He’s already opening Photoshop to create an invitation for us to use without me having to say anything. When he isn’t dicking around, Colt’s mind is more intelligent than the rest of ours combined.
With one of us at Castlebrook College for this dinner, we’ll be able to kill two birds with one stone. We’ll take care of our previous task so the frat boy isn’t left to rot in his own piss for another week and still have time left over to find out how else the dean’s connections could help us.
“Add a plus one to the invite,” I say. “Rowan’s going.”
“Which name am I putting on this?” Colt’s tongue sticks out of the corner of his mouth while he copies the invitation.
“Mine.” Jude stretches his arms overhead and springs to his feet in a fluid motion, as smooth as he is with his silver tongue. He swaggers over, slinging an arm over my shoulders. “Parties are my forte. It’ll be a night she’ll never forget.”
“Nah, you’re all talk,” Colt says. “Rowan’s going with me.”
“No,” I growl, not liking the idea of Rowan with either of them. “I’ll be the one going.”
There’s a beat of silence, then Jude and Colton snicker, leaning heavily on each other. Those fuckers—they did it on purpose to bait me. With a low grumble, I move away.
“Don’t forget to check in on the guy overseeing the card game there,” Colt calls. “He missed the last drop off.”
I wave a hand in acknowledgement. Turning my back, I press my phone to my ear after dialing. A slow satisfied grin stretches when she answers without knowing it’s me on the other end of the line. I wonder if she’s heard what’s said about curiosity’s effect on mortality.
“Time to repay the favor you owe, kitten.”
Nine
Rowan
The minute I open my door on Friday night, I find Wren waiting in the hall like an expensively dressed sentry. The charcoal suit is tailor-made for his muscular frame and makes his blue eyes stand out in stark relief against the dark fabric. His blond hair is slicked back, not a strand out of place. Stepping toward me, his cunning gaze slides down my body, sending an acute spark of warmth racing over my skin.
When I’m around him, he commands my attention whether I want to give it to him or not. He’s the only person who has been able to bring me to the surface of the fog I’ve been living in since my brother left.
“No.” It’s decisive and final.
My head jerks back. “No?”
“No.” Wren gives me another once over. “Change.”
I press my lips into a thin line and prop my hands on my hips. When he told me what he wanted on the phone, I thought he was kidding. Except I don’t think someone like Wren Thorne knows how to joke.
It doesn’t matter that he looks fucking fantastic in the suit or smells like his intoxicating spicy and clean aftershave that does funny things to my insides. Underneath all that, he’s a dick who expects everyone to fall in line. And something in me doesn’t want to follow his ridiculous orders without a fight.
“Have you ever killed anyone with all that big dick energy you throw around?”
Wren doesn’t answer, but there’s the faintest shift in his dominant expression that seems entertained by my sass. It’s the same look he had the other night in the hedge maze outside the hotel. He expects me to do as he says, but I don’t think he’s above fighting me to ensure I obey.
That thought shouldn’t make my heartbeat pick up and my stomach tighten with excited anticipation.
Needing to cool my head, I change tactics, crossing my arms over the simple black button down I paired with the black dress pants Mom made me buy for interviews. “Why do I have to help you when you’ve done nothing for me yet?” My brows furrow. “What could be more important than finding a missing person?”
A dark shadow falls over Wren’s face. When he takes another step forward, I stubbornly stand my ground to show him I’m not afraid of his intimidation tactics. His lips twitch and he crowds me until I’m forced to shuffle back a step. An unwanted ripple of warmth pools between my legs. Still, I refuse to give him an inch.
He braces a hand against the wall behind me. “Because you owe me and I’ve come to collect. If you don’t, then we won’t help find your precious brother.”
I swallow down the panic that surges at his ultimatum. I hate that I need him.
“We’re not going to a dinner with the dean of Castlebrook College with you dressed like that. You look like hired staff, not someone who would be believable on my arm as a date.” The cold sneer on his face as he takes in my outfit grates on my irritation. “Now go back inside and dress yourself accordingly. Or do I have to dress you myself?”
