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The military guy near the front straightened slightly as they approached. The girl with the whiskey colored hair glanced up and watched with trepidation as they walked in. Girls who were far bolder than I called out to them, waving and gushing in their direction. The dark-haired girl before me looked up, her gaze categorizing and analyzing everything before her - even if she didn’t know what she was looking at.
I felt movement in the row that I was seated in, and yet the words still caught me by surprise. In truth, it shouldn’t have. Not after all these years - not when I clearlydidn’tbelong. Such was the role I was playing. But then, if I had learnt anything in life, it was that a mean girl would always be a mean girl - the playground was simply a different setting.
“Move.” Her voice was shrill and catty, and I fought the urge to punch her, clenching my fists to avoid a confrontation. It would do me no good to get kicked out of here atorientation. So, instead, I willed my body to relax - a foreign concept if there ever was one - because I was certain I hadn’t truly relaxed since I was a child. Still, the illusion was there. I tilted my head up to find a girl that outclassed me in every way except one - I could kill her.
Rich dark curls bounced down her shoulders, the smell of vanilla seemed to follow her. I had long since decided that it was a rich girl smell because nine out of ten times, if you smelt the sweet scent wafting in your nostrils, a rich mean girl was loitering nearby.
“Excuse me?” I accented every vowel, ensuring that I sounded far posher than I was - pushed the belief that I belonged here somehow. I mean, I couldn’t let all that societal training they made me go through before entering me here go to waste.
“You heard me just fine,Barbie.” She flashed me her teeth as if the view of her canines would make me quiver. She didn’t know what she was up against. Still, I looked around nervously - a deer in the headlights. Because that was what I was. “I said,move. Your seat has thebestview of Ajax and Josh.”
I blinked again in confusion. I knew who they were. Ajax SinClaire and Joshua Penn. In fact, I knew who all of them were. Except angel boy.
He’s not a boy. My mind whispered the words unhelpfully.
“Don’t be like that Miss. She’s with me.” The man in question pivoted in his chair, his forest green eyes boring into mine, giving me a wink in return. That action alone told me everything I needed to know - he was every bit the playboy as every other Society douche in this place.Good. It would make my job easier.
“Well then it’s settled.” The brunette with the bouncy locks grinned down at me in victory, “You can sit with Mack then.”
Mack. The name hadn’t been in my files - he hadn’t even been whispered about, which made me think that he was a late addition to this program. Probably pissed off Daddy Dearest and got shipped here early - typical rich kid bullshit. Still, Missy O’Brien looked down at me expectantly. I knew all about her - knew that she enjoyed terrorizing anyone she deemedbeneathher - knew that she got off on getting the help fired - knew that she had a torrid affair with a senator at the tender age of seventeen that her parents paid dearly to cover up. Yeah, I knew all about Missy, and if I hated her on paper, I hated her in person even more. But, still, I did exactly what was expected of me - I stood on shaky legs, allowing my eyes to dart around in panic, until finally settling on Mack. He tilted his head in invitation, and I could do nothing else except follow his directive. Missy giggled shrilly and I heard the echoes of laughter follow before I awkwardly extricated myself from my row and slid in next to Mack.
He didn’t smell like Vanilla.It was the first thought that flicked through my mind. A ridiculous thought if there ever was one. Because he didn’t smell like vanilla, he smelt like whiskey and leather, and judging by the amount of whiskey wafting from his pores, I would say he was sporting the mother of all hangovers. The creak of his leather jacket notified me of his movement, and suddenly he had his arm stretched out behind me, showing himself to be every inch the playboy he was.
“Word of advice.” Despite the smell of whiskey seeping from his pores, his breath was minty and fresh against my neck as he spoke. His voice was low and gravelly and made me think of dirty bar room brawls and being pressed up against a wall as his callused hands skimmed my flesh. “Don’t piss Missy off, she’ll make your life hell just for shits and giggles.”
It took me a second to collaborate the feel of him next to me to what he was actually saying. He was warning me, and if I allowed the naive part of me to slip free, I might have believed him. But that part of me had been chained and drowned in grief a long time ago, the cost of trusting and believing far too high to ever pay the price again. And so, instead, I swallowed down everything he made me feel - made me wish for - made me believe, and answered him in the way that this situation called for. “I think that ship might have already sailed.” He grunted - a deep, low sound that came from the back of his throat.
“On a scale of one to ten, how hungover are you?” I leant into him, taking a deep lungful of his leather and whiskey smell because, while I didn’t want to allow any feelings of fondness to take root, I still needed to know who he was - and what I was dealing with. In all the files I had poured over in preparation for this, he was my blind spot - the one person who hadn’t been included. Which made him dangerous.
