Page 3 of Wicked Games (Silvercrest U #1)
FELIX
I’m just tossing my suitcase onto my new bed when my phone chimes with a notification.
I pull it out of my hoodie pocket and check my texts.
Eden : is the coast clear?
Felix : for now
Felix : are you on your way over?
Eden : almost at the main gate
Felix : be right down
Tucking my phone away, I hurry down to the lobby and find my best and only friend waiting for me on the front steps.
“Hey,” I greet and hold the door open for her.
“Hey.” She swipes her student ID on the censor so the system can log her into the house as a guest and steps inside.
The security at the house is extensive. Everyone who steps over the threshold has to log their ID into the system when they come in and again when they leave.
“Is the gate open?” I ask.
The building is surrounded by a tall stone fence with a massive and ornate wrought iron gate that can be closed for extra security, and it’s not uncommon for people’s IDs to get rejected when they try to get through it if they’re not on the preapproved list of allowed guests.
I submitted Eden’s name this morning, but I have no idea if she was already on the list or not since her older stepbrother is one of the frat leaders.
“No, but I didn’t have any trouble getting in.” She glances around as we cut through the main lobby and head toward the elevators. “Jesus. And here I thought Belmont was fancy.”
“It’s a lot,” I agree, keeping my voice low.
A few of the guys milling around give us weird looks. I assume they’re reacting to us being in the lobby and not what Eden said, but her cheeks go pink and she falls silent.
We don’t talk at all as I lead her to Killian’s room, and she visibly relaxes when I close the door behind us.
“Well damn,” she says, looking around. “This is definitely an upgrade from Sturges House.”
“Is it really?” I point to Killian’s side of the room. “I didn’t have to deal with him at Sturges.”
“Yeah, that part sucks,” she agrees. “But this building is insane. So is this room.”
“It is,” I say grudgingly.
My old dorm had a similar setup, with two single beds, two dressers, and some storage, but no private bathroom. This room is also at least four times the size and a far cry from the sleek and modern building I just moved from.
Hamilton House is one of the oldest buildings on campus, and instead of everything being bright and shiny and monochrome like in the newer builds, the entire place has an old-timey Gothic Victorian look that gives it a unique vibe from pretty much every other building on campus except the main house, which I’ve heard is even more extra and ridiculous.
Walking through the halls is like stepping through a time machine and coming out in a Bram Stoker novel, and if I wasn’t so pissed off at being forced to room with my stepbrother, I’d probably be able to appreciate the history and architecture of the place.
It’s exactly the kind of dorm I’d expect for the members of a century old secret society that pretends to be a fraternity.
The craziest part is even though the frat has been around since the school was founded, no one knows anything about it, and that includes its real name.
We know them as the Rebels, but they have an official name that’s top secret.
Members aren’t even allowed to tell their spouses or non-member kids what it is without risking expulsion.
And no one wants to risk being kicked out of one of the most powerful societies in the world.
Eden jumps up on the bed and leans back on her hands, kicking her feet absently as she glances at Killian’s side of the room. “How’s dear stepbrother taking this change in living arrangements?”
I open my suitcase so I can put my clothes away. “About as well as I expected. He’s only threatened to kill me once so far.”
“That’s progress.”
“I wouldn’t get too excited; he was only here for two minutes before his guard dogs dragged him away.”
She wrinkles her forehead. “I don’t know who’s worse, Killian or the twins.”
“Killian,” I say without hesitating. “The twins at least have an excuse for being assholes. Killian is an asshole because he’s an asshole.”
She snickers. “And what’s their excuse? They share a brain, so it’s not their fault?” Her smile drops, and she looks around the room anxiously. “Why do I feel like talking about them in here is going to summon them or something? It’s like they’re listening to us.”
“I didn’t check the room for bugs, so you never know.
” I stick the last pile of clothes in my dresser and push the drawer closed with my hip.
The dresser is probably as old as the building, and I can’t help marveling at how well kept it, just like everything else in the house, is considering it’s spent the last hundred years in a frat house.
“Do you really think he’d bug the room?” she asks nervously.
“I doubt it. I imagine they say and do enough shady shit in here that bugging the place wouldn’t be in their best interest.”
