Chapter 21
Chapter twenty-one
Laurel
I’m studying at Rosewood Hall. Cicley sits across from me.
Abbie is on my right. Samantha slumps two seats down, complaining about the structure of benzene rings.
She’s still struggling with O-Chem, which keeps her tethered to me, close enough that I can help with her homework when she needs it.
I’m sure she hates that fact, although she’s become less hostile over the past few weeks.
Sam’s not the only sister I’ve tutored recently. I’ve assisted with English essays and quadratic equations. Even Carrson asked for help with math the other night while we were lying in bed, about to go to sleep.
He’d handed me a stack of papers, printed on obnoxiously bright neon-orange paper, and said, “Can you make sense of this? I need to know what it’s about and if the numbers add up.”
I grabbed a pencil from my backpack, settled next to him cross-legged, and started scribbling calculations in the margins.
Carrson’s phone had buzzed with an incoming text. He’d read it quickly, his brows drawn downward. He’d let out a groan as he flung the phone onto the nightstand so hard it bounced.
I looked up. “Problem?”
“My father,” he’d muttered, sinking deeper into the pillow like he wished he could disappear inside it.
“He likes to text at random. Usually to remind me of everything I’m doing wrong.
Every flaw. Every failure. All listed in alphabetical order.
” His lips curled into something bitter.
“He’s the world’s most aggressive backseat driver, except the car is my entire life. ”
His tone was dry but not amused. More like acid. Like the words burned coming out.
I paused with my pencil in the air. I thought of the scars on Carrson’s back and how I was pretty sure his father put them there. “Where is he now?”
Please stay far away.
He’d shrugged, but it looked forced. “Who knows. Everything’s top secret. Last time I actually talked to him, there was gunfire in the background, so I’m guessing it’s not Hawaii.”
“Gunfire?” I squeaked, startled, sure he must be joking.
He wouldn’t look at me. Just muttered, “Don’t worry. Even death itself wouldn’t stop him from nagging.”
I’d opened my mouth to ask more, but Carrson had rolled his head to the side and cut me off, nodding toward the neon-orange paper. “So? What’d you figure out?”
I blinked, the abrupt shift in tone rose like a wall between us, like something he built brick by brick, swift and unbreachable. The message was clear. The subject was closed.
“Um, yeah,” I’d said, glancing at the paper. “Looks like a ledger. Expenses, income. Whoever put it together sucks at math. There’s way more profit than they’re reporting at the end.”
Carrson’s mouth had tightened into a straight line.
“Why’s it on such loud paper?” I asked.
He shrugged. “Beats me. That’s just the paper he uses.”
Whoever he was, Carrson didn’t offer a name, and I didn’t push. When it comes to Order business, he rarely explains anything. I try not to let it frustrate me. What’s the point? Six more months until I’m out of this deal.
Now, a sister I barely know, Staci, I think is her name, passes our table.
She’s shy, withdrawn. I don’t think I’ve ever heard her speak more than a sentence at a time, even to the others.
She tries to squeeze by us, lifting her arms to slide past a chair that hasn’t been pushed in.
The motion pulls her shirt up, and that’s when I see it.
A mottled bruise, dark purple and ugly, blooms across her ribs.
“Are you okay?” The words are out before I can stop them.
Staci freezes. Her head whips toward me. “What?”
I nod toward her side. “Did you hurt yourself?”
She blinks. “Oh. Yeah, I—I bumped into my dresser the other day. It’s nothing.” A beat of hesitation, just long enough to register. Then she’s gone, moving too fast.
There’s a strained silence at my table after Staci leaves.
“Sam…,” Cicley murmurs, her voice tight.
Samantha exhales, her eyes tracking Staci as she takes her usual place across the room. Sitting alone. “I’ve tried talking to her, but you see how it goes.” Sam flaps a hand in Staci’s direction. “She deflects. Makes excuses. Every time.”
Abbie doesn’t even lower her voice. “You know it’s Jackson. He’s the one doing it.”
The hairs on the back of my neck stand at that name.
This pussy is mine. I’ll add it to my collection.
Carrson’s kept his promise so far. Jackson hasn’t gotten close to me, but that doesn’t stop him from watching.
When I pass him in Ashford House, his eyes crawl over me, slow and greedy.
That grin he wears, lazy, possessive, makes my stomach turn.
Makes my skin crawl. I suspect that’s one reason why Carrson makes me eat alone in his room instead of down in the dining hall, where the other brothers and their bonded women have dinner.
