Page 40 of Dean's Delinquent

What?

How?

Why?

I tap Marnie’s name and check the number. As far as I can tell, it’s the same.

Hey. Trying this again. Hope everything is okay.

The number you have reached has been disconnected. If you feel this was in error, please check the number and try again.

Fuck.

A sharp rap pierces the silence of my car, setting my pulse to a racing staccato. Two men loom over, peering inside. What the fuck do they want?

“Can I help you?”

The one on the left frowns as he leans inside. “And how do we end that sentence?”

“I- I’m sorry. I don’t-“

“Let me help you out,” the other sneers, cracking his knuckles. “Sir or Master will suffice. I take it you’re new? Or are you a break me who just likes to be punished?”

A break me? That’s not something I researched. I need to add it to my mental list.

“She can’t be new,” the one practically inside my car barks out. “I would have remembered initiating a beauty like this.”

My brain whirls into overdrive as the implications slam into me, one after the other. Initiation. It’s got to be a secret society. Once again, Marnie was right. I just didn’t want to believe it. Oh, my god. And on campus, no less. This is definitely going to get me my big break. I just have to not blow it.

“It was a private initiation,” I murmur, hoping there is in fact such a thing.

“Private,” he smirks, looking over his shoulder at the other one. “We don’t do private... “The dean,” they say in unison. “Sorry. I wasn’t aware you were under his protection.”

Somehow, this grown man looks almost scared. I knew Dean Anderson was a formidable man, but to elicit this sort of reaction... Unless it’s a different dean. It has to be. No way Dean Anderson could be a part of something like this.

Tossing my hair over my shoulder, I give them both a wide smile. “Yes, the dean. Forgive me, Sirs. He’s still training me.”

“Lucky bastard,” the one furthest away grumbles. “Just like him to snag someone like her.”

As if ignoring him, the one with his head inside the car glances over to the house before looking back at me. “Are you trying to be late to the initiation? Pretty sure the dean will punish you for that.”

“I’m waiting for Stacy,” I murmur, the lie laying heavy on my tongue. “We said we’d go together.”

“He pulls out from my window and smacks the top of my car. “I’ll find Stacy and make sure she gets there. You go on ahead so you don’t make him upset.”

“Thank you, Sir. That is very kind of you.”

“Good girl. You’re learning.”

As they both head back toward the house, I grip the steering wheel and do my best not to scream. Right now, I’m not sure whether it’s out of fear, excitement, or relief. All I know is that those damned butterflies are zipping out my stomach and they have to come out somehow. It’s either that or puke.

I watch the cars as they pull away. One by one, they go in the same direction the psychiatrist went. Curiouser and curiouser, I repeat in my head as I follow them, hoping they’re going toward the initiation and not some home game I don’t know about.

But as they pass the turnoff for the fields, I know we’re going somewhere else. Somewhere I’ve never been before. Granted, it’s not as if I’ve explored every inch of Loftry, but how in the hell did I miss this?

Sweat slickens my palms as we go a bit further until the narrow road expands into a large open field with what looks like a small castle rising out of a hedge maze. What in the medieval hell is this?

Ducking out from my car, I keep my head down as I follow the others inside. The men no longer have their faces showing. Instead, masks cover them, concealing their identity.

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