10. Vani
10
VANI
T here’s a lighter bounce to my step as I head back to school.
Have I just made a new friend in Saint? The possibility of having actual friends here definitely makes me feel better. I’ve been lonely most of my life, and the urge to connect with people is strong. It helps that he’s absolutely gorgeous, and, for the first time, I don’t have my dad lurking around to scare him off. Not that Saint or his brother seem like the kind who scare easily.
I can’t let myself be distracted, though. I know it’s going to take time, but I need to remember why I’m here.
I follow the route I’d taken out here back to the main school building. There seems to be a fair few external buildings, too, though I’m unsure what they house. The grounds this place is built upon seem vast.
As I walk, my thoughts wander.
After Mom had confessed about me having a sister, at first, I hadn’t done anything. I’d been in shock, and then, only forty-eight hours later, she’d died. She knew she was dying and was compelled to tell me about Reagan. She hadn’t wanted to take the secret to the grave. Perhaps there had been a part of her that had felt like she was leaving me alone, and so had offered up the news of a big sister as a way of replacing her.
Of course, telling me that news didn’t come without its risks. There was Reagan’s new family to worry about, and then there’s the college itself.
Opening the side entrance doors, I step back into the gloom. Even here, not in the main foyer, there’s the odd oil portrait lining the corridor. All men, of course.
This place seems to love the patriarchy.
I find myself searching for clues that my sister studies here as I wander the halls and learn the layout.
Most universities would have display cabinets with engraved trophies won by their sports teams, or year photos framed and hung on the walls. Not this place. The only images are those of the paintings of the stern men.
How am I going to find her?
I need to talk to other students, that’s for sure, and they’re only going to open up to me if they think they can trust me. I’ve never been the most open of people, and acting relaxed and friendly in this place isn’t going to be easy. Plus, the ones I really need to talk to are those in the years above me. They’re the ones who’ll know her.
My thoughts instantly go to the two guys I now know are twins. They’re in their third year, which is the same year as my sister. Do they know her? This isn’t a huge college—population-wise—and while I’m sure it’s not possible for everyone to know everyone else, they must have at least heard of her. But I don’t even know what house she’s in. I’m in West House, apparently, but which one is she?
I bite my lower lip, remembering how obnoxious the first brother was. I can’t imagine him being happy to answer any of my questions, but perhaps the other one—Saint—will be willing to talk to me. I suddenly find myself wishing I’d been a little more friendly toward him. Had I come across as a total bitch? I couldn’t help it. Being a young woman, alone, in a secluded area, and having a strange man approach is bound to put up my defenses. What is it they say about how women would rather come across a bear than a man when they’re alone in the woods?
I can talk to the twins—or Saint, at least—but I ought to wait until I’ve had a little longer to get to know them. It’s going to look very suspicious if I bring Reagan up right away, and I have no idea who I can and can’t trust here. I did promise my mom I wouldn’t go asking for her by name in case word gets back to her father. The idea of waiting around for ages, though, twiddling my thumbs for weeks while I learn who can be approached, is too much. I need answers, and I’ve never been the most patient person.
The other place I could look for clues, of course, would be the dean’s office. Would he keep records there? Normally, I’d assume everything would be online, but this place seems to do things old style. In my head, I picture big metal filing cabinets with brown manilla folders hidden inside. I have no idea if Dean Rossi would think that those kinds of files would be safer than those that could be hacked online, but something tells me he’s the kind who’d think that way.
You can shred paper, but online records are forever. The MC club keeps much of their records old school, ledgers, notebooks, files. All locked away, and all able to be shredded or even burned if needed. That way they can destroy it all and leave no trace. I’m pretty sure a place like this will follow similar protocols.
Voices drift down the corridor toward me, and then two blondes come into view. They’re both tall and skinny and dripping in designer clothes—my complete opposites. I feel short and squat and scruffy in comparison, and their sweeping gaze is filled with a ready disdain that tells me they think so too.
“Hey, you’re the new girl, aren’t you?” the slightly taller blonde asks. “I saw you arrive. From up in one of the classrooms. You in a biker gang?”
I laugh. “Women aren’t allowed in the gang, but my father is. He runs it.”
I can’t hide the pride in my tone and force myself to square my shoulders and lift my chin. I need to remember where I’m from.
She holds out her hand, and there’s an imperiousness to the way she does so that rubs me the wrong way, but still, I need to remember I’m here to make friends. I take her hand and shake briefly.
“I’m Verity,” she says. “This is my friend, Tabitha.”
“Hi. Pleased to meet you both. I’m Vani.”
“Varney?” Verity mispronounces my name, and I’m sure from her smirk it’s on purpose.
“Vani,” I say, hardening the ‘a.’
“Oh, right. That’s an unusual name.” Once more her gaze trails down my body, and I can feel her assessing my weight and stats. “What year are you?”
“I’m a freshman.”
“Oh, I see. We’re not in your year, or we’d have taken you under our wing, wouldn’t we, Tabitha?”
The other blonde nods and simpers up at Verity as if she’s the queen of England or something. It’s on the tip of my tongue to blurt out if they know Reagan, but I manage to hold myself back. If they know her, it’ll only get back to her that I’m asking about her, and then she may contact her dad. I need to be more discreet.
