Chapter 37
Chapter thirty-seven
Threat
Becky
My Ancient Civilizations class runs over, so I’m halfway down the stairs before the room’s even empty, keyed up with the need to see Carrson.
But he’s not the one waiting outside.
It’s Jackson.
He leans against the brick wall of the sociology building, hands in his pockets like he’s been there a while. A group of girls hovers a few feet away, staring at him while they whisper and giggle behind their hands.
I almost tell them not to bother. That his pretty face is nothing more than a mask, built to hide the rot underneath.
I skid to a stop, rising onto my toes to look past him. No one else. I drop back onto my heels. “Where’s Carrson?”
“Meetings.” He flicks invisible lint from his sleeve, then slides his gaze up my body, leaving no part untouched.
I resist the urge to gag. “He’ll be in them all day.
” Jackson watches me with a nonchalant expression, but his eyes stay alert.
“Carrson’s quite the busy bee. Ever since he got back from spring break.
” His mouth flattens. “With you. Any idea why that is?”
I shrug. “Dunno.”
I start across the quad, heading to Rosewood Hall. Jackson falls in next to me, shortening his stride to match mine.
“You don’t have to walk me home,” I say.
“Oh, I think I do.” His voice is light, amused. “Campus isn’t as safe as it looks.”
I glance over at him. “Pretty sure the biggest threat is right next to me.”
He smiles at that, pleased, and reaches out, fingers closing around my shoulder long enough to slow me. “Thanks for the compliment, babe.”
I shove his hand away. “It wasn’t a compliment. It was a warning. And don’t call me babe.”
I expect some nasty comeback, but instead something else flashes across Jackson’s face, so unexpected it takes me a second to place it.
Hurt.
Like my words stung.
But that can’t be right. This is Jackson.
I shake it off and walk faster. Rosewood rises ahead, right up the hill, shoulder to shoulder with Ashford House, like a bride and groom perched on top of a wedding cake.
“This little comeback Carrson is staging won’t work,” Jackson says. “He’s already too far behind.”
“Why?” I shoot him a look. “Are you worried?”
“About Carrson?” He snorts. “Of course not. He doesn’t have the leverage he thinks he does.”
“And you do?”
“I don’t need it.”
“That’s convenient.”
He runs his eyes over me again, slower this time. “You’ll figure it out soon enough.”
“Figure what out?”
“Where the real authority sits.” He tips his head toward Ashford House in the distance. “And who it answers to.”
I follow his glance, then look back at him. “You mean you?”
That almost-smile again. “I mean not him.”
“You sound pretty confident.”
“I am.” He puffs out his chest. “It’ll all come to me in the end.” He’s looking at me when he says that last part, like I’m one of the prizes he’s planning on winning.
It ticks me off.
“I wouldn’t be so sure if I were you. Carrson has support from The Order, plus he’s got the right last name.”
Jackson’s eye narrow. “What, exactly, do you know about The Order?”
I inspect my nails, as if this conversation is the farthest thing from my mind. “I know enough. About the drugs. The research. How men bond women.”
I don’t mention that’s about all I know. No reason to tell Jackson the entire truth.
“Carrson’s not supposed to tell you that stuff.” Jackson’s gleeful smile makes my blood run cold. I hope I didn’t just hand him the bullets he needs to shoot Carrson.
“He didn’t,” I backtrack quickly, keeping my expression neutral. “I found out on my own.”
“That proves Carrson’s totally unfit to lead this house,” he says, pointing to Ashford House. “That he let you, an outsider and a woman, sneak past and learn things she shouldn’t.”
He says those words.
Outsider.
Woman.
Like he can’t decide which is worse.
“Becky.” His hand is on my arm again, fingers digging, pulling me to a stop. “You don’t have to waste your time with Carrson.”
I pull myself tall and look him dead in the eye. “I’m not.”
“You are,” he argues. “Carrson’s going to lose. He’s scrambling. You can see it.”
“Funny,” I plant my hands on my hips. “Doesn’t look that way from where I’m standing.”
“That’s because you’re standing next to him.” His voice goes quieter than I’ve heard before. “Stand next to me instead.”
We square off, face-to-face.
The quad stretches out behind us, people passing, voices carrying, plenty of eyes to matter.
Jackson squeezes my shoulder. “I take care of what’s mine,” he says. “Better than he does.”
There it is.
I let the silence spin out, long enough to be uncomfortable.
Then I smile.
Not nicely.
“That’s the problem with you,” I say, flicking his hand from my shoulder with a sharp, impatient gesture. “You think I’m something that can be taken. Won like a goddamn trophy.”
His hands drop to his sides and hang there.
“You seem to be tone deaf, so let me make this clear.” I raise the volume of my voice, enough that a couple of people nearby look over. “I’m not interested in you, Jackson,” I continue, voice steady. “And I’m definitely not trading down.”
He doesn’t like that. I see it in the way his eyes narrow and his jaw clenches. His eyes move past me, scanning the quad, taking in who might be watching.
When he looks back, the almost-smile is gone.
“You’re making a mistake,” he says quietly.
“You forget I have a voice here too,” I say. “I get to choose.”
He watches me carefully.
“There was never a version where I picked you.” This time, I’m the one who looks him up and down, making a big show out of it. At the end, I shake my head. Not even hiding my disgust. “It’s always been Carrson for me.”
With that, I turn on my heel and start marching, not waiting for him.
He doesn’t follow, but his voice does.
“You’ll regret that.”