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The cart jerks to the side. “Fuck’s sake, Syn,” Royal snaps back. “You hate her, we get it. The campus gets it. The fucking Elite get it—and that’s the fucking problem. Anyone who isn’t a fucking freshman is starting to complain that this year’s initiations are too easy.”
Gemini’s hand clamps down on my shoulder as he leans forward. “Royal’s right. The only thing the initiates are doing this year is serving us in the dining hall. We spent three years planning what we were going to do when we were in charge, so let’s have some fun.”
“Pick one, get them in a blue wig and fuck them so they can’t walk for a week,” Royal says.
I go to punch Royal again, but Gemini practically dives into the front seat to stop me. “You wanna punch us, then you do it when one of us isn’t driving the fucking cart. Or we open the ring up.”
Shaking my arm free of Gemini’s grip, I sit back and fold my arms, forcing myself to calm down. I’ve spent years controlling my anger, only unleashing it physically in fights where I know the other person won’t go to the police. Organized underground fights on campus or off.
No one cares about cuts and bruises until they are accompanied by a police record, and my future—my life—depends on having no criminal record and no evidence of even the vaguest untoward behavior that could be used against me in the future.
My father is one of the few individuals in the world who has the power to ensure anything I did would be erased in an instant, but if he had to use his resources…
Maybe I do need to work off some anger.
“Find me someone to fight by tomorrow night. I don’t care if it’s a fucking homeless guy from the city or an initiate. Tell the Elite this weekend we’re taking the initiates to church.” I turn to Gemini and Royal. “Giving the church a good cleaning will keep the faculty happy.”
The day passes by in a haze of boredom. Aside from the breakfast excitement—and I was provided with many videos from different angles—class is dull. At this point, college is nothing but a formality. Political Science now. Guaranteed entry to law school. Work until I’m “qualified” enough to become a senator, then on to president.
Everything I do between now and then is make sure I look good on paper.
At dinner, she’s nowhere to be found. After we left her, she went back to her room and didn’t attend any class until after lunch. Penny Bergmann ate alone. Maybe she will keep her promise, but when I said I had eyes everywhere, I wasn’t lying.
Aside from a small army of students reporting her actions, I had a camera installed in the corridor outside her room. And if Gemini did as he said, I’ll soon have eyes inside too.
“I got you a guy from the city,” Gemini says as we head back to our house. “Figured you’d want to go to town on them, and we know an initiate isn’t going to fight back properly.”
Having seen this year’s initiates, I doubt any of them can fight anyway.
Royal went straight to the gym after class, so it’s just me and Gemini in the golf cart. As he steers us around the final corner to the porch where the golf cart lives, I see the neon green Lamborghini parked up outside our house.
“Fuck my life,” I mutter.
The car belongs to Preston du Pont.
“Did you know he was coming?” Gemini asks.
“No.”
While it’s not unusual for past presidents of the Elite to visit, they usually only attend for special events. I tolerate Preston because he was friends with my brother, and because he’s my predecessor. But I prefer to tolerate him with advance notice when there’s an event, he can fuck off and annoy someone else.
I head inside, and almost immediately, Seamus appears. “Mr. du Pont is waiting for you in the living room,” he tells me, like I could have possibly missed the Lamborghini.
Finding the smile I reserve for the camera, I walk into the living room. “Preston, what brings you here?”
Preston is in one of the armchairs, staring at the screen of his phone. He looks up when I walk in. “Six weeks, and you’ve let the Elite go to shit. You’re lucky I’m here and not your father.”
I glance over my shoulder as Gemini closes the door behind us. One of the more specialist features in this house are the heavy doors, designed to keep conversations private.
Seamus may have worked here for years, but he’s the help. People like that, with no power or money, have absolutely no loyalty.
“The Elite has not gone to shit,” I tell Preston. On the outside, I appear calm, but inside, the anger is already appearing from his insinuation.
“And yet I’m hearing that aside from the initiation ceremony, none of the initiates have had to prove themselves. And that asshole, Declan Salaway, is still here.” Preston gets to his feet, slipping his phone into his pocket.
Overall, my brother was a great judge of character. JP had this ability to read people well, and while he was able to make everyone feel like they were his friend, his actual circle of friends was small and exclusive. For some reason, it always confused me as to why Preston was part of that circle.
The only conclusion I was ever able to come to was because of Preston’s father and mine.
