Abbie dropped her face into her hands and shook her head. “Holy shit. Fuck.”
“It wasn’t that big of a deal, I promise.”
Before I could say another word, Abbie dragged her backpack closer to her, unzipped it, and pulled out a history book. I must have looked confused because she held up a finger as she thumbed the pages until she reached about two thirds of the way through. At the top, the title read, “notes,” and there was this organizational diagram that looked like a family tree or a hierarchy chart.
“What’s that?” I leaned in for a closer look.
“Exactly what it says. It’s my notes on this school and basically a guide to safely walking the line between feed and normalcy.”
“Okay, you lost me.”
Owen flipped the book around, so it was facing me, and proceeded to go over the school’s players and non-players, or Crows, Ravens, The Feed, and the others.
Notes
Desert Badlands Wastelands Academy
The Crows (guys):
Xander Gale, Marshall Landers, and Jorden Battle
The Ravens (girls):
Honoré Montgomery, Penelope “Penny” Harding, and Nicolette “Nic” or “Nickel” Harding
The Feed:
Emily Sutton, Clementine Olivier
The Others/Untouchables:
Abigail “Abbie” Edelberg, Owen Branch, Heather Devers, Mischa Ferguson, and Ming Xhang.
“Is it time for Q&A yet? Because I’m lost. What does this even mean?” I asked. “And why are you guys untouchables?”
“My Dad is the dean,” Owen stated.
Abbie shrugged. “I’m legacy. Abigail Edelberg,” she dragged out the last name like I’d recognize it, and it did sound vaguely familiar, but then again, everything at the school was new to me. “As in the Edelberg building, statue…,” she clarified.
At her raised brows, I nodded, trying to figure where I fit in this hierarchy. “So…if your families make you untouchable, where do I fit in?” I tugged at my collar. It was hot all of a sudden.
“Let’s just say The Crows and Ravens are all legacies, and certain bloodlines make you untouchable,” Owen added. And I did follow his deductive reasoning, but I was still trying to put the puzzle pieces together.
“Then what the hell is The Feed?”
Abigail eyed me tentatively, like she was apprehensive about letting me in on whatever it was she was holding back. She removed her glasses and her bright amber eyes dimmed. “I just wish we could have gotten to you first,” she said.
“First?”
“If Xander already has his sights on you, there’s not much we can do. I mean, we’re your friends, and that won’t change, but we can’t be with you twenty-four seven.”
“So…I’m The Feed, as in to be fed to The Crows and Ravens?”
They both nodded.
“Well, what are they going to do to me?” I eyed the page once more, but then my gaze snagged on the name with a line through it. “And who is Emily Sutton? Why is her name crossed out?”
I heard the horses neighing in the barn as I watched dust particles float in the waning sun.
For the next half hour, they gave me the abridged version of The Feed. Apparently, we, since I was lumped in with them, were not merely playthings. We were prey to be sought out, ruined both socially and sexually, and eventually thrown out of the Academy.
The Ravens, on the other hand, were not innocent bystanders. If The Crows needed anything, the Ravens helped them secure The Feed. They were equally dangerous, if not more so.
As for my other question, a year ago Emily Sutton was pegged. Each of The Crows, a mix of both current students and some who’d since graduated, took turns videoing themselves fucking her—a feeding. They didn’t share the video initially. They held it over her head as insurance to keep her on the roster, but it fucked with her head and schoolwork, so she reported it to the dean. A horrible mistake. The Crows leaked the video and Emily killed herself in her room.
Room 214.
My room.
“Oh.” I pressed a finger to my lip and bit down on it. “So, I’m fucked.”
Abbie tugged both of her pigtails and slumped before straightening again hopefully. “Are you a virgin?”
“Um, I’m not sure why that matters, but no.”
Owen considered this. “Does Xander think you are?”
I let my head hang back and thought about the conversation at dinner last night. How Mr. Gale asked me about a boyfriend back home. How Xander’s fingers glided, hot and hard inside of me while my folds clenched tight around him.
“Probably.”
Owen and Abbie shared a glance and she turned to me, something like hope in her eyes.
“Maybe, you’ll only have to hook up with Xander. He’s got a thing for virgins, and he might want to keep you for himself.” She shrugged like that made all the difference. “I don’t know, he’s good-looking, built, and I haven’t heard anyone complain.”
As much as I wanted to hurl in my own mouth, the idea of fucking Xander didn’t completely nauseate me. If I was being honest with myself, when he hustled me out of the dining room and into the entryway of Gale Manor, I wanted to feel the hardness in his pants working inside me up against the wall. Even with Dad in the other room, the threat of someone walking in on us had rattled something loose inside me and desire flared low and tight in my belly—then and now.
If that’s what it took to keep from turning into Grand Central Station, trains being run on me day in and day out, well…so be it.
But for now, a new list ran through my head. One, avoid The Crows and Ravens at all costs, two, find out who the hell Clementine Olivier was, and three, find Emily Sutton’s video. I needed to discover what I didn’t know about Emily. Seeing the video would tell me exactly what I was dealing with.
