WHERE TWO WORLDS COLLIDE… #2
He grits his teeth. “This is different.”
“Is it though?” I lift a knowing brow. “These assholes are bad news, but let’s not be na?ve here. Wynter and I fully concur that they need a woman’s touch.”
Shay snorts. “Only you would think you could turn a purely patriarchal society into a matriarchal one.”
“It takes one smart woman to blow those fuckers’ house of cards down. In this case, there are two. They underestimated us. They won’t do it again.”
Wynter holds out her fist for me to bump.
That done, a thought occurs to me. “Who did you have to beat up?”
Her lips part. “Excuse me?”
“As part of your initiation.” When confusion greets me, I curse, “Son of a bitch.”
“More like the daughter of one,” she jokes. “Victoria? What’s wrong?”
“Before I received my invitation, I had to have someone beaten up. Only once I’d provided them with proof did I get a day and a time.”
“Is it because you’re not a Pi?” Shay inquires, a thoughtful crease to his brow.
“Could be.”
“There’s definitely a link between Pi Epsilon Beta, Rho Beta Epsilon, and the Veronians,” Wynter acknowledges. “Something else we have to figure out.”
I let my hands fly up in exasperation. “Like we didn’t have enough to do.”
“100%. Our next move?”
“No move. We have to wait for the third rite. Go through with it and just get inducted. Remember, this is a marathon, not a sprint. In the meantime, we collect info.”
“You mean blackmail material.”
I smile at Shay. “See? You do have a criminal’s mindset.”
He groans but before he can reply, someone squalls, “Holy fuck, it’s true!” The diner falls silent as everyone turns to the doorway where Derek Dyers stands. “Addison, I thought you were joking about them being an item. Bradley, man, are you desperate or something?”
“God, that guy is such an asshole,” Wynter hisses. “I can’t believe she’s with him too. What the hell is she thinking?”
A look over my shoulder finds that Addison Fitzpatrick, the Pi Epsilon Beta president, is latched onto Dyers’s arm.
Well, I say “on,” but it looks like he stapled her there.
“Is it just me, or does she seem scared?” Shay mutters, hackles rising.
“Sit down, Robin Hood. Let this play out. You can wade in if the argument turns nasty.”
“She can handle herself,” Wynter confirms.
“Of course she can. She’s a Pi. The queen of them, in fact. You sorority girls dish out revenge like it’s a slice of icebox cake.”
“We do, but she’s more of a raging bitch than the usual,” Wynter concurs. “Denver’s okay. She’s always nice when I see her in the elevator in our apartment building. Denver rooms with Zach Bradley, and Addison was crowing over ‘catching’ him all summer.”
“Who’s Zach Bradley again?”
Shay sips his drink. “The dude kissing Denver.”
“Ohhh.”
I watch as Denver sags into the guy who, even with my limited interest in the sport—I’ve interned at Uncle Conor’s NHL team but I was mostly interested in the admin and not the game—shrieks “hockey player.”
As do the other occupants in the booth, including, shit… the guy who dropped me off at the country club on Friday night.
Though I lock eyes on Alec, he doesn’t notice me. His focus splits between Dyers, who’s swaggering in like he owns the place, and Zach, who’s mauling Denver’s mouth. It’s impossible to hear what Zach’s saying as he draws her closer into his arms, but I can’t deny his protectiveness is super cute.
I’m not saying he’ll chop off someone’s hands for her, but it’s clear to anyone with a pair of eyeballs that he’s in love.
It’s not like everyone’s love language is body parts.
“Denver’s the only person I’ve met who ever said ‘fuck you’ to the Pies.”
Turning away from the brewing fight, I ask, “What do you mean?”
“She’s a legacy and because she doesn’t fit the size 0 demographic, on invite-only night, she and a bunch of other maybes were shepherded into this tiny closet—”
Shay asks, “What? Why?”
“The Pies put microphones in there and if anyone sounded too desperate, they weren’t invited to pledge.”
I gape. “See, this is why I hate sororities.”
“Honestly, this chapter is making me hate sororities. I’m barely around the house anymore. I was going to live in, but the first time I met Addison, we didn’t get along because she’s toxic as fuck. So, I paid my dues when I transferred, but I’m thinking about leaving next year.”
“What happened with Denver?”
“She got an invitation to pledge and then she told the president to go fuck herself and swanned out of the house. It was hilarious.”
“I knew your standards were low, but I had to see it with my own eyes.”
“Ooh, boy, they’re going to fight soon,” Wynter declares as Zach cracks his knuckles at Dyers’s insult.
