Page 32

THIRTY-TWO

SILAS

I picked the corner of the library that Dayton and Sable like to study. It’s quiet, I give them that. And for the most part, I can get a lot of work done. My headphones have a recording from the professor and I listen to his monotonous drone as he lectures on nutrition or something else I quite literally don’t give a shit about.

A chair is pulled out in front of me and I instantly flick my head up. My eyes narrowing at Dredyn as he settles in across from me, a damn smug look plastered on his face. He’s always been the type to throw his weight around—literally and figuratively. Even I have to admit he’s a beast of a man, towering over me by a few inches and built like a fucking tank.

Last week, it was officially announced that Mara would be the house girl for OCK. That comes with its own set of privileges that no one really knows unless you’re a part of OCK. All I know is that Mara has to take all three of them as often and wherever they want. Last week, they claimed her with a collar and forced her to kneel beside them while they watched a fight.

Maybe we should do that with Sable. I push the headphones down around my neck and acknowledge him with a nod.

“Morgan,” he gruffs.

“Steele.” The tone of my voice like a roll of the eyes.

“You wanted to meet,” Dredyn says, but before I can respond, there’s a loud, disgusted grunt beside us.

I glance over, instantly recognizing the source of the interruption. Tan hands grip the back of a chair, pulling it out and leaning it back with casual disdain. The owner of those hands, Psi Theta’s president, Milo.

“I’m not having a meeting with him,” he snaps, his eyes narrowing through his thick-rimmed glasses as he looks between Dredyn and me, like we’re something unpleasant stuck to the bottom of his shoe.

“Then leave,” I say flatly, not in the mood for his theatrics. I’ve got enough on my plate without dealing with his bullshit right now. He doesn’t move, though.

Typical.

He’s too proud or too stubborn to back down when it comes to anything involving the Greek power. I’m sure he’s pissed about his sister being the latest fuck toy of Omega Chi, but I could give two shits.

“I’m here to talk business,” Dredyn says. “And it involves all of us, whether you like it or not.”

Milo glares at Dredyn, clearly weighing his options. He’s no fool, though. Finally, he lets out a huff and drops into the chair he’d been holding. “ Fine . Talk.”

“Something’s going fucking down. I’ve been getting reports of my brothers’ dorm rooms getting rifled through, shit going missing.”

“What kind of stuff?” I ask.

“Nothing worth a damn. But every time they leave that damn bloodied symbol.”

“What symbol?” Milo asks.

“Do you actually live under a rock?”

“No, but apparently you live under my sister… Or do you fuck your brothers too, like DSN?”

“Enough,” I snap up out of my seat, my voice cutting through their bickering. They still at my words, heads snapping back at me.

I don’t sit back down. Instead, I stand over them, using every inch of my height to force their attention on me. “We don’t have time for your dick-measuring contest,” I continue, letting a hint of irritation seep into my tone. “And don’t fucking talk about Kai and Levi like that. You have closeted assholes in your frat. Watch out.”

Milo leans back in his chair, arms crossed over his chest like some petulant child who didn’t get his way again.

“People are getting marked all over campus, not just members of Greek life.”

“Do you think they’re connected to the murders?”

“There hasn’t been a murder since Asher. And none of my guys have been marked,” Milo says.

I slide my phone over to him. “This was taken last night outside the PSI house. One of my pledges found it.”

“And why was your pledge anywhere near my house? Last time a member of DSN was in another frat’s territory, they fought someone in OCK, but he almost ended up in the hospital.”

“Closeted. Assholes.”

“Damn.”

“If one of my officers was into guys… I would know,” Milo spat.

My patience is wearing thin. I lean over the table, my hands pressing down on the surface, forcing them both to meet my gaze. “Get your fucking head on straight. PSI isn’t safe. None of us are. You can act all high and mighty, but if my pledge can get that close without you knowing, so can anyone else. And if someone’s marking territory around your place, it means they’re sending a message—to all of us.”

“Oh please. This is just you warning us before your boy comes after us all,” Dredyn says, his smug creeping back. “You’ve heard the rumor, right?”

“It isn’t Levi.”

“Maybe it’s someone else in that house.” He shrugs nonchalantly, but his eyes size me up.

“So, are you accusing me?”

“Well, you did threaten Asher outside the locker room a few weeks before he was murdered.”

I shake my head; he’s right. I did. “Asher was supposed to be DSN all along. So that makes him a brother even if he was allegiant of OCK.”

“What does that mean?—”

“Means I wouldn’t touch him.”

Before Dredyn can continue his pathetic excuse for an interrogation, we’re interrupted. A group of girls in matching pink sorority cardigans waltz into the library like they own the place. Leading the pack is a tall blonde, her smile wide and fake—Daphne Hallihan, if memory serves me right. Not that I care enough to be certain. For all I know, Dayton’s probably fucked her. Not that I care about that, either.

The girls waste no time, practically throwing themselves at us, their tits on full display like they think we’re easily impressed. Daphne’s eyes zero in on Dredyn, and she saunters over, brushing her hand along his arm. “Hey, babe,” she purrs, dropping her voice to a sultry whisper.

