Page 57 of The Brat: Prequel

Eoghan huffs. “You’re not supposed to know that name, snoop.”

“You love me really.”

“Good thing seeing as that info gets people killed.”

“You can’t kill everyone who knows your damn handle, Eoghan. Be realistic. How do you ever get any clients?”

“This is me. Being realistic. And my biggest customer is Acuig, duh. Are you purposely trying to distract us from who sent you that envelope, or do you feel like being particularly aggravating today?”

“Can’t it be both?” I tap my chin before focusing on my mail.

All year, I’ve flitted around the dumbest fuckers of the frat house that have whispers of Veronian-links circling their names as per Uncle Conor’s intel.

All year, I’ve flirted and socialized with dipshits who didn’t deserve to share air with me, never mind attain a place at our so-called illustrious school.

If hanging out at the Rho Epsilon Beta frat house has taught me anything, it’s that there’s an admission scam running free and wild.

Throw in the fact the faculty lets rapists get away with their crimes and that I have female students to avenge, I’ve been wondering what on earth it is that makes Oakwood at all special.

Now, this envelope feels like my time dealing with goddamn idiots and sick fucks might have borne fruit.

Carefully peeling back the wax seal from the flap, I pull out a single sheath of parchment.

Parchment. Not the paper kind. The OG animal skin kind. Huh.

Etched in fine calligraphy, the message reads:

Darius Harrington owes us blood.

Will you be the one who redeems his sins?

Then, there are a bunch of numbers.

Realizing both brothers are curious, I shove the letter back into the envelope.

“Who’s it from?” Brennan inquires.

My lips part as it registers that the digits are a telephone number.

“Vicky?” Eoghan prompts.

Aunty Savannah mentioned that people tend to pledge in sophomore year.

This isn’t an invitation, though.

Is it a… request?

Redeems his sins like they’re library books this man hasn’t returned? A lottery ticket that needs claiming?

Wait, Harrington. I feel as if I know that name. Is there a guy at Oakwood called⁠—

“Snoop.” This time, Eoghan nudges me with his elbow.

And blood? They want him to bleed for his sins.

“Oh! It’s nothing,” I dismiss airily. “From that stupid sorority I’m thinking of pledging to.”

The pair of them share a look. Much like they’ve done ever since I brought it up this summer about hoping to pledge the coming year…