Page 16 of Kingston
There’s no time to ruminate further because the guys usher me up a short flight of stone stairs to the porch, Archer on one side, Cannon on the other. Kingston leads the way, which is no surprise to me.
Whatisa surprise is how he’s taking us right past a line of fifty people who are clearly waiting to enter the party, but not one person has said a word. And we’re definitely attracting attention. I give an apologetic look over my shoulder which doesn’t seem to help matters. But what am I supposed to do? I’m simply following Kingston’s lead. Apparently, skipping the line is one of the perks of being in the brotherhood at Hawthorne Hall.
As we’re entering the house, someone yells from behind us. “Yo, Hawthorne. Who’s the prime pussy? You decide to take her for a little walk?”
To be honest, until that moment, it’d slipped my mind that Kingston’s last name is Hawthorne. When I submitted my letter of recommendation, I’d taken some time to look up each of the people I’d be living with. It was mostly the same—each brother has decent academic standing, but more important seemed to be their family connections to alumni. And Kingston, he’s like the ultimate in legacy students, not only named for our school, but also carrying the last name of the hall we live in, the sole heir of a massive family fortune. He whirls around, his hands on his hips, one brow arched as he scowls hard at the transgressor. Before I can register what’s happening, Cannon has tugged me to his side with an arm wrapped around me. A glance at Archer’s gritted teeth tells me he’s concerned with whatever might transpire.
Kingston steps around us, his gaze like a heat seeking missile, landing quickly on the culprit. “Did you open your fat fuckin’ mouth and say something rude about our initiate?”
Okay, then.I guess we aren’t keeping my presence in Hawthorne Hall a secret. We actually hadn’t discussed how it would be handled, and I’m aware it’s bound to cause some ruffled feathers, especially among the other candidates who didn’t get an invitation. But… they didn’t qualify, and Idid—which I’m fairly certain has been the only leg I’ve had to stand on with the brotherhood.
At the look of absolute terror on the guy’s face as Kingston stares him down, I instinctively huddle closer to Cannon. I can tell from the set of Kingston’s shoulders he’s vibrating with anger.
Because of me?
“Sorry. Sorry, man. I thought she was just a—”
Kingston raises his brow, effectively stopping the moron from digging himself deeper. “Don’t. Fucking. Go. There.”
The offending party holds up his hands, to which Kingston nods his approval. “That’s right. Hands up. Back away. You’re done for tonight.”
The guy’s face reddens, but he turns and takes off at a jog. There’s some mumbled conversation from the others in the line, but it dies down as Kingston scans the crowd. “Anyone else?”
I blink a few times, taking that in. Kingston told the guy to fuck off and the jerk followed the order like Kingston is his commanding officer.
Through this entire ordeal, Cannon’s thumb has been grazing my upper arm in some sort of a pattern I find strangely soothing, which I suppose is his intention, never mind that this same dude was licking me and sniffing my underwear last night. Archer hasn’t taken his eyes off me for more than a second or two at a time. It’s sort of odd how they are behaving, especially Kingston defending me from the asshole in line. I take a deep breath. I don’t know what to do with any of it.
We follow Kingston into the house, where he goes directly to the area in the kitchen set up as a bar. He lines three shot glasses up and pours some fancy vodka into each. He hands one to Archer, and instead of giving one to Cannon, he holds the last one out to me before picking up his own. I search Cannon’s expression for some idea of why he hasn’t been included, but don’t find an answer.
Lifting his glass, Kingston grunts out, “Cheers,” then downs it. Archer does the same, only with a slightly less surly toast.
I hesitate, my eyes flicking around the circle of brothers. This is all part of it; I know a little debauchery comes with the territory of a fraternity party and definitely with belonging to a brotherhood. I have to remember that. I’m not opposed to drinking… but I’ve also never really done much of it before. I’m only eighteen. The opportunity hasn’t been there.
Eyeing me and my still-full shot glass, Kingston taps the bottom of my shot glass with his finger. “Drink up, buttercup.”
“Yeah, okay, I—”
“It’s not up for debate,” he growls.
My brow furrows as I meet Cannon’s gaze.
Archer interrupts me. “Cannon doesn’t drink, if that’s what you’re worried about.”
I tip my head to the side as I study him. Maybe a family member or someone he knows is an alcoholic or something. Before I can ponder further, he gives a little jerk of his head, which I believe means I’m to follow directions, and it’s fine with him. His gaze stays steady on me, and finally I see no need for another moment’s hesitation. Lifting the tiny glass to my lips, I throw it back. The chilled liquid carves a smooth path down my throat and into my stomach. I’m busy internally congratulating myself when out of nowhere, I sputter and cough, my eyes watering.
“You good?” Archer asks, thumping my back.
I nod, and croak, “It’s strong.”
“It’s meant to be,” Kingston grunts. “Now have another, and I’ll leave you alone. You need to loosen up. What happened outside is no big deal. Dudes are sometimes assholes, and he deserved to be put in his place.” As if he knows exactly what I’m thinking, he finishes, “You may still have things to prove tous,but”—his eyes travel the crowded frat house before they circle back to me—“they know better than to speak ill of anyone in the brotherhood, including our initiates. For all intents and purposes, you’re one of us now, and theywillshow respect.”
I suck in a breath, my mind reeling at the power the brotherhood wields. “But why?” When his brows draw together in confusion, I elaborate. “Why is it that you, that the brotherhood, deserve their respect?” I nibble at my lip, hoping I haven’t gone too far.
His mouth curves up at one corner. “Because we have the right connections. We’re perfectly capable of making their lives miserable.” He gestures to the glass I’ve emptied, so I hold it out again while he pours.
My hand wants to tremble, but I stop it—and hide my shaky breath, as well—before downing it. I only shudder this time, thank God. Feeling slightly more confident, I give the trio a tentative smile. “I guess that makes sense.” But even after everything Kingston said, I continue to feel like I’m on very shaky ground. I’m going to have to maintain the brave face I’ve started with because the girl who danced for them last night… she wasn’t me. But I wonder if she could be. Could I ever be that confident or had I only managed it out of pure necessity? Or because I’d been in complete shock?
I blink, realizing the conversation has continued on without me, and lock onto Kingston, who appears disgruntled by whatever Archer said. He shrugs at something Archer says, then responds, “I don’t know, but I want to talk to John about it. You have her? Don’t let these guys get any ideas. She’s attracting too much attention.” His eyes, for the first time tonight, coast down my body, leaving a tingling path wherever they land. I glance down, trying to imagine what he’s seeing. The last time I wore these jeans, Nick said my thighs were too thick for them. I don’t know why I packed them in the first place. Swallowing hard, I wonder what Kingston is thinking. His jaw tightens, gaze darting to his buddies. “Definitely keep an eye on her.”