Sam’s glare softens, just slightly. “Look. Jackson’s a fucking nightmare. We’ve all seen it. We need to stop him. I’m just not sure how. Not yet anyway.”
“What about Carrson?” asks Abbie, and I hate how my head jerks up at his name. “Can’t he do something?” she presses, looking at Sam, who shakes her head, lips tight.
“Carrson and I have talked about it more than once,” Sam says, and the tension that rises between my shoulders, that tightening of muscles, definitely isn’t jealousy.
No way. Not over her and Carrson having secret discussions.
Not over the way she talks about him like they’re on some kind of team.
It’s not jealousy. Just…concern. Curiosity.
Yeah, that’s all it is.
“There’s no rule against a man hurting his Bonded,” she continues. “Plenty of them do. The Order doesn’t exactly discourage it.”
Abbie and Cicley lower their heads at that. Silent. Defeated.
“The only way to stop Jackson is to catch him breaking an actual rule,” Sam continues, chewing on the tip of her pen, which has so many bite marks it looks like a beaver got to it.
“Something Carrson has the authority to act on. He’s looking but, so far, nothing.
It doesn’t help that Jackson’s father is powerful as hell.
If Carrson makes a move, there’ll be consequences.
Serious ones. Whatever reason he uses to take Jackson down, it has to be airtight. ”
“But it’s happening with Lisa too,” Abbie persists. “Isn’t that enough?”
“Who’s Lisa?” I look from one woman to another.
“Staci is Jackson’s second Bonded,” Cicley explains quietly. “Lisa is his first. It’s the same pattern with her too. Always bruised. Always quiet.” Her eyes stay locked on the table.
“Jesus, Cicley.” Sam shoots her a glare. “Why don’t you just hand Laurel our entire fucking playbook?”
“She deserves to know,” Abbie mutters.
Sam scoffs. “She’s not one of us. Why do I have to keep reminding you?”
That comment lands like a slap to my face.
My stomach twists. I don’t totally know what us means, only that I’m not included in it, which is fine.
I don’t want to be one of them, but still, I thought I’d made progress.
That they’d accepted me, at least a little, and not just because I’m Carrson’s Bonded, but because I’m… me.
I push away my feeling of rejection and focus instead on the questions I need to ask. I’m still two steps behind, struggling to catch up. “Lisa? Second Bonded? What does that mean?”
Sam rolls her eyes. “Does Carrson tell you anything? I swear you two aren’t really bonded. The brothers can claim up to three women. Usually just one or two while they’re in college.”
“Like…polygamy?” I ask, stunned. “You’re polygamists?”
Thomson hadn’t mentioned that little detail when he explained bonding. Neither had Carrson…
Abbie blinks. “What’s a polygamist?”
Sam talks over her. “A brother can bond up to three women, but he only chooses one to be a Mother. If he has other Bonded, which they all do, those women stay with him for the rest of their lives.”
“Like sex slaves?” I ask, my mouth dry.
Sam gives me a look like I’m being dramatic, but she doesn’t contradict me.
She continues, “Carrson, for example, was raised in a house with his father and two bonded women, but neither of those women are his real mother and those bonded women don’t interact much with the boys.
Only the Father is allowed to raise the son. ”
My head is spinning, scrambling to process it all. “Isn’t that awkward? Three women with one man and all of them vying for the title of Mother?”
“That’s why I’m going to solo bond,” says Sam with a sniff. Her chin rises in the air.
Cicley gapes. “Hardly anyone solo bonds. That hasn’t happened in over a hundred years.”
“What’s that? What’s a solo bond?” I ask, not sure I want to know.
Abbie answers, “It’s when a brother vows to only bond one woman. Basically, it never happens. Why would a guy settle for one when he can have three?”
Sam holds up both hands, palms facing me. “There’s a bonding ceremony when the boys are fifteen. That’s when they bind themselves to The Order. They cut a line in their right palm. You’ve probably seen the scar on Carrson’s hand.”
My eyes widen. “I have. I thought it was from an accident or something. When he was a kid.”
Sam shakes her head slowly. “It’s deliberate. They all have it. The right hand marks their loyalty to The Order.”
She leans in, her voice dipping low, like she’s sharing secrets. “The left hand? That’s reserved for us. For their women.”
My stomach tightens.
“When a man decides to bond a woman, there’s another ceremony. The bonded, both the man and the woman, cut open their hands and put them together. They take a blood oath. That’s how you can tell how many a man’s claimed. By the number of scars on his left palm.”
Abbie leans over and interjects, “The right hand is for God, and the left hand is for sin. That’s why they do it like that.”