Page 181 of Filthy Elites

“It was disgusting,” I finish, leaving out the part about Miller making me masturbate.

“But Royer didn’t make you drink it?”

I shake my head. “No. They beat the time.” I laugh darkly. “Literally.”

He doesn’t laugh with me. “I’m sorry this happened to you. I’ve heard about this ritual, but I always thought it was just an urban legend. It never happened in my four years at Zeta Sig.”

“You know Royer,” I say, “he wants to be the best at being terrible.”

“So far, it seems like he’s succeeding.”

“Well, it’s over. I survived one more day. Four more to go.” I take a sip of coffee. The liquid warms my stomach. I look up and see him watching me. “What?”

“You’re pretty brave, you know that?”

I’ve been called a lot of things, but brave isn’t one of them. “It doesn’t feel brave. Every time I don’t walk away, I feel like I’m the world’s biggest idiot.”

“You’re not an idiot. You’re strong, Reagan.” The wide curve of his hand cups the back of my head and rubs over the shorn hair. “And believe it or not, I like the hair.”

I squirm away from the sensation and roll my eyes. “Yeah, right.”

“No, really.” His eyes skim down my face. “You look badass and beautiful.”

The sincerity in his voice forces me to look at him, and his expression matches his tone. My skin prickles and the air in the room grows thin. I should step back. The space between us is a little too narrow, but my feet are glued in place.

“I should go,” I force out, because I know I’m exhausted and deprived of genuine affection and vulnerable.

“Right.” Although he doesn’t move right away. “Oh, I have something for you.” He reaches into his pocket. “You’re right about proof. We need evidence—hard evidence.” He holds up a circular button identical to the one I’m wearing. My pledge pin, complete with the number forty-seven. “There’s a camera embedded in here.”

A squicky feeling churns in my stomach. Grayson wants to see everything going on during the gauntlet. Including the stuff I’ve been hiding from him. “Seems risky,” I say, not entirely convincing. “If they found out…”

“They won’t.” He reaches for the button on my shirt and unhooks it. Then replaces it with the new one. He must sense my skepticism because he rests his hand on my shoulder and squeezes. “We need this, Reagan. We have to get them to stop.”

I nod. I know he’s right; we need hard evidence on the Zeta Sig’s, but even after I leave the closet and make my way across campus, I know that the frat’s won’t be the only reputation ruined.

SIXTEEN

Miller

“Congratulations!” Knox yells from the front of the room. “You’ve made it halfway through the gauntlet! Only four of you have pussied out and quit and we consider that reason to celebrate.” He grins out at the bald, exhausted goats. “It’s time for the Liquor Run.”

Knox is an enigma. A balance between hard partying frat boy and dedicated athlete. The pressure he gets from being a varsity level athlete with Olympic aspirations is intense. I think that’s why he needs to blow off so much steam.

The Liquor Run is Knox’s favorite part of the gauntlet, probably because it combines both of those things. Competition and a party.

“Each one of you goats will team up with a brother who will drive you around to five liquor stores. You’re tasked with purchasing five bottles of liquor in two hours and bringing them to the rendezvous point. Everyone who succeeds will throw down at the most epic party of the year. The rest of you?” He laughs darkly. “Trust me, just fucking succeed.”

“What if we don’t have ID?” someone shouts from the pen. All of the goats are underage—that’s why this is challengingandhilarious.

“Tough shit,” Rat says, stepping next to him. “You better get good at sucking liquor store clerk cock.”

Rat lifts a bullhorn to his mouth and begins shouting out partners for the night. I’ve already arranged it for Reagan to be my partner. Once Knox discovered her working on my homework, he stopped wondering why I had ‘Theo’ in my room so much. It surprised me when I found out what she’d done. I mean, why was she doing my homework? I’m not sure I care that much because I have an ‘A’ in math now.

Rat calls out my name and then forty-seven, and Reagan and I make eye contact across the barn. We haven’t spoken since last night, but I’ve thought about her.A lot. I just about rubbed my dick raw after going to bed last night, thinking about her getting herself off in the horse stall. Every time I think she’ll break, or that I’ll push her past her limit, she rises to the occasion. Reagan Lake is tougher than anyone thinks.

She crosses the room, wearing loose Army green pants and a Whittmore sweatshirt, fussing with the pledge pin near her collar. We walk out to the parking lot and get into my Jeep. I’ve just slid the key into the ignition when she says, “Are you sure you want to do this?”

“The Liquor Run?” I ask. “It’s a tradition.”

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