Page 174 of Filthy Elites

I nod and spare a quick glance at Reagan. She looks exhausted and harsher without the hair. It also highlights her features, the sharp cheekbones, and long eyelashes. Those goddam lips. She’s kept it together better than I expected, even though I thought she may break when Royer was talking about all the lies he told her. That’s the only time I saw a crack in her façade.

“You get in there and deal with the others.” I let my lips curl. “I deal with him on my own.”

“But everyone—”

“Gets wet. I know.” I let my eyes sweep over Reagan one more time. “Don’t worry, brother. I’ll make sure he gets a thorough soaking.”

Rat’s eyes flick between me and Reagan. His urge to fuck with the runt is overwhelming. I get it. Before Rat, the goats had to deal with me. I was the Warden last year. That’s also why he knows better than to question me. I have seniority here.

“You got it, VP. I trust that whatever you have in store for him will be equitable.” A shout comes from the shower room, and it draws his attention away. “Sounds like my supervision as warden is needed elsewhere, anyway.”

Once he’s gone, I jerk my chin toward the wide double doors. “Go.”

“What do you want me to do?”

“Go to my room. Shower. Wait for me.”

Those big eyes hold mine for a minute, like she’s trying to decide which punishment is worse. The shower full of degenerate recruits? Rat? Or me?

I won’t lie and pretend like there’s a good choice here, but there is one that keeps us both from going down in flames.

“Fine.” She exhales. “Thank you.”

I don’t know if it’s the softness in her voice or the words themselves, but something dark kicks to life in my chest. “There’s no need to thank me. I’m not saving you, kitten. If you haven’t noticed, when I adjust your hazement, I’m not giving you a break. Everything the other goats do, you do too—with an added twist.” I look down at her. “You reek. Clean up and wait for me.”

She nods and takes a step back, grabbing her backpack and scurrying out of the room.

I’m not the only one that watches her go—Royer’s gaze follows her from his spot by the door, forehead creased in curiosity. He knows well enough not to question me, but I sense the suspicion. It’s a lot of interest in one goat—one he should have recognized if he wasn’t so focused on his own getting his cock wet and making this the most insane gauntlet Zeta Sig has ever seen.

I cross the barn, preparing my excuse along the way, but one of the members, Bushwacker, rushes up to Royer with a sheet of paper.

“I updated the schedule with the added hazement,” he says, pushing his wild, curly hair back.

Royer skims over the details and a slow grin spreads across his mouth. “Yeah, looks good. Tomorrow night. Midnight.”

No one told me about a change in the schedule.

“What is it?”

Bushwacker shoves the paper at me, and I see the next item on the schedule.

Fucking hell.

“Seriously?” I ask, because this is one of those things that will get us tossed for sure if word gets out. “You really want to go there? I mean, the pledge cocktail is basically an urban legend. No one knows if it’s even actually been done.”

“Maybe it is, but not anymore. I told you, bro,” Royer says, “no holding back. This year is going to be epic.”

He’s right, of course. It is epic, hilarious, and downright nasty all at once. But it’s also going to be a problem for me and Reagan. There’s no way she gets through this without revealing her true identity.

“You better be sure this isn’t going to backfire,” I tell him, but I know it doesn’t matter. As deep as I’m in it with Reagan, Royer is just as obsessed with the gauntlet.

All of this is on my mind when I get upstairs. Warm, soapy, moisture lingers in the air—the scent of my shampoo and bodywash. Masculine and spicey. The lights are off, other than the glow from the bathroom. I peer in, but she’s not in there. What the—?

Then I find her. There. In my bed. Curled up in a tight ball. She looks like a kid; her features softened in her sleep, the dark circles under her eyes more pronounced. Her legs are bare, the hem of her—fuck!my ratty, worn sweatshirt grazing her upper thighs. Kitten thought she could borrow my clothing to snuggle into. Does she like my scent? My dick swells and I take a step forward. It’s going to be a pleasure to take that right back off.

She sighs, stirring slightly, grabbing the pillow next to her. She yanks it close to her chest and clutches it protectively—a shield against the bad things—badmenlike me.

I’d planned on coming up here and making her pay for getting her out of that jam downstairs. Forcing her to do her share of the hazement but looking at her like this… it feels wrong to fuck with her right now.

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