Whatever was said, the whole table bursts out laughing and their chatter reverts to hissing that’s hard to eavesdrop on.
I return to my convo with Shay and Wynter, but a sharp squeak of a fork across a dish yanks my attention away from them.
Mason Drake growls, “She’s not wrong, Dyers. On assists alone, he wipes you out. You are a counterfeit version of the main man and you need to let go of Addison right this second. You’re hurting her.”
Which is when I see it—a mark. Red. Shiny. Not a mark, in fact.
A brand.
A crown.
Small enough to hide beneath a watch, but Dyers isn’t wearing one…
“Seems unwise of him.” When Wynter glances at me, I murmur, “Look at his left wrist.”
Her eyes widen. “Holy fuck. Is that a brand?”
Shay’s brows lift but before he can comment, the hockey players start shouting at each other again, and one guy jerks to his feet and gestures at Addison. “He’s right. Look at her. She’s paler than an egg-white omelet!” He punches Dyers’s forearm. “Let her go.”
Addison flinches, and I can feel Shay bristling beside me so I tug on his hand. “This has nothing to do with you and she has a hockey team to defend her. You wading in will only make things worse.”
“Then I’ll make it something to do with me.”
Pecan, a goalie on the team, thunders, “Addison, do you want to leave?”
Her throat bobs but she nods.
“You got eyes, Dyers,” Zach warns. “Let her go.”
If anything, he does the opposite.
When Addison cries out in pain at the tightness of Dyers’s grip on her arm, I glower at the jerk, but Denver heckles, “Is it true what they say, Dyers? That you’re counterfeit in all ways?”
Cackling, Wynter wiggles her pinkie finger at me.
Addison ducks free from Dyers’s hold. She scurries away, ignoring his: “Addison! Come—”
When she whips around to look at him, fear etched into her expression, she only picks up the pace to exit the diner.
Dyers turns to Denver with a snarled, “You think you can say shit like that without repercussions, you fat fucking cunt?”
And that’s it.
Zach has had enough of Dyers’s bullshit, especially when he attempts to punch Denver! Zach prevents the hit in the nick of time and then smacks the asshole in the face. Blood sprays everywhere and a tooth flies loose, whipping through the air while Zach drags Dyers onto the table.
Food sails forward like something out of a movie. The breakfast tidal wave sends dishes crashing and cutlery singing as it clatters to the floor.
The team, aside from Alec, that douche canoe, cheers Zach on until shit goes a little too far. Thankfully, Lex is there to rein them in.
“Are you trying to get me fired for not refereeing you animals?!” she wails, wading into the chaos with a dose of normalcy. “Look at this mess!”
“Do I need to come out there?” Dopie, the owner of the diner, bellows from the kitchen.
“No, Dopie,” Zach calls out then earns himself an eye-roll from the massive guy out back. “I won’t charge for being the security guard your place needs.”
Zach shoves Dyers off the table, and after he tumbles to the floor, all arms and legs akimbo, he’s quick to jump onto his feet. I’m not sure what Lex says, but it has Dyers making to hit her too as he bites off, “Bitch!”
Dopie rushes out of the kitchen, but not fast enough to beat Pecan, who snags a hold of the douche’s wrist and yanks it down. “I don’t think so.”
“He called me a ‘fat cunt,’ Dopie—” Denver tells the diner owner the truth. “—and he went to hit me so Zach had to defend me.”
The older man folds his arms across his chest. “I hate men who hit women.”
“Same.” Zach’s shoulders bunch in agitation. Denver presses her hand to his back, but that doesn’t settle him any.
“Men are so unoriginal.” Lex stares at Dyers like he’s a dog turd someone walked into the diner. “Aren’t they, Denny?”
“Truer words.”
Dyers, skidding on spilled egg yolks and syrup, turns to Alec when Dopie clearly isn’t siding with him. “Are you letting this happen?”
Alec swipes at some food that landed on his face. “What do you want me to do, Derek? I told you to keep your nose clean, so you come and cause trouble? We’ll talk about this later.”
“I don’t believe this.” Dyers staggers upright, only to teeter before crashing back down again.
The bulk of the diners’ patrons laughs this time—Shay, Wynter, and me included.
Flushed with outrage, zero defense from any quarter, Dyers finds his bearings and storms off. But before he opens the door, he turns to face the diner.
Eyes locked on Denver, he pins her in place for a split second, imbuing that look with all the hatred he seems to feel for her. She becomes the epicenter of his rage, but Denver isn’t afraid.
She blows him a kiss farewell.
This is a girl I need to befriend.
Stat.