Dredyn stares at her hand, like it’s something vile, his expression darkening. His eyes flicker with a contemptuous glare before he retracts his arm. He scoffs, the sound harsh and dismissive.

Then there’s the brunette, all curls and curves, who sidles up next to Milo. She’s practically draped over him, her laugh light and annoyingly flirty as she twirls a strand of hair around her finger. Her gaze is intense, challenging him to look away. Milo tries to act cool, but the stiffy straining against his jeans tells me everything I need to know.

Fucking virgins dude.

And don’t even fucking ask how I know that about Milo.

But it’s the redhead who makes the mistake of heading straight for me. Before I can react, she’s sliding onto my lap. My body goes rigid, a wave of disgust churning in my gut.

The first assault is her perfume—sickly sweet, way too strong. Then her hands are on me, sliding up my shoulders to my neck as she leans in, her breath warm against my ear as she whispers something I don’t bother registering.

I can’t stand the way she’s pressing against me, her body all soft curves that make my skin crawl. My jaw clenches, and I have to resist the urge to shove her off right then and there, fighting to keep my reaction under control.

“Get off me,” I snap, my voice cold as ice.

She blinks, caught off guard, but she doesn’t move. Instead, she tries to play it off with a light laugh, wiggling in my lap like she thinks she’s doing me a favor. “Oh, come on,” she purrs, her lips too damn close to my ear. “We thought you could use a little study break.”

“Yeah? Well, you thought wrong,” I growl, my patience snapping. I grip her wrists and yank her hands off my neck, shoving her off my lap with zero gentleness. She stumbles as she gets to her feet, her smile faltering.

Before she can slink off completely, Sable’s voice cuts through. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

Sable’s standing there, eyes blazing with fury as she takes in the scene. The redhead, already thrown off by me, shrinks under Sable’s wrath.

“I-I was just—” the redhead stammers, trying to come up with an excuse, but Sable’s not having any of it.

“Get the fuck away from him.”

The redhead doesn’t need to be told twice. She throws me one last look—half embarrassed, half pissed—before practically sprinting out of the library.

Daphne’s glossy lips stretch into a smile, her focus flicking between Dredyn and Milo. “Well then,” she says, her voice oozing forced charm, “let’s get back to why we’re really here.” She shifts her weight, leaning just enough toward Dredyn, her lashes batting in a practiced rhythm. “We’re here to extend a very special invitation on behalf of ASL for next Saturday’s Fall Bash. You know, the one we host every year? It’s mandatory for all Greek life members this year. Trust me, you definitely don’t want to miss it.”

The brunette draped over Milo chimes in, her tone sugary sweet but empty. “Yeah, it’s gonna be, like, the event of the semester. We’re raising money for some, uh... charity thing.” She tosses a wink that lands awkwardly.

Sable tilts her head, the corners of her mouth twitching with amusement. “What charity?”

“Uh... you know, some hospital or something,” she stammers, waving a hand dismissively like the detail’s irrelevant.

“Wow, saving lives and everything. How noble of you.”

Dredyn leans back in his chair, watching the exchange with an amused grin. “Mandatory, huh? Usually, OCK avoids those overly hyped events. Is batting your eyelashes supposed to convince us to break tradition?”

Daphne’s smile wavers for a second, but she recovers quickly, her voice laced with honeyed determination. “Of course not,” she says, her tone too smooth to be genuine. “We’d never expect that. But you know”—she gestures vaguely, as if the mere thought of their attendance makes the event more prestigious—“it’s for charity.”

“Oh, and don’t forget, it’s a costume party.”

Sable crosses her arms, leaning into the moment. “Costumes, huh? Maybe I’ll dress up as ‘Greek life charity event organizer’—minus the whole not knowing what charity part.”

The blonde’s smile falters for a beat before she giggles, clearly unsure if Sable’s joking or serious. “Totally, babe! Just don’t forget to wear something hot.”

“Oh, don’t worry. We’ll make sure to leave an impression.”

Sable doesn’t even watch her leave. Her eyes are locked on me, blazing with anger just barely held in check. “What the hell was that, Silas?”

I shrug, leaning back in my chair with a smirk that’s more than a baring of teeth. “What was what, Sable?”

“Letting some random girl crawl all over you like that—are you trying to piss me off?”

“She forced herself on me,” I say, my tone flippant, almost bored. “I got rid of her, didn’t I? Don’t tell me you’re getting bent out of shape over some desperate chick who means nothing.”

Her eyes narrow, searching mine for any hint of sincerity, or maybe just a sign that I give a damn. “You think that’s the point? That I care what she means to you? I care that you let her touch you like that, right in front of the whole goddamn school. Do you even get how that feels? I’m not your fucking whore.”

“And what exactly am I supposed to do, Sable? Break her wrist for daring to touch me? You think I’d give anyone that much power? Do you think you mean that much to me? To us?”

She flinches, just a fraction, but it’s enough to make something inside me twist, a flash of guilt I quickly bury under a fresh wave of irritation. She finally looks away, her anger crumbling into something, something that looks a hell of a lot like hurt. It makes me want to break something.

