Page 195 of Filthy Elites

“I’ll deal with it.”

“No,” he says, swallowing the rest of his coffee. “Let Rat deal with it. He’s the Warden. The three of us need to get ready for the final initiation.”

I open my mouth to argue—I don’t want Rat anywhere near Reagan, especially alone, but if I push this too hard, Royer will just keep asking questions.

“Sure. Whatever. Rat can deal with it,” I reply, grabbing my backpack and heading out the door.

Reagan has proven she can handle herself around the Zeta Sigs. I have to trust she can get through the final two days without my help. And then, I’ll use her to overthrow Royer and claim my position as president.

* * *

I don’t findReagan on campus, but I do run into Grayson Pierce. I know the guy from the year I pledged. He was a senior—the president—the biggest partier of them all.

Now he’s a council narc.

I keep appearances when I talk to him, brushing off any details about the current rush. It’s crazy he’s turned into ‘The Man.’ He’s the real reason Royer is so obsessed. He wants to surpass the legacy of Grayson Pierce. We bump fists and talk in “bro-speak” and off he goes.

I park myself outside her class, but she never shows. Her old roommate does—the Chit from last night. She walks into the hallway looking like hell. Honestly, I’m shocked she’s out of bed. Rat doses the drinks liberally.

“Hey,” I say, stepping in front of her. Her dark lined eyes narrow. “Have you seen Theo?”

“Theo.” Her voice is like daggers.

“Buzzed head. Skinny. Zeta Sig goat, er, recruit.”

“He wasn’t here today.”

I frown. Shit.

“You should leave him alone,” she says, clutching her laptop to her chest. “He’s a good kid.”

“Yeah, okay.” I roll my eyes at this freshman chit, telling me what to do. “Not that you have any idea what you’re talking about.”

“God, you’re a fucking idiot,” she mutters, walking away just as Rat comes out the door.

“What did she say?” he asks, me. “Did she say something to you?”

“No. Nothing. Just forget it.”

“No,” he pushes past me. “What the fuck did you just call my friend?”

She spins on her heel. “I called him a fucking idiot!” she shouts, stalking toward us. “He’s lucky I’m not calling the police on you assholes for what you did last night.”

She’s pointing at Rat, and he grabs her by the wrist. “Shut your filthy loser mouth. You realize it was a joke, right? Chicks like you don’t get real invitations to parties like ours.”

“Hey now!” I jump in, forcing him to release her. People are watching. Grayson could still be around here somewhere. I rest my hand on Rat’s shoulder. “She’s not worth it.”

“You think I’m not worth it? Why? Because my asshole isn’t bleached, and my tits aren’t bought from the store? You guys are pathetic and you’re going down. Hard.” She smirks. “I’ll be there filming it when it happens.”

There’s a certainty to her tone and Rat must hear it because he lunges at her. I lunge at him and push him down the hall. When we’re far enough away, I shove him into the wall. “What the fuck, dude?! If you hit a female, one that is accusing you of drugging her, don’t you see how much shit we will be in? Back the fuck off for once in your life.”

He breathes heavily, eyes flashing with anger. I have no doubt that if I hadn’t been there, things would have escalated. I’ve known for a while now that Rat is a liability. When I take over, he’s the second to go—right after Royer.

He shakes me off and smooths down his shirt. “What do you think she meant by us going down hard?”

“I think she’s pissed and mouthing off.” But I have the same question. Did Reagan tell her something? If anyone finds out what she’s doing—what I’m doing—being blacklisted is the least of both of our concerns.

TWENTY-TWO

---