Another group of girls walks by, and they cast us glances, but none of them smile, not only at me, but not at Verity either.
This place is colder than the faces of the men on the walls, and just as gloomy.
“Well, Varney,” Verity says with another fake smile. “We will see you around.”
She and her friend link arms and walk off, and I’m suddenly all alone in the corridor again.
I look at the portrait above me. “I wonder if any of you thought this place would be so full of spoiled fuckers when you built it, huh?”
He doesn’t answer and merely carries on glaring at me.
Sighing, I continue my search for the main stairwell so I can go back to my room and consider the sanity of searching Mr. Rossi’s office.
I take a corner to walk down yet another endless corridor, hoping I’m heading toward the stairs that will take me back up to my room, and slam into a wall of hard muscle.
I cry out in surprise, and the person I’ve just walked into gives a strange kind of hiss.
It takes me a second, but then I realize it’s the same guy who’d watched me arrive.
“Oh, it’s you,” I blurt before I have the chance to process the fact that by saying such a thing means I’ve just admitted that I already noticed him.
He gives that strange hiss again and glowers down at me. I find myself caught in his gaze. He really does have the most interesting eyes—green, but with a ring of amber around the pupils. Up close, I’m also struck by the size of him. I’m used to being around big men, but he’s huge. He’s easily six-five, and I’d say he puts in plenty of time at the gym. Not that I’m interested in men like that. He’s probably one of those who lives on turkey and rice and spends more time flexing in the mirror than anything else. He has tattoos, like me, but I’m used to being around tattooed men, and they don’t intimidate me.
My gaze lands on one of them scrawled across the side of his neck. It says HOT BLOOD . What does that mean?
“I’m sorry,” I say, and take a step to the right to get around him.
Except he mirrors my movements, bringing himself directly in front of me again.
I give a small, nervous laugh, and sidestep back to my original position.
He does the same.
Maybe I could take this as one of those silly, awkward moments, but he’s not smiling, and he definitely hasn’t laughed.
And he’s still blocking my way.
The atmosphere changes, growing more tense by the second. Is he fucking with me?
“Excuse me?” I say.
My gaze flicks to his throat and locks on the wide, angry scar that navigates most of his neck. What the fuck happened there?
Despite my attempt to be polite, he still hasn’t moved, and he still hasn’t said anything. My heart flutters with trippy beats and feels like it’s crawling inside my throat. All my muscles tense as adrenaline shoots through my veins.
I dig deep inside me, pulling forth the person who has to deal with drunk bikers back at the club. It doesn’t help that I’m only five-feet-two, and right now I feel like I’m going head-to-head with an actual bear. Yeah, definitely picking the bear over this guy.
I force my chin to lift and hold his eyes.
“You going to move out of my way, big guy, or do I have to make you?”
The corner of his lips twitch, but still, he doesn’t say anything.
“I’m serious. I might be small, but I’ve got a mean right hook, and considering our size differences, you don’t want to find out exactly where that right hook would land.” I lift my eyebrows and nod knowingly down at his crotch. Not that I want him to think I’m thinking about his dick or anything…
Oh, fuck. Now I am thinking about his dick. Well, that isn’t going to help anyone. I bet it’s absolutely huge. My cheeks grow pink, and I try to swallow down my nervousness.
Instead of moving to one side, he edges closer, shortening the space between us. I find myself frozen, staring up at him. He’s the giant, and I’m stupid Jack with the beans, and I’m about to get eaten all up, and not in a good way.
“Back off, Zane,” a male voice says from behind me. “You’re scaring the new girl.”
I glance over my shoulder to discover one of the twins behind me. While I’m grateful for the interruption, I still hesitate. Is it the one from the woods, or the asshole from class? Are they following me? I seem to bump into them wherever I go.
I stare at the side of the twin’s neck because I remember what Saint said about his brother having a mole, but he’s still too far away for me to see something of that detail.
I straighten my shoulders. “Takes more than a brick wall to scare me.”
The twin bursts out laughing. “You hear that, Zane? She just called you a wall.”
I glance at Zane’s expression. He arches an eyebrow and seems amused rather than angry. There had definitely been a moment, though, where I’d felt threatened by him. And why hasn’t he said anything yet? Does it have something to do with that huge scar across his throat?
I desperately want to know the story behind it, but I can’t ask. Aside from it being rude, I also highly doubt he’d tell a newcomer like me.
I direct my attention back at the twin. “Are you Saint, or your brother…?”
I search my memory for the brother’s name and come up short.
“Lex?” the twin supplies for me. “No, I’m Saint. We were just together in the woods, Vani with a V.”
I catch him exchanging a look with Zane, and then Zane lifts his right hand to his mouth and makes a couple of hand signals.
Oh, shit. Is the big guy deaf? He seems to have heard me, but maybe he’s been reading my lips. What’s he saying? I’m not an expert, but it doesn’t look like any kind of sign language I’ve come across before.
Now I feel like the asshole. Is his strange behavior down to him being deaf? Does the twin understand it? I turn to him, and he makes a sign back. Yep, they are definitely having a conversation, and I don’t think it is American Sign Language. Is it something else, or something they made up?
I keep my gaze locked on Saint, hoping for an explanation. Luckily, Saint understands what I need.
“Zane isn’t deaf. He just can’t speak.”
I realize it must have something to do with his scars.