Thriller Thursday (Cult Campus #4)

Chapter 1

one

Beta Kappa Etas think power comes from grades and last names. I know it’s from the kind of man you become when nobody expects anything of you.

Ice crunches under my boots as Nicky and I head up the brick path to their fancy house.

Not as nice as Delta’s, but it has decorative wooden slats over the windows.

And roof shingles dangling like loose teeth.

Red and yellow hues strobe through the stained glass, lighting up the night like a carnival.

“If he causes you problems, I’m shooting. Been waiting to take that kid out.” Nicky Sorvino, Delta’s secretary and professional pain in my ass, licks his bottom lip and tugs his nubby wool beanie down over his ears.

“Act cool. It’ll be worse if we show irritation.”

“Don’t know how to hide it around him.”

Luxury cars clutter their driveway, parked haphazardly in front of the carriage house around the back. Carriage house. That’s a term I never knew until I started attending Northview University.

With a nod toward a Range Rover humping a log, I say, “Too good to park their hundred-thousand-dollar toys in rows, I suppose.”

“At least it’s not as bad as at Theta Rho Zeta. They have their own fleet of valets for their airplane hangar filled with customs. Have you seen their president’s new Porsche? Ridiculous.”

My throat tightens. Fucker. Aiden Cardell probably doesn’t even know how to drive it. Not the way a car like that’s begging to be driven.

We tap our boots off on the edge of the red brick porch. Flurries float past the yellow wall lamp.

“God, this place reeks even from the outside,” he says, and I nod in agreement.

“Like onions and Old Spice.”

I rap on the door with a knuckle. Nicky hitches his Carhartt jacket higher as I give him a knowing glance. “There’s a reason we say—”

“‘Beta Kap, no fap,’” we finish together. Campus gospel for geeks who think not jerking off makes them superior.

The snow melts under our shoes as we wait. Cold blows off the siding, threading its way beneath my coat. I rub my hands together and hit the wood again. The door shudders and the weight of my gun feels imminent. A threat unspoken.

Still no answer—except the bass from a stereo deep inside.

“Think they’re having a party,” Nicky says with an eye roll.

“Then why the fuck did Ayan want me here? I’m missing Thursday Night Football for this. You could have come here alone.”

He shrugs like a man who’s broken better locks. Then tries the door with force.

“You know Ayan. Wants everyone to jump through hoops. Well…” he trails off, and I know what he’s going to say. “You specifically.”

My neck grows tight. Fucking Ayan Dutta. The new president of Beta treats me like his lesser when I’m his equal.

Our only task is to grab a Beta headcount for the Thriller Thursday Greek event coming up next week.

That’s it. A simple email or secretary exchange could have handled it.

But no. Ayan insisted I come personally, and he’d have a “talk” with me about the numbers.

They have to be even. It’s how the game works.

If the president of the fraternity wants to discuss which of my Delta Pi Alpha’s are attending, then he wants insider info.

He’s playing some angle. I’m not smart enough to spot it. And neither is Nicky.

As we walk in, we’re greeted with high-pitched wailing from large TVs. In the living room, a racing game flashes on the screens in front of a roaring crowd of students, all chanting and shouting randomly. Why they aren’t watching football is beyond me.

On the opposite side of the long hall in front of us is a separate gathering room where some sorority sisters mingle, chatting over red Solo cups. As if this isn’t even a co-ed party.

“Where do we go?” Nicky asks, glancing at the Iota women with a sneer. “Hopefully not that way. They can’t even get decent women here.”

No one pays us much attention. A few students enter behind us and aim for the swinging door leading to a kitchen where kegs line the wall.

“Not sure. I’ll head straight to the back. Looks like there’s an office.” Nicky nods as I step away. “Grab me a beer, would you? Or something better.”

Nicky’s dark eyes crinkle at the corners with a sly grin covering his lips. “While we’re here…”

“May as well steal their food and drinks.”

He snaps his fingers and points at me. “This is why you’re the president.”

My chest aches. No. That’s not why…

The walls were once white but have faded to a depressing shade of ochre. Worse are the stains surrounding the Beta group photos from years past, sitting above the dark wood panels.

Glass cases contain their symbols of the Lunar Chalices from previous awards.

Mainly from the annual Thriller Thursday, which they’re expected to win again.

After we Deltas took Wicked Wednesday, I don’t care that Beta will likely place first next Thursday.

So long as we win another one of the events left this year.

As I approach the end near the window, the party noise dampens enough that I make out heavy breathing. A door labeled with something on a gold plaque sits slightly ajar. I open it wider.

