Page 14 of Kingston
“But she doesn’t.”
His brows raise. “No?”
I shake my head, briefly closing my eyes. “Nope. We haven’t had a chance to talk. The messages on her iPad are from her parents and some guy named Nick.”
“Nick.”
“Yeah. Seems they’ve known each other a while. I’m going to go back and see if I can figure out what the deal is with them… but as far as I can tell, he’s very much an ex.”
“Which means everything she’s said was meant to rile us.”
“I mean, I guess.” I grind my teeth hard as I think about the spitfire who’s descended on us. “Why do I have a feeling she’s going to be really fucking good at working us over?”
TEN
ELLIOT
Bemoaning my shitty luck,I head upstairs after surviving my first day with the brotherhood. Over dinner, I was informed that the chores I’ve been given to prove my worth to the brotherhood during the initiation period are all the indoor “lady” tasks, while Bridger and Taggart get to wash cars, take care of the pool, mow the lawn, and other assorted manly chores. It’s a crock of shit.
I’d rather do their chores any day of the week, especially because men are mostly heathens when it comes down to it. I don’t mind vacuuming and dusting, but cleaning their toilets is cruel and unusual punishment. I’m one hundred percent certain they assume I’ve never cleaned a toilet before in my life. The joke’s on them, though. I’ve cleaned my own bathroom for years to prevent anyone from seeing anything they shouldn’t or rifling through my trash can. I’ll keep my embarrassing secrets to myself, thank you.
I shake my head as I let myself into my room, my foot brushing over something. A small piece of folded-up paper lies on the floor. Someone must have tucked it under the door while I was out. I frown, then stoop to pick it up. Working my way among all the boxes and luggage I’ve yet to unpack, I sit on the edge of the bed. A little shudder of nervous anticipation rolls through me. Who would leave me a note? I was literally with the entire brotherhood minutes ago. And they certainly didn’t shy away from asking me questions, especially that one ginger asshole, Stuart, who is convinced if I’m not actually a professional stripper, then I must simply be that much of ahothat I inherently knew what to do when the music cut on. Then, a few minutes later, he’d butted in again to ask if he were to play “my song,” whether they could have a repeat performance or if it was a special thing, for Friday nights only.
Oh, he thought he was so fucking funny. But I can think of plenty of ways to get back at him if he keeps it up. I’m in charge of the kitchen and have access to his room, after all. Maybe he needs a lesson in what happens when you’re a rude asshole.
Blowing out a breath, I focus on the paper in my hands, carefully unfolding it. Written in very neat handwriting, it reads:
Leave. You don’t belong here.
I blink a few times, taking it in. I’m not exactly in shock, as the brotherhood’s welcome hasn’t been especially warm and fuzzy. I’m outright perplexed, though. This note could have come from about anyone in the house… but why? It’s not as if they hadn’t made themselves perfectly clear last night, and someone could have easily brought it up over dinner. So, I don’t get the point.
Kingston said it was too late to trade out initiates because I’d signed the legal paperwork. I’ve already seen plenty that they wouldn’t want the average person to see. I have no doubts last night was the tip of the iceberg. And I’m trying to steel myself against the shit storm coming my way, but it’s not as easy as I’d thought. But fuck it, I’ll put on a brave face and deal with it. I’ll do whatever is asked of me because that’s what I agreed to.
Who can I trust? I cringe internally, mentally sifting through the cast of characters in this house. I draw in an unsteady breath. Right now, the answer is no one, and that scares the shit out of me. This is a long game I’m playing. Expecting to figure everything out overnight is ridiculous. And that’s all the time I’ve had here so far. One night.
My heart stutters in my chest when a sharp rap sounds on my door, interrupting my thoughts. I scramble to fold the note in case they come barging in.
“Peaches. We leave in ten minutes.” There’s no mistaking the voice as belonging to anyone other than Archer. Fortunately, he’s the only one who has taken to calling me Peaches. What the hell does that have to do with anything? I haven’t decided whether or not I’m going to give him hell for it or not. I’m kind of getting used to it.
I let out a sigh and raise my voice so he’s able to hear me through the door. “I’ll be ready. Thank you.”
There’s a slight pause before another voice harshly commands, “Make sure you wear something appropriate.” Ah.Kingston.Cocky jerk. Maybe he should be more specific if he doesn’t want me to screw up. I get a sense from his tone that when we’re out tonight, away from the house, it’ll be important to them that I make a good impression as their initiate.
There’s a thump on the door that makes me jump again and then a few more, as if someone has smacked the flat of their hand against the door, trying to make a point. Or make me aware he’s there? Because if I had to make a guess, I’d say it was Cannon.
Speaking of, he’s high on my agenda of things I need to figure out—why doesn’t he speak? In my mind’s eye, I see the flash of pain in his eyes when I asked him about it. I’d been frustrated, not to mention disturbed that he’d forced his way into my room. But at the same time, I’m curious as hell about him. It’s clear I need to approach him differently than the other guys. The question is, what approach should I take?
Because getting to know these guys—especially the ones who rule Hawthorne Hall—is the best way for me to dig deeper into their lives and discover the truth of what happened last year. My stomach does a flip-flop when I consider the very real possibility that the same guys who have me under their thumb could know what happened to Will. I can’t forget why I’m here.
Huffing out a breath, I hurry over to the door and fling it open with a wry look. I expect all three men, but only Archer stands there. My lips purse as I wait a beat before I lay into him. “Did you get stuck with the task of making sure I’d be ready? Or is there yet another rule you guys forgot to tell me about?” I raise a brow, folding my arms in front of me as I give his outfit a cursory look.
He wears dark-gray pants and a white button-down shirt, leaving several buttons open at the collar. What really catches my eye, though, are the suspenders. Usually, I’d think suspenders on a guy would be goofy and maybe pretentious, but on Archer? He makes a statement with them. His entire ensemble is a very sexy look, right down to the leather shoes on his feet. My heart rate picks up as my lips curve in appreciation.
His thumbs hook behind the suspenders, as if he knows what I’m thinking, and pulls them out from his chest as I watch. He smirks, eyes dipping to my chest where my arms have pushed my breasts upward. I guess while I’ve been watching and studying him, he’s been doing the same with me. I roll my eyes and drop my arms to my sides, which makes him laugh. He tries to stifle it as he shakes his head, then looks at me from under hooded eyes. “Nope, no rule we forgot to share. It’s rule three.”
Slowly, I nod as I process. “Right. The one that says I’ll do whatever you tell me to.”
He slicks his tongue over his bottom lip as he eyes me. “Bingo. Still in a tizzy about it, huh?”
