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Chapter 15

Weird Ass Olive Branch

Sinclair

“ T hanks, Bish.” I take the blanket he offers me with a smile. Tucking my knees to my chest, I unfurl it over my lap where I’m sitting in the armchair.

“Alright, you can play it,” he says as he settles back on the couch with Titus and Ecker and opens a bag of chips.

Titus snatches the remote away from Ecker. “Not until you find a bowl. I’m not gonna try to watch a movie over that crinkling.”

Bishop rolls his eyes but shakes a handful of chips into his palms and sets the bag on the table. Titus relaxes back into the cushions and presses play on the ridiculous mockumentary we’re watching. The guys keep busting up at every butthole and dick joke.

I chose to sit in the armchair alone because I was feeling a little touched out but still wanted to be with them. However, it’s given me the chance to observe them in such a simple scene of domesticity. And it’s making me shockingly emotional.

They haven’t spoken much about the Fortitude Trial, but I could tell whatever happened was taking a toll on them. It warms a part of me that craves the comfort of family to see them all relaxed on the couch, bickering about chips and laughing at fart jokes.

Nothing about the Trials has been relaxing. Maybe that’s why this moment means so much.

Then there’s a knock on the door.

Ecker jumps to his feet, Titus pulls a knife out from between the cushions, and Bishop beckons me. “Come here, Sin.”

As soon as I stand up, he grabs my wrist and pulls me onto the couch to him and angles his body between me and the door.

“Anyone expecting visitors?” Titus asks warily, and we all shake our heads.

“I’m pretty sure the Berylls are off campus tonight, too,” I add since they’re the only people who would drop by for a friendly visit.

“Take her to your room.” He gestures to Bishop then jolts his head at Ecker. “You come with me.”

“Let’s go.” Bishop quickly ushers me up, and we hurry to his room, closing the door quietly behind us.

“What’s going on?” I whisper in panic. This cloak-and-dagger reaction has me assuming the worst and sends my heart racing. Why can’t we just enjoy one goddamn movie?

“ Stay behind me, Omega ,” he alpha growls, instantly in protective mode. My feet naturally obey, shuffling behind him as he presses his ear to the door.

He relays what he hears to me. “They’re asking who it is . . . It’s Merigold?”

“I know you have supersonic alpha hearing or whatever, but that can’t be right.” I’d be less surprised if it was a sixth trial. Unexpected but on brand. Nothing makes sense about Merigold showing up at our door.

“They’re letting her in,” Bishop says, just as much confusion in his voice.

“Is there anyone with her? Can you tell?”

He shakes his head. “She’s alone.” What. The. Hell?

“You two can come out,” Ecker hollers from our common room.

Bishop opens the door, but when I go to leave the room, my feet don’t budge. “Can you?” I ask, looking at him then my feet.

A flicker of a smile tugs on his lips. “You don’t need to stay behind me.” He breaks his command, and I’m relieved to see the loose, relaxed Bishop from before this unplanned visit isn’t completely gone so soon.

Though I can’t say I feel the same. Seeing Merigold in our common room, our one safe space, rankles me. I don’t hide it from my tone when I ask, “What do you want?”

“To propose an alliance because believe it or not, we’re on the same team.” I can tell she’s trying hard to keep her tone diplomatic, but she still can’t help lifting her nose in her signature haughty way.

Ecker barks a laugh. “Yeah, okay, well, great to see you, Merigold.” He’s still chuckling as he opens our wing’s front door. “Have a good day.”

“I’m serious,” she insists. “I want everyone to know what that worthless piece of shit did. I want to break him down until he’s nothing but a blubbering puddle of piss.” She practically snarls.

It’s such a departure from her usual posh affect, it leaves us all a little stunned.

“Well, then.” Ecker huffs an impressed chuckle.

Titus continues to eye her skeptically. “Who?”

She looks at us like we’re idiots. “Yves, of course.”

The time it takes for Penelope to get the drugs is the most awkward fifteen minutes of my life. We sit in silence, Merigold and I periodically glaring at each other while the boys stare into space or otherwise act like all of this is perfectly fucking normal.

After Merigold named Yves, we were all ready to laugh her out of the room. How dumb did she think we were to fall for a trap that obvious? But then, Bishop remembered a truth serum was used during the Fortitude Trial. Merigold agreed to take it, so we called Penelope to see if she could get her hands on some.

When she returns, she has with her a small black case, something that looks like what a diabetic would keep their insulin pen in. She hands it to Bishop, who unzips it to reveal three syringes filled with liquid.

“I believe the middle one is the truth serum, sir,” she points out.

“You believe?” Merigold snarks.

The low-simmering anger in my chest comes to a boil at her tone. “Do not speak to her like that.”

Merigold sits back, offended. “Well, I’m just saying that before you inject that shit into me, you better be sure it’s the right one.”

“I’d be happy to stick you with all of them just to be safe.” I give her a terse smile and she huffs.

Penelope shoots me a grateful look then adds with more confidence than I’m used to hearing from her, “I am certain it’s the right one.”

Before we get into it, I give Merigold one last warning. “You realize that if you’re lying about this or this is a trick in any way, I will claw out your eyes and wear them around my neck like a string of pearls.”

She grimaces in disgust and scoffs, “God, you really are feral.” I lift my brows, unfazed. She waves her hands. “Yes, yes, fine. Make them into earrings for all I care.”

“Very well.” Bishop slides out the middle syringe then asks her, “Where do you want it?”

“My arm, I guess.” For the first time since she strutted in here, she sounds hesitant. As she pushes up the sleeves of her sweater, old bruises dotting her wrists become visible. I recognize them immediately as the handprints I saw following the Loyalty Trial, where those pigs held her down.

“This should work, probably don’t even need a tourniquet.” Bishop assesses the purple vein in the crook of her elbow. He stops himself before touching her, remembering. “I don’t have permission. You have to do it yourself.”

He extends the syringe to her, and she looks squeamish. For a moment, I expect her to back out; then she exhales determinedly and snatches the syringe. “Let’s get this over with.”

She doesn’t flinch once, inserting and injecting the full dose. I’m impressed until I look at her bruises again and remember she, like me, has survived much worse.