Page 22 of Chaos & Corruption

“Be there in a heartbeat, kid.”

“I know.”

He grunts.

“What about that guy? The football player. Have you seen him around?”

I frown at the mention of Alex and recall our exchange. Thinking about it now, he really did look bewildered when I accused him of being a monster. But how am I supposed to know if that’s an act? I barely know the guy.

“Christ,” my dad mutters.

“I’ve seen him here and there,” I reply. “But Dad—”

“I know, I know. I’ll shut up.”

I laugh at that.

“I love you, kid.”

“I love you too.”

“Do your old man a favor and call him once in a while and if you need anything—even a loaf of bread, you call me. Any time, Victoria. Day or night. I’ll be there.”

“I will,” I murmur.

But let’s hope I don’t.

Eight

Victoria Bianci

After that callwith my dad, I gave Mila her space, which wasn’t all that hard since she was giving me the silent treatment. Like my dad did with my uncle Mikey, I worked behind the scenes, trying to learn everything and anything about the Scorpio Society, but that wasn’t an easy task. People didn’t walk around with a stamp on their forehead promoting they were a member of that crazy cult. They were a bunch of fucking phantoms and if I were going to uncover the corruption at Stonewall, I had my work cut out for me.

I started eyeing all the professors, wondering which of them were connected to the society and after my classes, I’d lock myself in my bedroom and search the school website. I printed faculty biographies and charted as much information on the professors as I could find, but I couldn’t detect a common link amongst any of them.

Same goes for the students.

I didn’t have much to go on other than Webber and I couldn’t ask Mila any questions. If I wanted to get some answers, I was going to need to make friends, but how do you do that when you dismiss everyone who tries to strike up a conversation with you because you don’t know who to trust. I was hitting dead-end after dead-end and if I didn’t make a conscious effort to get acquainted with the people here, I’d never bring down the bastards who hurt my friend.

That’s why I decided to take my research to the library today instead of disappearing into my bedroom with my laptop and a bottle of wine. I figured if I put myself out there, I had a better chance of making a friend or two. Maybe they’d catch me digging around for information and volunteer what they know.

It’s was a stretch and another failure because I couldn’t find a single article in the school newspaper about the suicides on campus and no one befriended me.

Frustration clawed at me and that’s how I wound up in the gym. Now, an hour and a half later on the treadmill, I’m a sweaty mess and I still have no fucking plan. Forget a plan, I don’t even have a damn clue.

With cardio out of the way and my heart racing, I head for the weights.

I could probably try to get cozy with Webber. He was kind of flirty that night at Dizzy’s. Maybe if I got him alone and pretended like I was interested, I could get him to tell me something…anything.

God.

Listen to me.

Using myself as bait when my best friend was a victim of a sex crime.

Maybe Mila isn’t the only one who needs help. I’m becoming consumed by this and it’s affecting my judgement and my morals.

I lift a pair of ten-pound weights and position myself in front of the mirror. Halfway through my first rep of arm curls, I notice a guy on the weight bench. His eyes meet mine in the mirror and he smiles at me.

---