Abbie, Owen, and I left the stables, ate dinner together at the dining hall, and finally, some time after seven that night, we made it to the girls’ dorm. We were still laughing about the chalk lines and paranormal activity I envisioned after their first warning while I fished the key out of my blazer pocket.
“I literally wasn’t planning to sleep,” I giggled. But then their laughter ceased, and I turned to discover I wouldn’t be sleeping alone tonight. “Hi, I’m—”
“Izabelle Waters. I know.”
A pair of deep emerald eyes beamed back at me. They were lined all the way around with smudged charcoal and offset by thin, bright pink lips. Everything about her was flawless and expensive. Bluish black hair hung loosely over her slender shoulders in a side braid.
She was beautiful—and had moved into my dorm room, apparently. I took in her tailored leather bags and the bed across from mine fully dressed in dark grey sheets and a white down comforter.
I studied her for a second. “I was told I wouldn’t have a roommate…”
“Mine, bless her heart—and my ears—likes to play the violin at all hours. Try sleeping through Concerto for Two Violins in D minor at three a.m. No thanks.” She shook her head and flashed a pasted-on, toothy grin. “Anyway, when I heard you didn’t have a roommate, I figured…”—she gave a coy, twinkly little shrug—“win-win for the both of us.”
The three of us were all still standing there silent and slack-jawed, transfixed by the girl’s spell. I thought it was just me at first, but the way they were watching her, both wide-eyed and ashen again, I was terrified to ask her name.
I didn’t have to.
“I’m being rude. My name is Honoré Montgomery.” Her delicate hand hung outstretched in the air while I picked my bottom lip up off the ground. She made a tiny noise that snapped me out of it.
“Oh, right.” I slipped my hand in hers. Shit. “Nice to meet you.”
It seemed The Feed was already being secured, and I’d have to wait to find Emily’s video.
Chapter Six
XANDER
The common room was empty other than one of the Harding sisters in the corner watching
YouTube on full blast on her phone. I’d come for the quiet, to lie back on the couch and kick up my feet in peace. I cracked my neck and blew out a frustrated breath as I read the same paragraph for the fifth time. Finally, I slammed the book shut and stretched my legs out in front of me.
“Can you not?” Penelope sucked her teeth and rolled her eyes.
She turned her back on me.
What the fuck is going on in this place?
A flash of anger settled in the pit of my stomach and I jolted upright. It seemed everyone was confused about who ruled this school. “Leave,” I demanded. She glanced over at me, but there was no playfulness in my tone.
“Seriously, Xander?”
I felt my eyebrows lower and pinch together as I stalked over to her. Just standing there, I saw exactly what I needed to see. The tendons in her neck stood out, ragged pulse visible. Her eyes went wide and her body tensed as I gently wrapped my fingers around her throat.
“What was that you were saying?”
I relished the fear in her bright eyes as I tightened my grip, lifting her chin up, so she was forced to meet my gaze. The sight of her gasping for breath, clawing at my hands, begging for my forgiveness, it calmed me.
Or at least that what I needed her to think. What they all needed to see from me.
I closed my eyes for a second to hide from her agony, hating this mask I had to wear.
But this was what kept order. I imagined Penny retracing her steps, reconfiguring her flawed reasoning, trying to remember when she got so comfortable. The sensation of things moving too quickly to process—time running out.
“Maybe you don’t want to be a Raven anymore. Maybe you’re jealous and you want the attention that comes with being The Feed, huh? I see the way you watch Marshall.”
Penny shook her head and tears welled in her bulging, reddened eyes. She gasped and I felt the lump in her throat move as she swallowed. She was shaking beneath the weight of my hand. I loosened my fingers. She was panting, gulping in as much air as she could, her chest heaving.
When she spoke again, her voice was a thick, hoarse whisper. “I’m sorry.”
“What was that?”
“I said,” she sobbed, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to defy you.”
A cool sensation of relief washed over me as I removed my hand from her throat and adjusted her collar to cover my fingerprints.
“Have I made myself clear?”
She got to her feet and moved toward the door, but as I turned, she stopped. Her eyes widened as she stumbled back a few steps.
“Dining on twins might be a new and highly sought-after delicacy.” My voice was even, but it was bolstered and ricocheted off the walls. The warning in my tone unmistakable.
The room fell silent.
I walked over to the window to look out over the west lawn. Light glowed from the stables, but I couldn’t go there. The horses would know—sense the venom coursing through my veins. Still, I stared out longingly, missing the ease and comfort of being with a creature that shared an intuitive bond. No words necessary.
Spotting a silhouette moving toward me in the reflection, I heard heels clicking on the wooden floor. The shadow bathed in light revealed perfect posture, shoulders back, exposed neck, chin high.
An unkindness.
I remained silent, watching her in the glare.
“Ask and you shall receive,” Honoré murmured.
I pivoted to her and studied her expression. It radiated superiority. Direct, probing eye contact. The beginnings of a smirk toying with her lips.
She moved a step closer, one arm crossed over her chest and the elbow of the other propped on it. “What?” she asked coquettishly, rubbing her pinky finger over her bottom lip.
“I can always count on you, can’t I?”
