Page 161 of Filthy Elites

“I knew it was you.” I laugh darkly, unamused. “I knew something was off when you came in today. That letter smelled like bullshit and you, honestly, smelled too good.”

“I can—”

“Shut the fuck up.” I grab her by the upper arms. “Do you want to know how I really knew?”

She nods slowly. Reagan may have lost her mind, but she’s not dumb. Giving me what I want is the only way out of this room, and she knows it.

“Those fucking lips.” God, I’ve fantasized about those lips for months and then I finally had them wrapped around my cock. I could pick Reagan Lake’s lips out of a goddam line-up. I run my finger over the puffy bottom one. “One of a kind.”

She tries to squirm away, but I’m too strong and she’s too wasted. Beaker, a senior and chemistry major, learned exactly how much Rohypnol to dump in the shot mix to make the girls loose but not blackout.

“Tell me what you’re doing here?” I search her eyes. She’s scared. She should be. Desperate. Also not a surprise. “What’s with the bro clothes? The games?” I tighten my grip on her arm. “And don’t tell me this is to get back at Royer. He’ll shove his dick into almost anything but not another guy’s ass. This is the wrong move.”

“You’re hurting me,” she says, eyes darting down to my hand. I loosen my grip a little, and she relaxes. “I just wanted to come to the party, see what I was missing.” She swallows. “I wanted to see him.”

Him. Royer. This little cunt has been chasing him around for months, all while he was using the hell out of her and setting her up for an enormous, humiliating fall. “You’re not that pathetic, Reagan.” Although, at that moment she looks it. Tits smashed down, God awful haircut, dressed like my younger brother in his boy band phase. “Who the fuck gave you that letter?”

“I can’t tell.”

I laugh. “Tell me or I drag you down the front steps, naked, and I’ll make up my own story about what Reagan Lake is doing, sneaking around a Zeta Sig party after being blacklisted.”

She reacts to the word ‘blacklisted,’ wincing like she’s been slapped. After blackmailing her for the past four months, she knows how far I’m willing to go. That awareness flickers in her eyes and she sighs in resignation. “The Greek Council got me that letter. They want evidence to take you down.”

“Because of the hazing?”

“Yes.” She rubs her arm where I held her. “They’re determined to stop Zeta Sig and want hard proof. After they saw my video and what Royer and Andrea did to me, they figured I’d be ready for some revenge.”

“Looks like you jumped on it.”

Tears fill her eyes, and it makes me think about her being on her knees, her eyes watering as she gagged on my cock. I shift, feeling the swell in my pants, getting hard thinking about it.

“I just…”

“You just what?” I snap.

“Want my life back.” She wipes her cheeks. “I want all of those stupid mistakes to go away. For Royer to love me. For Andrea to be who I thought she was.” She looks down at the floor, but I tilt her chin upward.

“And me?”

Her voice sounds far away when she answers. “I want you to go to hell.”

“I bet you do.”

Loud voices bounce off the walls in the hall, followed by drunken footsteps. Her shoulders tense, afraid she’s going to get busted by more than just me. I stare at her for a moment, trying to figure out what to do with her. I could expose her right now and she’d be gone from this campus for good. Or…

“What?” she says warily.

I nod at the couch. “You’re in no shape to walk home. That roofie is going to kick in soon.”

“Roofie?”

“Yeah, never take a drink from a frat boy, Reagan. Especially a Zeta Sig.”

She sits on top of the pile of clothes on the couch and pulls her knees to her chest. “Are you going to tell Royer?” she asks.

“Not yet. You’ll sleep here tonight, and in the morning, we’ll figure out how we’re going to handle this.”

She seems too exhausted to argue and the drugs kick in just like I expect, her eyelids fluttering shut despite her efforts to stay awake. I leave the room, locking the door behind me with a key. I’m still not sure what I’m going to do with her.

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