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“You said not to get caught, so I didn’t.”
“You missed breakfast.”
There isn’t a single part of me that thinks he’s even vaguely concerned about my welfare, especially considering only a few weeks ago, he was dictating what and how much I could eat.
“You said not to get caught before sunrise. You didn’t tell me when I needed to be back. I wanted to make sure I passed your test.”
Syn’s eyes narrow. “Who helped you?”
“I thought you were watching?” I almost forgot about the drone until Payne drove me past the place where he found me. The tire marks from Ross’s car were still in the grass, burnt rubber on the road, but the drone was nowhere in sight.
Gemini jumps down off the kitchen counter and wraps an arm around my shoulder. “You owe me a new drone. That one is beyond fucked. Who the hell shoots one up anyway?”
“Sounds like something you’d do,” Royal says.
Gemini purses his lips as he looks at his friend. “You know, that does sound like fun.”
“Who helped you?” Syn repeats, flashing Gemini a look that even I can read as irritation.
“The drone was facing the other way when someone decided to shoot it from the sky. So unless you want to pay for the damages…” he prods me just below my collar bone. “You’d better tell us who to send the bill to.”
If Gemini is trying to play the good cop here, he’s not succeeding. Both Payne and I assumed Syn would have seen it was him, but if they really don’t have a clue, then I’m sure as hell not going to tell them.
“I’ll pay for it,” I say. I have no idea how much a drone costs, but knowing Gemini, it won’t be cheap. Even if it drains my savings, and I have to pay him back until I’m forty, I’m not giving Payne up.
Syn sneers. “You’ll have to spread your legs until you’re thirty to pay for that.”
After last night, I’m sure he’s just wanting to get a rise out of me, but he’s not going to. “I will if they don’t tip like you do,” I tell him, calmly. “People making minimum wage tip better than you.”
Beside me, Gemini bursts into laughter like that’s the funniest thing he’s heard.
“Unless you have any specific tasks for me, I will—”
“Get showered, get yourself fucking presentable, then get your ass to the church. You’re not sleeping tonight until that place is spotless,” Syn says through gritted teeth.
On a good day, the last thing I know I should be doing is provoking Syn, but there’s something really satisfying about getting under his skin. Royal and Gemini being here is probably just delaying whatever punishment he wants to deal, but I walk out of the kitchen with my head held high.
Syn hasn’t given me a timeframe, but there’s only so far that I’m willing to push Syn when he’s in this mood. I hurry through my shower, do my hair and makeup like I’m about to attend class and not spend the next few hours cleaning, and then dress in my maid outfit.
The church is a mess.
It’s not a big building, although there are enough rows of pews to seat nearly all four hundred students. Last night, they’d been pushed back to make room for a dance floor, and most are still lined up along the wall. From the few parties I’ve been to, I know a DJ booth is set up on the altar, and there are usually two pop-up bars at either end.
While the DJ equipment and bars are gone, there’s trash everywhere.
Unlike most college parties, the Elite don’t use the infamous red solo cups. They don’t use anything disposable—it’s all glass.
The floor is covered in glasses of all shapes and sizes, most empty, but some with drinks still inside. Last night, food was also served, because there’s a hot food dispensary with half-full containers, as well as plates, cutlery, napkins, and dropped food all over the church. It’s mainly focused to the edges of the room, except for the middle which is blanketed by broken glass.
And that’s just this room. There’s the balcony above me, and if Syn had something planned for me down below in the crypt, it was likely that would need cleaning too—although that room required a code to unlock.
“Apparently, religion doesn’t require respect if you’ve got enough money.”
The sound of Penny’s voice has me whirling around. She’s wearing leggings and an oversized hoodie that I’m sure she’d say are her ‘scruffy clothes,’ but are still probably brand new. Her pink-tipped hair is pulled back into a high ponytail.
“What are you doing here?” I ask.
Arching an eyebrow, she looks me up and down. “I’d ask the same, but the outfit is a dead giveaway. I mean, I’m not sure it’s suitable for the location, though I guess we’ve already established the church means s-h-i-t.”