I suck in a breath so quickly at the threatening suggestion that I can’t do anything to hide the way I react to the idea of him making the choice for me. A hot blush tingles in my cheeks. He waits for an answer, eyes burning with intensity as they catalogue every inch of me.
“Fine,” I push out in a rush. My tongue feels sluggish. “I’ll see what else I have. Don’t expect me to look like all the other society darlings that strut their stuff around campus, though.” I level him with a hard stare, jaw set. “I’m not like that.”
Wren holds my gaze and grasps my jaw in his large hand. “No, I imagine you’re quite far from it. You have ten minutes to change or we’ll be late. Don’t keep me waiting, or I’ll decide what you wear for the rest of the damn year.”
“Castlebrook College isn’t in Thorne Point,” I say when we get out of Wren’s gunmetal gray Aston Martin.
I drag in a deep inhale of cool autumn air. The drive from the city wasn’t long, but every second I felt choked by his ego.
This college is in a neighboring town. When Isla heard I was coming here she tried to bribe me to take a picture of some hotshot rugby player, something Wolfe. Castlebrook is the official rival school of Thorne Point University, but I don’t have any interest in covering stories on the athletic teams.
“Astute observation.” Wren settles his hand on my lower back to guide me.
An odd thrill races down my spine. Despite not kissing me the other night, he has no problem touching me whenever he wants. The feeling of his hands on me, casually broadcasting that they belong on my body puts a slew of thoughts in my head that make my mouth dry.
“It used to be, before Thorne Point redrew its city limits several decades ago,” he says. “They were sister schools when they were first established.”
We walk along a wide path through a campus that closely resembles the regal stone buildings of Thorne Point. It’s easy to see the identical history in the architecture.
Wren’s touch grazes over the smooth material of the sheer cream blouse I found buried in my closet. I forgot I borrowed it from Isla. On her it’s perfect, but my breasts are bigger than hers for a snugger fit. If I was worried Wren would veto keeping the same pair of pants on when I left my apartment a second time, I had nothing to fear—he took one look at my tits straining against Isla’s expensive blouse and gave me a wolfish grin.
“So it’s outside of your little turf or whatever, isn’t it? You’re not the King Crow here.”
He smirks. “I don’t need turf. My name alone is enough. People kneel before me when and where I want them to.”
I pull an unimpressed face at his arrogance. “Then why do you need me to pose as your date for a cover, oh great and powerful one? I doubt I’m as important as you believe you are. Am I just supposed to be an ornament?”
Wren’s hand slides from my back to my waist, massaging it as he brings me close against his side. He bends his head to press his lips against my temple. My stomach dips with a burst of arousal.
“Because you wanted my help.” To an onlooker it might appear like he’s being a doting boyfriend, but his voice is gritty with the promise of consequences for disobeying him. “Pay your favor, or you won’t get what you need. I’m not reminding you again.”
Not trusting myself to hold my tongue from
a smart remark, I nod, pursing my lips into a tight line. Thankfully the conversation drops until we reach the dean’s residence.
The historic estate house is at the edge of campus. A sculpture of two crossed keys in the stone framing the door catches my eye while we wait to be let in. It’s on the door, too. The knocker Wren used is a key. When the old oak door opens, the muted din of chatter rolls onto the porch.
A woman in all black shows us in. Wren shoots me a pointed look and I roll my eyes. Her clothes are an exact match of what I was wearing when he picked me up before I changed.
“The dean has invited guests to join him in the parlor,” she says. “It’s down the hall and—”
“I know,” Wren interrupts. I elbow the prick for his rude attitude and he squeezes my hip in a brutal grip in retribution. “I’m familiar with the home. Thanks.”
It’s barely audible and tacked on as an afterthought, but I feel less like decking him for being an ass to the woman for doing her job. Wren directs us down a narrow hall lined with gilded framed paintings and old black and white photos. Most show groups of men and I scoff. The keys repeat as much inside the house as they seem to outside. I wonder if it’s like how some people are obsessed with collecting baskets.