The moment she turns to leave, something snaps inside me. I’m not letting her walk away like this. I’m not letting her think she can. I lunge after her, grabbing her arm, my grip firm but not rough as I steer her toward a secluded corner of the library. She resists, but I don’t give her a choice, dragging her until we’re out of sight and out of earshot.

The second we’re alone, she yanks her arm free, spinning to face me with fury in her eyes. “What the hell, Silas? You don’t get to manhandle me.”

“Then stop acting like a brat and listen to me,” I growl. “You’re pissed over nothing, Sable. That chick meant less than nothing to me. You know that, so drop the act.”

“I saw her all over you, Silas. You just let it happen. How the hell am I supposed to trust you when you let that shit slide?”

“You know exactly where you stand with me, so stop acting like a spoiled little girl throwing a tantrum.”

“I’m not throwing a fucking tantrum. You don’t get to make demands of me. Stake your fucking claim, Silas, or none of you get me.”

I don’t bother with more words. Instead, I close the distance between us in one swift, decisive move, my hand shooting out to grip the back of her neck. I pull her roughly toward me, my lips crashing down on hers in a kiss that’s more a claim than a gesture of affection. It’s hard, demanding, leaving no room for doubt, no room for her to argue or resist.

She gasps, her hands coming up to shove me away, but instead, she grabs onto the front of my shirt, her fingers curling into the fabric as if she can’t decide whether to push me away or pull me closer. I don’t give her a choice. I pour everything into that kiss—my frustration, my need to make her understand, my refusal to let anything come between us.

Her resistance falters, and then she’s kissing me back just as hard, her nails digging into my chest as she pulls me closer, matching my intensity.

“You get it now?” I growl, my voice rough, my breath mingling with hers. “You’re mine, Sable. No one else even comes close.”

I wipe the sweat from my brow and retreat to the corner of the locker room in the fight club. The air is heavy with the smell of stale sweat and metal. A small, cracked mirror with a huge chunk missing leans against the wall, as if it’s barely holding on, just like me. It’s warped, distorted, showing me a version of myself I barely recognize.

Levi just left after wrapping the white tape tight around my knuckles. I flex my fingers, feeling the tape bite into my skin just enough to make me hiss. I take a deep breath, trying to focus. This is my ritual, the routine I’ve perfected over the years. Fighting is the only thing that makes sense, the only constant. I started in my freshman year at AGU—lean, agile, and hungry. An easy bet for DSN to cash in on. I’d been through boxing and karate with Sable as a kid, bringing those skills into the ring, like it was second nature. Back then, it was all for fun. For pride.

Now, it’s more than that. Now, it’s survival.

It’s the only release I have left, the only way to exorcise the demons that boil inside me. The rage, the frustration, the helplessness—it all gets channeled into my fists. When I’m in that ring, trading blows with someone just as messed up as I am, I can finally breathe. I feel like I’m alive, like I’ve got some control over the chaos.

I throw a jab into the air, watching my form in the broken mirror. My fist slices through the silence, and for a split second, I can almost hear it. The crack of bone, the roar of the crowd, my frat brothers cheering me on like I’m invincible. The satisfaction of landing a clean hit, the power coursing through my body—it’s intoxicating. But it’s gone just as fast, leaving me alone with my reflection again.

Hard eyes. Clenched jaw. I look like someone who’s ready to tear the world apart. And I would. For her.

Sable’s voice echoes in my head, “I’m not your fucking whore.”

My jaw tightens, my hands curl into fists. I throw another punch, but it’s not enough. It doesn’t feel right. The anger burns, but it’s tangled with something deeper. Something I can’t shake.

She doesn’t get it.

She’ll never get it.

She thinks we’re trying to control her, to own her.

Like this is some twisted power play. She’s wrong. It’s not about control. It’s never been about control.

She owns me.

I can’t breathe unless she lets me. I can’t think unless it’s about her. Every waking moment is consumed by her—her face, her voice, the way she looks at me like I’m the one who’s lost. She’s under my skin, in my blood, crawling through every part of me, and she doesn’t even know it. Hell, she doesn’t even know the half of it. We’re all tied to her, all of us, bound by something we can’t explain, something she’ll never understand.

I throw another punch, harder this time. The anger surges up, hot and fast, but I try to keep it in check. I need to focus. The fight is what matters now. Not her, not her words, not the way she makes me question everything. But I can’t shake it. It’s her doubt that digs deep. Her doubt that twists the knife, making me wonder if maybe—just maybe—she’s right.

I throw one last punch at the mirror, harder than before, but it feels hollow. Empty. Like it’s not enough to chase away the weight sitting in my chest. My teeth grind together as I force myself to concentrate. I don’t have time for this. I can’t afford to lose focus, not when the fight is so close.

But her words linger. Her doubt, her anger—it’s all I can see. And the image of her walking away, thinking, I don’t care, thinking none of us care... It’s like a punch to the gut. She’s so damn wrong, and yet here I am, about to step into a fight, and all I can think about is her.

I’m screwed.