interrupt our meal, so I always try to put something in my stomach before I go there. Most of the time, Finn does the same. But Holden… sometimes he gets so caught up in his head he forgets to eat even when there’s nothing going on. We try to keep granola, nuts, or fruit snacks in our cars and backpacks for him to snack on.

I stroll through the side door of the cafeteria and see the guys are already at our usual table. I head to the line and place my order before joining them.

We never wait for our plates at the counter. There’s literally a line out the door of people willing to serve us, even if it means they won’t get to eat their own food.

I’ve barely settled into my seat when the scent of roses assaults my nose. Someone’s sprayed perfume so heavily it’s making my nose burn and my eyes water.

I grimace, looking up at the source of the offending odor. Her makeup job isn’t much better. She doesn’t look familiar. I’m guessing she’s a freshman. One who’s reinvented herself at college, because if she was practicing beauty tips in high school she’d know nobody wants someone who’s bathed in perfume and wearing obvious layers of makeup.

Even I know you’re supposed to blend that contour shit in. I lean back and let her place my tray in front of me. “End seat,” I say before digging into my food.

If you’re lucky enough to deliver our food, then you’re allowed to sit at our table for that meal. We decide where. Sometimes it’s right next to us, and other times we pawn you off on someone else at our table. Either way, you’re seen in our company, which immediately elevates your social status. Maybe someone will take this girl under their wing and tell her to tone that shit down.

Holden’s sitting across from me, his head in a book, as usual. The spot in front of him is empty. Either he didn’t go to the food line to order something, or no one brought his tray, and because he’s distracted with whatever he’s reading, he hasn’t noticed.

I glance over at Finn, who has no trouble deciphering my look. He says, “It’s on the way. He ordered an omelet with mushrooms and spinach, but insisted they use the ingredients he brought.”

Holden’s a picky eater. He’s growing shit on his balcony, and when he harvests something, he makes sure it’s used. We all have those things we use the power of our names to get. Holden uses his name to make sure the chefs in the back cook his food just the way he wants it.

It takes a while to get used to his quirks and mannerisms. Because of it, he’s treated differently than me and Finn. It’s not always obvious he’s being ostracized.

Nobody’s stupid enough to come right out and say they think he’s weird, but we can tell. Just like now. The girls at the table are going out of their way to talk to us. Even going so far as yelling down the table to get our attention. But the two girls next to Holden aren’t paying him any attention.

It’s their loss, because he’s a walking contradiction. He looks like he can bang nails into boards with his bare hands, but he’s so fucking smart it’s scary. I mean it. Some of the shit he knows, like how to dismember a body with the least amount of blood loss, or the best way to access a secure server and make it look like someone else did it, really used to worry me.

What twelve-year-old knows that shit? But Holden did, and he remembers everything with perfect recall. He’s got a photographic memory and an insatiable thirst for learning.

I’m not too proud to admit a huge part of the success of our team is because of him. He plans our missions, including contingencies. But he’s also able to guide us when we have to improvise, and when we throw down, he’s a bruiser. Holden’s actually a better fighter than I am. You know, since he knows exactly how to incapacitate you with one blow.

A guy approaches with his tray, looking nervous. It’s one of the chefs. Another of his quirks is he prefers the person who prepared his food to bring it out to him. That way, if it’s poisoned, we know who to destroy.

While Finn and I are relatively certain nobody’s slipping poison into our food, Holden isn’t as trusting. An incident when he was seven has made him distrustful of people in general. The way he’s been treated by girls since high school has him weary of women in particular. That’s why he doesn’t care that none of the giggling sluts at the table are throwing themselves at him or trying to get his attention.

“Eat, man,” I say, letting him know his food is here. He stabs his fork in his eggs, without looking up from his book, and holds it out to the girl on his right. I stifle a laugh. That’s the only hint he gives that he’s been paying attention to what’s going on around him.

The girl that mumbled, “Why am I stuck sitting next to the freak,” just got nominated to be his official taste tester.

“Why are you giving me this?” She asks, confused, since nobody else is feeding the other girls at the table.

He turns the page in his book at the same time he says, “Because if it’s poisoned, there will be one less bitch in the world. Now eat it, like you’ve got a mouth full of my cum sliding down your throat. Don’t even think about spitting it out.”

It’s a soft command, but you can’t miss the bite on the end. She must’ve been saying some other shit before I got here. She looks around the table, quickly realizing no one’s gonna intervene. Slowly, she opens her mouth and wraps her lips around the tines of the fork, trying to take the smallest of bites.

Holden’s as quick as a python striking. He shoves the fork all the way in her mouth, the way he would shove his dick down her throat. From the way she flinches, I’m sure he’s scratched the roof of her mouth with it.

He pulls the fork out, unwraps a new one, and sets the timer on his watch, digging into his food when five minutes pass without her turning blue or foaming at the mouth. That’s what I mean, about being so quick to dismiss him. He’s as cruel as he is kind. I wouldn’t want to end up on his bad side.

While I’m eating, I’m scanning the cafeteria for signs of anyone giving off suspicious vibes. We’re always on guard. The frats and sororities are constantly trying to out-prank each other, and students at the bottom of the food chain are always looking for a way to reach the top.

My gaze clashes with Steven Lane’s. Football hero. Total prick. He’s leaning back in his chair as if it’s his throne. A girl I vaguely remember hooking up with once or twice last year is sitting in his lap. I think she’s a congressman’s daughter. I didn’t ask too many questions.

The cocky ass grin on Steve’s face is one that says he’s got one up on me. He doesn’t. I might not remember whatever the girl and I talked about, but Idoremember my friends and I stretched her holes out like a misshapen sweater.

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