“Absolutely.” Then she huffed and rolled back on her heels, fidgeting with her necklace. “I saw Penny on the way in here. Did you have to do her like that?”
“‘Uneasy lies the head that wears the crown.’ It’s high time we reminded everyone who runs this wasteland, and that includes any Raven bold enough to defy The Crows.” I raked my hand through my hair and stared blankly at Honoré. I moved within inches, taking a wide stance, and looking down my nose at her. “Will Izabelle be at my party, or do I have to do everything myself?”
She didn’t hesitate this time, but doubt bled through my faith in her. “I need a few days to work on her, but I’m sure she’ll be there.”
“Good. I wouldn’t want to have to switch up The Feed.”
Chapter Seven
IZZY
By Wednesday, I’d gotten good at dodging Crows and Ravens, except for Honoré, who made herself a mainstay of my morning routine before I slinked out of the room. Thanks to a few scenic side routes through the library and billiards hall between periods, and a strategic lunchtime disappearing act into the English lecture hall, the week was eerily uneventful. I got to eat mustard-soaked ham sandwiches in a dark room, safe and unbothered—the perfect place to watch a video no one wanted me to see.
I typed “Emily Sutton Desert Badlands death” into the search field.
The screen lit up with articles and images of what I assumed was her pre-Feed status face. The first one was her school picture. She was beautiful, with light brown hair pulled back with a gold and burgundy headband, warm honey eyes, and a full pout. She looked innocent and nice, which was saying a lot about anyone at this school. Every article included a quote from a friend or family member saying how she was an angel, funny, easy to talk to, and an all-around good person who they couldn’t fathom ever taking her own life.
The headlines were blinding.
17-year-old Desert Badlands Girl Commits Suicide After Being Bullied
Girl Found Dead in Dorm at Desert Badlands
Nevada Girl, 17, Commits Suicide; Police Investigating Whether Bullying to Blame
Desert Badlands Academy Student Commits Suicide After Being Publicly Shamed by Boyfriend
Girl Kills Herself Because of Cyberbullying After Sex Tape Leaked
I wanted to stop. I was sick to my stomach. I didn’t even know this girl and my eyes were filled with tears. What happened? Whoever did this to her, was it worth taking someone’s life? She was someone’s friend, someone’s daughter… My mind snagged on that thought, and I shoved away the anger and the agony and kept digging.
I didn’t know whether to be sad for this girl, or mad at her.
For the people who loved her. The ones she left behind to mourn and beat themselves up for not doing more, for not seeing the signs. People who sat around waiting for something to happen while they tallied the hurtful things they’d said or done. They panicked over every loved one left behind to make sure it didn’t happen again.
It was a double-edged sword, with two parties to blame. I wanted her to tell someone too. Let people know she was hurting. Give them a chance to help save her—figure out what they did wrong.
My brain was boiling as I cursed under my breath. I was mad at her and every damn one of the people who did nothing to help her.
I wanted Emily to reach out. I wanted her friends to know to look beyond the picture-perfect smile for the signs. I wanted the people doing the hurting to just stop.
“Shit.”
Tears burned freely down my cheeks as I searched and finally, on some site which required me to confirm my age, I found the video. I swiped my tears away and pressed play.
The footage was shaky, but I could make out a bright hotel room. A girl—it wasn’t Honoré, but she looked familiar—was guarding the door. And there was Sutton, on her hands and knees in a beautiful champagne-colored satin dress with spaghetti straps and her hair done up in a fancy prom chignon. She was deep-throating some guy.
Then suddenly, she stopped.
She was crying, and two black sludge streaks tracked down her cheeks.
“I don’t want to anymore,” she cried. “You said it was just going to be us. You said you loved me.”
“No one’s making you do anything,” the cameraman said. “You can leave whenever you want to, but what’s done is done. Just one more for the birthday boy won’t be the end of the world.”
The camera wobbled and then a pair of hands propped it up. The heads were cut off, but the guy’s body moved into view as he sat on the bed. He fiddled with his belt and zipper then freed himself from his pants. Emily took his full length in her mouth. He pressed on her head so she took him deeper as she sucked hard, her lips wide and thin around his cock.
It was only twenty-five seconds left on the video and my heart was racing as I watched in horror.
“Do it,” someone whispered.
He pulled out, stroked his cock with fast, jerky moves with one hand while he yanked on her beautiful dress up and slid her panties down.
Ten seconds.
The guy didn’t hesitate. He pulled her to her feet and traded places with her, only she was facedown on the bed. The instant he penetrated her the door opened, and a roar of cheers and applause erupted. Both hands now, he steadied her hips and pounded himself into Emily. Faster. Harder. More cheers, then chants.
“E-mi-ly! E-mi-ly! E-mi-ly!”
Two seconds.
“It’s so fuckin’ great to be a Crow.”
I pushed the button on the top of my phone and the screen went black. I pressed it to my chest while the weight of Emily’s Feeding riveted me in place. Fear and rage and terror crawled up in my throat. It slithered down into my chest and seized my heart. I wanted to weep for her and scream because of what they’d done to her. What she’d let them talk her into. I shook my head.
Devastated: A Dark Romance (Wastelands Academy Book 1) Page 4