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I’m not surprised by this shit anymore, just amused.
You’d think the fucker wouldn’t be so goddamn transparent about trying to be something he never will be, but I guess he’ll keep pretending as long as there are idiots dumb enough to buy the pilfered goods he’s selling.
Any idiot can find a friend, and Kyle has plenty.
None of them made the cut, either.
Being left out of something so exclusive didn’t sit right with the entitled assholes, so they decided to do what they always do: copy us.
Forget how fucking ridiculous the notion is.
Our society is legitimate. It was founded nearly 200 years ago and has an established (but secret) roster of powerful men who have come together and achieved great things with the help of their small, loyal group of friends. Our history is established, our laws as good as blood oaths, our philosophy proven again and again by every graduating class since the first group of just five.
Five friends who were truly loyal to one another, exchanging secrets and certain intimacies that bonded them, and while sure, civilized society might find that bonding process a bit depraved, I’m more interested in the benefits of the society as it exists today than I am its sordid history. That’s what will benefit me and take me where I want to go in life, to assure my success and that of my brothers, and it was built upon the backs of the founding five.
Whatever their kinks, I appreciate the originals.
It was on this night 173 years ago that the founders kidnapped the girl two of them were interested in, dragged her into the woods behind the school, and took turns defiling the pretty little virgin.
Nothing can come between two Blue Bloods, after all.
Our bond has to be strong enough to surpass any conflict. If something comes between us, we have to find a way to squash it and move on because we are bonded to each other for life. That’s the only way this works.
Of course, Kyle and his idiot friends don’t understand the significance behind what happened that night. Only those selected to be a part of this club know the full history behind it, but since that tidbit of our history is a bit sordid—and, of course, completely unconfirmed—it’s something that comes up when people talk about the possibility of secret societies on campus.
Officially, there are none.
But, of course, there are.
Two of them. The other one is more vanilla, more traditional. If you’re not some politician’s son (or of use to some politician’s son) then you can fuck right off thinking you’ll get into that one, but I wouldn’t want to be, anyway.
I got tapped to join the only club I was interested in, and Kyle Roarke did not.
So, according to our intel, Kyle and his chosen “brothers” are planning to defile their own virgin tonight and found their own society.
Ridiculous.
I’m not worried about competition. We don’t consider them that.
What we are worried about is these stupid fucks doing something so goddamn illegal in such a blatant, artless fucking way that they raise the alarm on campus about secret societies. All it takes is for the copycats to fuck up and cry “secret society,” and the real ones will be put under a microscope.
Of course, the university is aware of old, exclusive, secret clubs like ours, but they’re able to ignore us as long as we aren’t clumsy enough to attract too much of the wrong kind of attention.
And we aren’t.
But these guys are.
When they get caught, they won’t go quietly and keep their mouths shut. They’ll sing like birds, maybe even try to say they are Blue Bloods in an attempt to invoke the club’s protections.
Which they won’t get, but that could lead to a lot of headaches for us, and that is not how I want to spend my senior year.
I watch from across the room as Kyle circulates. I’ve been watching him since I got here. It hasn’t been a very interesting surveillance. Mostly, he’s just hitting on every girl who will talk to him and sporadically checking in with his friend Tyler.
An oblivious couple walks in front of me, momentarily blocking my view of Kyle.
I’m bored of watching him and I am getting thirsty, but I can’t drink in this goddamn mask. Can’t take it off, either. They’re not smart enough to realize I’m blatantly dressed as a “blue blood” at their party and make the connection that way, but they’d recognize my face. They don’t know I’m a Blue Blood, but they strongly suspect I am, and I don’t want to spook them into putting off what they’ve got planned for tonight.
I suppose I could sneak outside for a few minutes and unmask somewhere no one would see me.
