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“Remind me again why we’re looking for her? I thought you hated her,” he inquires, and despite his feigned indifference, a distinct note of intrigue colours his tone.

“I do,” I snap, not bothering to elaborate further.

With a shit-eating grin, he says, “You have a funny way of showing it.”

I tighten my hold on the bottle, the weight of my anger pressing down as I remind myself not to throw it.

“I just want a front seat for her downfall, that’s all.”

He lets out a chuckle as he fucking winks at me. “Sure you do.”

A groan escapes my lips as I feel his gaze on me, a constant, scrutinising assessment of my actions. Bram might look like a bad boy who doesn’t give a shit about anything, but he sees more than people think. He likes when he’s underestimated, as it gives him the upper-hand.

Before I can come up with a witty, sarcastic response, there’s a loud banging on the door. “Party starts in thirty minutes,” some overly enthusiastic first-year Pledge shouts from the other side, which only makes me groan louder.

“Do I have to go?” I hate that I sound like a petulant teenager, but I’m really not in the mood for the Crow’s Annual Welcome Party. It will be loud, crowded, and too many fucking people will try to talk to me.

“Yes, and I think you should get laid. You’re normally a miserable fucker, but you’ve been even worse since your dry spell began.”

I take a deep breath before swallowing the last of my beer, and without thinking, I throw the empty bottle at his head. The fucker is expecting it and somehow catches it with ease.

“Fucker. That should have hit you.”

He tips his head back on a laugh, his dark curls flopping as he puts the empty bottle on the coffee table beside his own. “You need to be more careful. I can’t risk getting this pretty face smashed up.”

I roll my eyes at him. “You get into a fight nearly every week,” I point out.

He waves his hand dismissively. “But when I fight, we don’t use fucking glass. Besides, you know we have to go to the party. As the Senior High Crow, it’s your job to welcome the new Pledges, show them who they should aspire to be like.”

We both let out a sarcastic snort at that. I’m nobody’s fucking role model, and Xander is an idiot if he thinks I’d be good at giving the newbies a morale boost. Besides, I’m not interested in showing off my title. They can see my name on the top spot—where it’s sat since our own Welcome Party two years ago—and that speaks for itself. I don’t need to big myself up.

“But seriously, you should consider getting laid,” Bram adds once more.

Closing my eyes, the darkness behind my lids swirls gray as a dull throb pulses behind my eyes, and I try to shake it away. “I’m not in a dry spell,” I say through gritted teeth.

“Your dick disagrees. It’s been too fucking long.”

“How the fuck would you know?” I snap back, opening my eyes just so I can glare at my friend.

“I know you. You’ve not been near a girl for far too fucking long.”

He’s not wrong, but I’m annoyed that my far too observant friend knows this.

“It’s fucking irrelevant. We’ll get our Prize soon enough,” I reply, and his eyes light up.

“I can’t fucking wait. Now, get showered, get dressed, and meet me downstairs in an hour,” he says as he stands up, stretching his muscles like he’s been there for a while.

I don’t bother arguing, as he’ll never leave if I do. Besides, Xander made it clear he’d kick my arse if I didn’t make an appearance and at least play nice with the first years. And while he doesn’t particularly scare me, he will punish me by pushing me to my limits during the next training session, and they’re already hard enough without that fucker making them worse.

After I’ve showered, I pull on a pair of dark jeans, a tight black T-shirt, and my black Converse. After running my fingers through my damp hair, making it look even more unruly than usual, I put my baseball cap on backwards. I look the same as I did before my shower, just a little less crumpled—I don’t see the point in making any extra fucking effort.

As soon as I make it to the bottom of the stairs, Bram is by my side, handing me a red plastic cup full of beer, and when Ryan’s annoying voice floods from the next room, I couldn’t be more fucking grateful. In fact, I’m sort of wishing he’d given me something stronger.

Bram pulls me over to the doorway of the room that Ryan’s in, and it quickly becomes apparent that he’s showing off for the first years—doing the job I’m supposed to do.

The blonde bimbo, named Sienna, hangs off his arm, her manicured claws digging into his flesh so deeply I’m surprised they haven’t left a mark, but he doesn’t seem to care. He’s too busy performing for the first years to even know she’s holding onto him.

“Being a member of the Obsidian Order is an honour and a privilege—one you’ll have to earn—but being a Crow is something else. We’re a brotherhood, and you’ll have to prove you’re worthy of standing by our side. You’ll have to earn your ranking,” Ryan boasts, deliberately leaving out what his ranking actually is.