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Shay pulls me into her arms. “You’re going to get through this. The first time will be the hardest, but I’ll be with you every step of the way. Just know mi cyaan promise I won’t tump Samantha in har face or box di idiot bwoy dem inna dem face.”
“It’s fine, Shay. In the end, it will all be fine. I’m not back here for them. I’m back here for me and what has to happen to protect my family,” I say, hoping my tone conveys the confidence I don’t wholly possess at the moment. But you know what they say. Fake it ’til you make it. And I’m going to fake it all the way to the helm of Fraternitas.
11
WES
“Remember if you?—”
“Shut the fuck up already,” I growl, cutting off Samantha’s eighteen-hundredth reminder of what has to happen.
She whirls to a stop in front of me. “Listen, Wesley, I’ve been nice enough to leave your little trash toy alone. That deal is only good if you do your part.” She angles her head at Lev and Wyatt. “If you all do your part.”
Sebastian is back at Edgewood Academy, the lucky bastard, and Owen won’t be seen anywhere in public near the bitch—threats to his life be damned. The rest of us don’t have that option. Sam literally holds his life in her hands, and if we don’t do what she wants, he’ll die. While he has no qualms about playing Russian roulette with his life, we won’t take the chance.
“Don’t you worry, we’ll play your stupid game,” Wy snickers. His lips quirk, and I arch my dark brow in his direction.
He’s up to something.
The look of mischievousness is painted all over his freckled face. He’s been like this all summer, but it’s gotten more blatant the closer to the start of school.
We’re standing in front of the F. A. Bradford School of Social Sciences and Humanities building—one of the four departments located in the Bradford Quad, which is aptly named since every building in this area is named after a Bradford. Owen is supposed to meet us here once his class is over. He’s going to flip his shit when he sees Sam.
It’s the first day of classes, and we all agreed to meet here for lunch. Unfortunately, Samantha thought that included her. One of the annoying stipulations to her being our Chosen is that she has access to our schedules, and she wasted no time ensuring she had breaks whenever we did. I’d send him a message to warn him if this vapid bitch would give me room to breathe.
“How much longer do we have to wait for him?” Sam whines, and as if on cue, the doors to the humanities building slide open, and students begin to file out.
“As long as it fucking takes. No one wants you here, so if you don’t want to wait, no one is begging you to be here,” Lev seethes. He’s finally starting to look a bit more like himself. There was a period over the summer I swore we would have to stage some sort of intervention after he scratched the shit out of his neck. Luckily, our new plan has provided an outlet. Between trying to locate Eshe Solomon or another hacker to deactivate the bomb in Owen’s arm, he’s a man on a mission.
Five more minutes pass before Owen exits the building. He still has a slight limp, but the bruises on his face have all healed. Physically, he’s almost one hundred percent—emotionally, it is a different story. We all have been on heightened alert after Lev told us about the incident at his house.
“What the fuck is she doing here?” Owen snarls. His face reddens in anger, and his fists clench at his side.
“We’re going to lunch, my love,” Samantha snips back.
Wyatt throws his arm around Owen and whispers in his ear, pulling him away from the plastic girl with a death wish. It’s a move made to look like a greeting as people walk by.
“You should stop pushing him if you hope to last the week,” I warn. It’s a warning she doesn’t deserve, but it’s more for Owen’s life than hers.
Samantha slides her arm through mine before following in the direction Owen and Wyatt went. “And you should know that I’m the one making the rules. Not any of you. So, get him in line, or he’ll be eliminated,” she orders and places her disgusting lips against my cheek. I have to fight not to push her off of me.
“You kill Owen, and there’ll be nothing left for you to leverage against us,” Lev states. “So, Samantha, remember your control isn’t endless, nor is your power absolute.” Then he walks past to catch up to Owen and Wyatt, leaving me to deal with the girl who’s like an infection that penicillin can’t fix.
As we walk across campus, other students stop and greet us, offering their congratulations on our upcoming wedding. I have to fight not to gag each time Samantha runs her clawed nails along my exposed arm or leans in to kiss me. It’s the longest ten-minute walk to the dining hall ever.
Once inside, I extricate myself from her hold, ignoring her muttered protest of what it will look like if we don’t walk in looking like a loving couple. “No one’s going to think anything. We’re here to eat—not be joined like Siamese twins.” I grumble, then leave her standing by the entrance to find the guys.
I find them close to the window, opting not to sit at our reserved table in the center of the room. My face scrunches in confusion as I sit next to Lev.
“We won’t sit there. That’s reserved for the Heirs and their Chosen—not some power-hungry wench,” Lev states, and I nod in agreement.
I groan when I see Samantha heading for our table, but she’s stopped when a group of cheerleaders intercepts her. I’m not sure what they’re saying, but it’s enough for Sam to smile and go to their table.
“Thank fuck,” Wyatt exclaims, relief etched on his face.
I think we all collectively sigh once Sam officially sits and begins animatedly talking. Her hands move with each word she makes, but that’s about the only thing on her that moves.
“Have any of you seen her?” Owen asks, causing our attention to focus back on our table.