“True.” She purses her lips thoughtfully.
“What?”
“I just don’t understand why you had to room with him in the first place,” she says.
“I mean, I get the whole concept of putting family members together after a tragedy so they can support each other through it, but Killian isn’t your real brother.
And there’s that whole thing where he hates your guts and wouldn’t piss on you if you were on fire. ”
“Yeah,” I sigh. “I don’t get it either. I tried bringing that up when the grief counselor was going on about how important it is to lean on family to get through tough times.
” I huff out a laugh. “He didn’t appreciate it when I said I’d rather slide down a banister made of razor blades and land in a pool full of vinegar than room with Killian. ”
She makes a face. “Thanks for putting that visual in my head.”
“Anytime.” I zip up my suitcase and stick it against the wall so I can deal with storing it later.
“So, how are you doing?” she asks, her tone careful.
“Fine.”
“Fine?”
“Yeah, fine.” I unzip my duffle bag and pull out more of my stuff to put away.
“So you’re over it?”
I shoot her a flat look. “Do you really think forty-eight hours is enough time to get over burying more than half of my living relatives?”
She winces. “I didn’t mean it like that.”
I let out another sigh and go back to unpacking. “I know. And to answer your question, no, I’m not over it.”
“I’m sorry.” She shoots me an apologetic look. “I don’t know what I’m supposed to say right now. I want to be a good friend and help you through this, but I have no idea how to do that.”
“There isn’t really a playbook for this kind of thing,” I tell her as I arrange the contents of my bedside drawer. “I know you want to help, but there’s nothing anyone can do. I just need to bury it deep in my subconscious like all the other shit that’s happened in my life, and I’ll get over it.”
“Is that really the best idea?”
“No.” I close the drawer and put the paperback I’m currently reading on the glossy surface of the table. “But it’s either that or let the grief cripple me, so I’m going with option A.”
“Do you think maybe you should talk to someone, like a therapist or something?” she asks tentatively.
“No,” I repeat and slide the paperback closer to the edge of the table so I won’t have to look at her and see the concern and pity in her eyes.
“But—”
“Talking to a therapist didn’t help when my parents split up when I was five.
It didn’t help when my mom made me go after I watched my nanny die when I was ten, and it’s not going to help now.
” I hook my thumb at Killian’s side of the room.
“Especially with him around. The last thing I need is to show him any sort of weakness.”
“Do you really think he’d be a dick about what happened?” She glances between his empty bed and me. “I mean, I know he’s an asshole and everything, but is he that kind of asshole?”
“No clue,” I say honestly. “But I’ve learned it’s better to not underestimate him.”
“Yeah, better safe than sorry and all that.” She chews on her lip.
I can tell she has more she wants to say, but she thankfully doesn’t. I have nothing against therapy, but talking about all the shit that’s happened in my life is even less effective than compartmentalizing it and pretending it never happened, so it’s a hard pass from me.
“Exactly.” I zip up my duffle bag and toss it onto the floor next to my suitcase. It’s almost comical how little I own, considering I have the means to buy whatever I want.
It’s one of the few ways that Killian and I are similar, and since he’s as much of a minimalist as I am, the place doesn’t look like the storeroom at Bergdorf’s exploded like so many people’s rooms do.
I can’t live in a messy space, and thankfully neither can my stepbrother.
“All done?”
I nod. I still have some things I want to organize, but I can do that later.
“Want to hit the dining hall at Belmont with me?” she asks. “It’s hot pot night.”
“Heck yeah.” I toss her a grin. The dining hall in her dorm is one of the best on campus, and she knows I’ll never say no to their hot pot night.
She grins back. “Men are so easy to manipulate. You just have to dangle food or fucking in front of them.”
“The promise of fucking doesn’t work on me. You know that better than anyone,” I say with a snicker. “But food will.”
“Shut up!” Pulling the silk hair scrunchie off her wrist, she playfully throws it at me. “That was one time. And stop laughing. It wasn’t that funny.”
I pick up the scrunchie and toss it back at her. “It was damn funny.”
She rolls her eyes and slips the scrunchie back on her wrist. “You know I never would have done that if I wasn’t drunk off my ass.”