Ayan Dutta stands in front of his desk, his brown ass pumping rapidly between the thighs of the Iota president. Whatever-her-name-is perches on the edge, nails digging into his back like she’s drowning. My upper lip curls with disgust. Didn’t want to see this…

She spots me, then pulls Ayan closer, covering up her huge, flopping tits. “Ayan! There’s someone here!”

He glances over his shoulder and growls. “Get the fuck out of here, Griffin! Can’t you see I’m busy?”

Jaw locking, I back away and ease the door shut.

“Who was that?” the woman asks.

“Apollo Griffin. An illiterate poor kid cosplaying as someone important.”

Heat floods my face.

The worst part is, he says it like it’s obvious. Like the whole world already knows.

So that’s why he wanted me here. To show off—his power, his girl, his supposed superiority. A little demo of what I’ll never be.

The Glock tingles against my hip. As I think about pulling it out and giving him the scare of his life, a hand taps my shoulder.

I whirl around to face the Beta secretary, Logan Dawson. Tolerable and responsible. Probably the only one around here to do actual work.

“Hey,” he says. “Sorry. Ayan is, um, tied up.” Closing the door with finality, he waves toward the front of the house.

“No, he’s not,” I say, following behind. “He seemed very free to me.”

Logan seems sheepishly apologetic. Cheeks flaming red. Hand shaking as he smooths out his dirty-blond hair. Sweat steaming up his wire-rimmed glasses. “Okay, well. Sorry, he’s a dick— Oh, shit.”

He whips his gaze to the entrance, where a couple of women waltz in. A tiny brunette in a tight gold dress tosses her hair back like she owns the place.

The two spot Logan and head straight toward us. He positions his body in the middle of the hall, blocking the way to the office. My heart pounds harder as they approach.

“Hello, Scout. Ellis,” Logan says. “Good to see you.”

“Where’s Ayan?” Scout asks as she peeks over his shoulder. But she’s way too short to see. She gives me a quick scan with deep ocean-blue eyes. The kind that make you feel like you’re being measured.

She’s attractive. Her friend is, too, but not like this one. But there’s something about her that seems scared.

And scary.

“Um, he’s busy right now? He’ll be out in a minute?”

“Why are you saying everything like it’s a question?” she snaps, and I startle at the ferocity such a little thing could hold.

Ellis crosses her arms. “Can you handle going to tell Mr. Almighty that his girlfriend is here? Come on.” With a huff, she tugs Scout toward the living room, both women casting us nasty sneers.

“Fuck,” Logan swears under his breath.

“Seems as if you’ve got a bit of a blow-up about to happen,” I say with a grin. I couldn’t be happier. In fact, I need to make sure Ayan is noticed.

To feel like the important person he is.

Logan shoves his sweater sleeves up his arms, showing off one of those vintage calculator watches. “Um, I can let Nicky know our headcount tomorrow. I’ll be back in one minute.”

He scurries to the office as I slip toward the living room to watch the showdown.

Nicky meets me in the main hall, slapping a bottle of Hennessy into my hand.

“Drink up. It was the most expensive thing they had.”

“Nice work,” I say, tossing some back and licking the sweet taste off my bottom lip.

It builds enough fire in my chest that I approach Ayan’s girlfriend at the table near the back with some swagger.

She spins to face me, gold dress shimmering.

“I think Ayan wanted to talk to you in his office.” It sounds completely natural when I say it, but she narrows her eyes with suspicion.

The way she stares at me could kill a man. Scrutinizing. Judgmental thoughts dart from her gaze as if she’s already pulled back the curtain and found what’s hiding behind it. I feel exposed.

Something electric flicks between us—fear, challenge, heat. Hard to tell the difference with her.

I think she’s going to respond, but her face grows slack. Then her expression changes to shock and horror.

When I turn my head, I see Ayan tripping through the doorway, zipping up his trousers. The Iota girl tugs on a dress, hopping on one foot to put her shoe back on.

Scout’s chest rises rapidly with a sharp breath. Like she knows exactly what just happened. Her skin begins to pale, but it doesn’t stay that way. Color surges up her neck, blooming across her cheeks as she takes in what he’s done.

I’m not exactly sure what comes over me.

Maybe it’s been these past three and a half years of having to listen to guys like Ayan’s incessant insults. Or every prick ever calling me stupid. Low class. Poor.

The way I’ve gotten passed over for everything while hanging out with rich assholes.

But I clasp the back of Scout’s neck, bend down, and plant a deep kiss right on her surprised lips. Sparks fly through my spine as I taste her wintry flavor on my tongue. Like spearmint and cold, seething rage.

I pull her little body into mine.

Tucking her in like she belongs there.

And maybe that’s the real reason I do it—

Because I’m tired of being the one who doesn’t belong.