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“Hansen?” he asks, and I nod. “Well, that sounds right. He’s never been one to allow an opportunity go by that he can’t exploit.”

I snort. “Seriously.”

He frowns down at me. “You sure none of them have figured out who you are? I know it’s risky. You’ve been around all three of the officers.”

“I’ve kept my distance from Royer. He’s not interested in me.” The room feels warm all the sudden. The sweatshirt I’m wearing is too heavy. “Knox thinks I’m just another goat. Entertaining to boss around. And Miller…”

His eyebrow raises and lips purse. “What about him?”

This could be the moment I get out of this—break free from the chains of my own doing. I could tell Grayson about the abuse, about how he’s using me as his plaything—continuing to blackmail me like he had from day one. But there’s no proof. Just my word against his and if it gets out the lengths I’ve gone to in order to get revenge? Well, I can’t handle another blow like that.

Still, I tell him a semblance of the truth. “He’s chosen me as like… his little bitch for the rest of the week. Made me clean up his room. That kind of thing.”

“It’s common for the officers to pick a pledge to kind of monitor. I guess you got on his radar when you skipped the recruitment process.”

“Great,” I say with a tight smile, “just what I need, another target on my back.”

And Miller pointing his locked and loaded weapon at me.

“Reagan,” Grayson says, taking a step closer. It’s not like the room isn’t tight enough as it is. The space between us cramped. I get a waft of his cologne. It doesn’t smell terrible. “Are you sure everything is okay? If things get dangerous, or too intense, you can let me know. We can call this off.”

I don’t want to call it off. Not now. “I want to see this through,” I tell him. “It’s exhausting and smelly and completely deranged, but I just want to get back at them, and move on with my life.”

He nods, but I see the worry on his face. I may look like a guy, but Grayson thinks I’m weak. I can sense it. And that’s what I’m tired of; these guys thinking I can’t handle anything, that I’m stupid and not strong enough to take what they can dish out.

“I’m ready,” I tell him, giving him a defiant grin. “Bring it on, right?”

Before he can answer, the pager vibrates, and I lift it up to read the screen.

816 Elm Street

2 PM

“Any idea what this is about?” I ask Grayson.

He shakes his head but memorizes the address and time before looking back at me. “Hopefully, it’s something we can use.”

Staring at the storefront,I check and recheck the address.

Dale’s Barber Shop

Complete with red and white spiral pole.

“Move, goat.” The words are followed by a firm hand landing between my shoulder blades, and I stumble forward. “Time to get shorn.”

I look over my shoulder and see the tattooed, punk-rock looking Zeta Sig, named Rat. “Don’t worry. It’s just hair. It’ll grow back.” He grins. “Hopefully.”

I touch the swoop, the only thing that made this new haircut acceptable. It made me feel less exposed. Even cut and dyed, it wassomethingleft of who I used to be.

Another Zeta opens the door and impatiently gestures for me to come into the shop. I can hear the hum of clippers before I cross the threshold. Standing behind three barber chairs, dressed in white barber coats, are the officers. Royer, Miller and Knox.

My lungs get caught somewhere in my chest, wringing out every last bit of air. I glance over my shoulder, searching for what? Who? Grayson? Do I think he’s going to come in and stop this?

“Ah, number forty-seven,” Knox calls, giving me a welcoming grin. “You’re up next.”

No. If the last week has taught me anything, it’s that I’m not that lucky. And no one is coming to save me.

Three other pledges squirm in their chairs. One rubs his hand over his scalp. Another looks stunned, staring at himself in the mirror. The third just looks pissed. Oh, and they’re all sporting shaved heads.