He coughed, covering his laughter at my boldness, before finally leaning into me, answering my question. “Honestly, I’m still pretty drunk, so when I get to the hangover stage, I’ll be sure to let you know.”
“Welcome.” A voice boomed through the room, and I realized that while I was breathing in the drunken essence of Mack, Benson SinClaire had already taken the stage to welcome us. His speech was something I should have been focusing on - should have been paying attention to, but instead all I could feel was the warmth Mack emitted and how nice it felt to have his shoulder pressed against mine.
“You are here today because your forefathers paved the foundation for this organization.” I knew who he was - had tracked his movements a couple of times, but even then, everything that belonged to the SinClaire’s was a risk. While The Society liked to sprout their mantra that there wasn’toneleader - that the Institution as a whole was upheld througheverymember, it was bullshit. Because if The Society had a leader, it was Benson SinClaire. He got away with more than anyone else. Everyone here deferred tohim- and, for all intents and purposes, he made the rules, and changed them at will.
He was the boogeyman - the one I stayed awake at night dreaming about gutting. Sometimes those dreams turned into nightmares and he gutted me. He was also my uncle. Even if Chantal wasn’t here anymore, he fathered her - and he was solely responsible for extinguishing her.
“You are here today because it isyourturn to ensure that we keep paving the way forward forgreatness.” Even the way he spoke made me want to vomit - made me want to take off my uncomfortable high heeled shoe and throw it at him. He paused, allowing the silence to work in his favor as his words echoed in our minds. But that wasn’t what had me taking pause - wasn’t what forced my breath to catch in the back of my throat.
Mack’s fingers danced lightly against the back of my hand. A touch so featherlight that I almost didn’t feel it. But I did.
I turned my neck slightly to look at him. Mack noticed the movement and grinned, and if I thought he was beautiful before, when he smiled he was breathtaking. Benson SinClaire kept talking - announcing something about how the world was adapting, but I couldn’t listen - couldn’t pay attention, not when Mack was drawing lazy circles and patterns against my skin. His touch was no longer featherlight, it was deliberate and maddening, and for a heartbeat, I allowed my mind to dip into the murky waters of fantasy - allowed myself to wonder what it would be like to be fucked by someone like Mack - to be owned by someone like Mack. Because there was no doubt about it, once this man buried his cock inside of you, he would own you, body and soul. Which made him more dangerous than most. He wasn’t like the pretty boys who had walked in earlier. He was gruff and masculine. Even as his fingers danced against my hand, I felt the scrape of his calluses on my skin. This man was so much more than a Society puppet.
The thought scared and excited me. Even as Benson droned on - even when I knew that I should be paying attention to what he was saying - listening to the words he spoke to the crowd, I couldn’t because all I could seem to concentrate on was Mack. Even when I turned my head to face forward, pretending to concentrate on the speech, all I could think about - smell - was Mack.
Benson went on about housekeeping rules - rules that I knew were important - rules that I knew I should be concentrating on, but Mack’s hands were no longer on the back of my hand, in fact, he had moved on to drawing his lazy circles on my leg, inching closer to my thigh, and something about the movement - about the impropriety of it all had me unable to move - to breathe - to think.
A wolf whistle jolted me back into the present, and when I finally blinked, seeing what stood before me, Ajax SinClaire had his hand raised.
“Figures it’d be Ajax to pull you away.” Mack chuckled in jest, but there was nothing humorous about what he said, and suddenly I had the urge toexplain- tojustifymy response. Which was absurd because I hadn’t explained myself to anyone in a very long time. Instead, I shrugged my shoulder in as aloof a movement as possible. “He’s not really my type.” It was the only sliver of honesty I would allow.
He grunted once - that same sound that seemed to come from the back of his throat, and once more I had the irrational urge toexplain. Instead, his hand resumed the lazy circles on my leg, this time rising higher and higher with each movement - his touch getting bolder as he went.
Part of me wanted to tell him to stop - that I couldn’t have his Society hands on me, but a larger part of me reveled in the way his hands felt on my thigh - dared him to go higher with each sweep of his fingers. I fought the natural urge to part my legs - to allow him in. Even as I was dimly aware that Benson SinClaire was announcing more Society trainers. But all I could focus on washim- what he could do, if I let him. And I wanted to. But we were also in a crowded auditorium, and I didn’t know Mack - didn’t know who he was in the playing field - didn’t know what he was capable of.
You could find out. That traitorous voice whispered in my mind once again.
And then suddenly his hands were no longer on me as he forced us both to listen to Benson SinClaire wrap up his speech.