I can’t keep a question from tumbling past my lips before we have to play happy couple. “Why is it so hard?”
“What?” Wren mutters.
“Not being a total dick all the time.”
He pauses outside the room where the chatter is louder, mouth tilted up at the side. One hand braces on the wall. There isn’t much room to maneuver in the hallway, so he effectively traps me once again. He seems to love trapping people at his mercy.
This close, his aftershave makes my knees weak and my breath stutters through the desire coiling low in my stomach. Don’t go there, I remind myself.
“Because, Rowan,” he murmurs, stepping near enough for his charcoal suit to brush against my chest. Erasing the distance between us, he speaks against my lips, the graze of his skin on mine intimate. “It’s my default setting. Never expect anything less from me. I’m the furthest thing you’ll find from kind.”
I scowl at him and feel his broad chest vibrate with an amused rumble. He drives me crazy. I look forward to the day I can get far away from his power high. Until then, I need him.
Wren takes my wrist and tugs so I follow him into the parlor. It’s full of students in blazers with frat letters pinned to their lapels and an older crowd they’re schmoozing with. Wren didn’t tell me much about tonight’s dinner except that the students needed some positive publicity and something about networking opportunities.
An older man I recognize from the photos in the hall is at the center of the room talking to a couple. The guy is around my age, but his girlfriend is younger and eyes the dean suspiciously. Her purple hair seems out of place in this stuffy traditional parlor. I immediately admire her boldness.
The dean spots us when we enter and color drains from his wrinkled face. He mutters something to the young couple and hurries to us. Even I have to be mildly impressed by Wren’s power move to walk in the room and have the dean of the college rushing to him.
“Mr. Thorne,” the dean says in surprise. “I don’t remember having my secretary extend an invitation to tonight’s gathering.”
“And yet there my name is.” Wren’s confidence doesn’t waver as he presents a crisp white invitation.
“Yes, I see.” The distinguished man stares at the card in Wren’s hand for a beat before clearing his throat. “Well. Do enjoy yourself. And give my regards to your father.”
“Undoubtedly.” Wren tucks the invitation into his suit jacket. His hand finds the small of my back again, fingertips pressing through the material of the sheer blouse with commanding force. “Let me introduce my date for the evening. This is Rowan Hannigan. Rowan, William Barlow, dean of Castlebrook.”
Mr. Barlow’s gaze passes over me, lingering at my rack without even hiding it. I shoot Wren a glare, beginning to understand why he’d drag me here. I’m the flashy distraction. My ornament comment from earlier wasn’t too far off base.
Wren kisses my cheek, arm wrapping possessively around my waist. “Say hello, sweetheart.”
Bastard. My cheek feels warm where his lips touched, heart fluttering at the endearment. We’re only pretending to be together. I need to remember that this isn’t real.
“Thank you for inviting us into your home. You and your wife have impeccable taste,” I say as sweetly as I can manage while being openly objectified by a man old enough to be my grandfather. It’s an unfortunate skill most women perfect by the time they’re in their teens thanks to lecherous men like him. The dean gets control over himself, snapping his eyes up to meet mine. “Are the keys in the decor a personal interest or do they mean something?”
Wren’s palm sweeps down my spine. I’m not sure whether it’s silent praise or a warning. I can’t keep my curious mind from being interested in the answer.
“They’re a…family motif of sorts,” Dean Barlow stammers. “Please excuse me.”
He slips away, tossing one more glance at Wren before practically racing from the room. I arch a brow. The retreat looked a lot like running away in fear.
“I guess you weren’t kidding about your name’s effect on people.” I snag a flute of champagne from a tray. “The rumors about you are pretty juicy.”
Wren’s hard gaze doesn’t stray from the door the dean left through. “I’ll be right back. The dinner should start soon. Talk to some of the students. They should have some interesting stories of their own about the rumors on this campus.”
