Page 52 of Archer

“That’s not going to fucking work,” he murmurs under his breath. He eyes me before finding a patch of grass to wipe his shoes on. “Try cleaning it off,” he whispers.

I nod, quickly following his instructions.

Tag backs up, then takes a run at it, planting his foot about a foot up the wall and easily grasping the top with both hands, and pressing himself up. He swings one leg over to straddle the top.

Archer shouts, “Taggart’s done first. Three points!”

Bridger groans, his head whipping toward Taggart. “Motherfucker. How’d you get up there?”

I shake my head at him. He’d been so busy flailing around over there that he hadn’t been watching Taggart, who beckons me now. “Come on, Elliot. This is your chance. Whatever you do, don’t lose that upward momentum.”

Sucking in a breath, I wipe my feet once more, back up as far as I can go and run toward the wall, praying that my shoes are clean enough that I can get traction on the wall. I hit with a loud exhaled huff of air and launch myself up as high as I can go, hands barely grasping the lip at the top. I grunt, pulling with my arms as hard as I possibly can, and thank fuck, I manage to swing my leg up and hook my foot.

My head buzzes, and I know people all around are shouting, and I hear Bridger’s name more than once. I know he’s figured out not to try using the rope. The question is, can his muscles haul his two hundred twenty frame up to the top faster than my much smaller body can scramble up over the ledge.

I won’t let him beat me. With a burst of energy I didn’t know I had left, I pull with all my might and heave myself to the top. I blink.Holy shit. I did it.

Archer’s delighted whoop of excitement is the first thing I really hear well, followed by “Elliot’s up for two!”

Bridger finally manages to scale the wall only moments later.

“And Bridger for one.”

He growls, turning to glare at me. “Fucking bitch.”

“Well, well, well, what do we have here?” The voice is slightly familiar, and my brow furrows as I glance over my shoulder, eyes widening when they land on the man in a suit walking toward us.

Oh, shit.

TWENTY-THREE

KINGSTON

My father hasthe world’s worst timing. There are plenty of things that might bring Jared Hawthorne for a visit, but I have a feeling this isn’t the standard check-in we’ve been anticipating. The bastard never returned my call, which didn’t surprise me in the slightest. But I never dreamed he’d show up during The Games.

But that’s not what has alarm skittering down my spine. As I turn on my heel, I take in his powerful stance, the twitch in his jaw, and his unamused gaze, which has landed right on Elliot as she sits atop the wall, having finished her fourth game.

Someone summoned him, no doubt in my mind. Someone who is hell-bent on stirring the shit pot. The question is… who? And what advantage does it give them to bring misery down on our heads?

My best guess is that either someone has their panties in a twist over how I’ve chosen to handle things as head of house—which could include our accidental recruitment of Elliot or how I’ve dealt with the brothers as they’ve chosen to relentlessly torment her… or it could be something else entirely. For example, how we fucked Nick up and left him in that motel to rot and die for all we cared. It was actually the latter that I’d called to warn my father about, concerned that Nick would report what we did to him.

But, oh man, the hard gleam in my father’s eye as he looks Elliot up and down isn’t lost on me at all. Knowledge that my father is now aware I’ve kept this information about our female initiate from him for weeks sends my heart rate accelerating in a way that can’t be healthy.

From beside me, Archer’s murmured, “Fuck,” says pretty much what I’m feeling in this moment, no need for embellishment.

“Don’t just stand there, son, bring our newest initiates over so they can introduce themselves to me.”

I’ve been apprehensive, dreading the moment when my fuckin’ daddy would show up and lord it over me that the position as head of Hawthorne Hall isnotthe top rung on the ladder of the brotherhood. I lead the hall, but it’s actually the alumni who control almost everything else. It’s a system we’ve all come up through and has inspired many young men to strive to do their best—in their chosen field or sport—so that one day, after graduation, the keys to this kingdom and all the benefits the brotherhood has to offer are placed in our hands. We have CEOs, doctors, politicians, lawyers—literally anything that might give others following in their footsteps a leg up and enable them to do any goddamn thing with their life that they please—and keep them out of trouble, too.

I draw in a steadying breath. Looking into my father’s cold, hard eyes, I almost wish I hadn’t chosen to become a brother. If I hadn’t, things certainly would have been different. Gritting my teeth, I shake my head, knowing there was never an option. The mighty Jared Hawthorne would have found a way to force my hand, the same way he forced Juliette tonotfollow her dreams. And I know the cold hard truth of how that ended.

I give him a grim smile.Motherfucker.“You’ve interrupted game proceedings,Father.You know how important they are.”

He chuckles, glancing behind me at the wall. “They look done to me. Besides”—he tips his head to the side, his eyes narrowing on Elliot—“I want to meet this sorority bimbo who was able to conquer an obstacle course that was designed for elitemaleinitiates. You wouldn’t keep me from getting to know her, would you?”

I work my jaw back and forth, glancing at Cannon and Archer who have stepped closer, flanking me in a show of support. No one else has budged an inch. My eyes connect with Elliot’s wide, nervous ones. She knows the significance of this, the same as the rest of us do. I see the questions in her eyes. One, does her father already know she’s here, and two, should we be expecting a visit from him next?

“Now, Kingston,” he grits out, “I’ve come all the way out here for a visit. Play nice.”