Before I can get more detail out of him, he’s striding away. Part of me wants to ignore his directions and sneak after him to find out what he’s up to. It’s got to be more interesting than frat boys.
“Now’s the perfect time, Linc. Come on, we have to find out why those girls transferred. I know it’s connected to the bunny hunt.”
I turn around and find the girl with purple hair talking to her boyfriend. He’s tall and built enough to be a football player with the muscles his blazer can barely contain. Their bodies naturally angle toward each other as if they’ve known each other a long time, but when he takes her hand it has a sense of newness to it in the way he hesitates and looks around before threading their fingers together.
“Not yet.” She pulls a face and he cups her cheek like he can’t help himself. “We’ll talk to him, I promise. We’re already on thin ice and I don’t want to piss him off before he decides the rugby team is suspended for the season.”
“Lincoln,” someone calls from across the room.
He looks between the person calling him and his girlfriend with a conflicted expression. He leans in and cradles her face in his hands, kissing her forehead tenderly. “Hang on. I’ll see what Nate wants.”
“I can’t believe I still have to compete with my brother for your attention,” she murmurs jokingly.
The sarcastic jibe makes Lincoln grin. When he goes to talk to a guy that looks just like his girlfriend, I sidle up to her.
“Pro tip,” I offer with a friendly smirk. “During the dinner, excuse yourself to use the bathroom. It gives you time to look around without being missed.”
Her face lights up. “That’s a great idea. Thanks.”
“No problem.” A pang hits me in my chest. “My brother is the one to thank for it. He’s crafty like that.”
I learned all my best tricks from him.
“He sounds cooler than mine. I’m Briar.” She offers her hand and I take it. “I’m a sophomore here.”
“Rowan. I’m in my last year at Thorne Point University, actually. I’m here with someone who knows the dean.”
Briar whistles. “That hot guy you walked in with?”
I open my mouth to deny it, but nothing comes out. Instead I offer a stiff shrug, remembering my role. “I think he’s talking to Dean Barlow. What did you want to speak to him about? It sounded important.�
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Briar tucks a curl of purple hair behind her ear, darting her gaze around the room. “A girl here got…drugged without knowing.” The heavy implication in her tone has me standing straighter on alert. “There wasn’t a report about it. She’s transferring, but the fraternity my brother and boyfriend are in is on probation because it happened the night they set up this stupid game. I’m here to help her get the guy who did it to her.”
“One of their frat brothers did it?” I cast a hard look around the room at the students with pins on their lapels. “Do you know who?”
“No.” Briar bites her lip. “She wouldn’t tell me. He wore a mask. She might not know.”
“Probably paid off,” I mutter more to myself than her, my mind working through how it likely shook out.
“Thorne Point is pretty much impossible to get into without connections, so yeah.” Briar sighs.
Before she says more, we’re called into the dining room for dinner. Wren appears at my side as the party moves between rooms looking satisfied with himself. I stick close to Briar and snag a seat beside her. Wren is on my other side and Dean Barlow takes a seat at the head of the table to his left shakily, eyes bouncing between Wren and one of the frat brothers further down the table.
Wren is the one in charge here, not the dean deferring to him. He doesn’t have to sit at the head of the table because whichever chair he picks is his throne.
My gaze falls to the place settings and I experience a mild rush of panic. Who needs that many forks for a meal? Briar and the others don’t seem to share my dilemma and I remind myself how many people from this area come from money and have gone through every etiquette lesson imaginable from a young age. I’m not part of that world. In my head I repeat a mantra I heard once—start from the outside and work my way in.
The dean lifts a crystal wine glass. “We honor your pledge to integrity and high moral character tonight, gentlemen.” Briar scoffs quietly and Lincoln soothes her. “Your future is ahead of you and you build the legacy you’ll leave behind during your time at Castlebrook.” He gulps audibly when Wren does nothing more than cock his head slightly. “Don’t forget that.”
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