The Society

by Michelle Brown

  Smirking, I reply, “We only see what she wants us to see. And if that doesn’t sum up The Society, I don’t know what does.”

  He laughs again. “True that. Money and power, corruption, murder, and secrets. Man, we’ve got it all.”

  The background noise from the water running suddenly stops as I whisper down the phone, “Shit, I think I just heard the shower turn off. I gotta go.”

  “She’s at your house? Naked?” I hear Quinn shout from the background, fucker must’ve had me on speakerphone.

  “Bye, guys,” I say with a chuckle as I hang up.

  Elena comes out of the bathroom in a cloud of steam, and I swear it’s like something out of an eighties porno as she leans against the doorframe, drying her hair with the towel.

  “Are you going to give me those or do you want me to walk around naked?” she says when she catches me staring. Lifting a hand, she stops me from answering. “No, wait. That was a stupid question. Don’t answer.”

  She takes the shorts and T-shirt from my hands and quickly gets changed in the bathroom before coming back. I’ve perched myself at the end of the bed, and instead of sitting beside me, she sits on the floor hugging her knees. The silence has returned, but it doesn’t last long.

  “It’s my fault. I was trying to make you mad. I was trying—” she whispers, and I can feel shame and guilt in her words when there should only be anger. She didn’t do anything, he did.

  “I was mad. Furious,” I reply with a wry smile. I didn’t get jealous over just anyone. This was Lena.

  Shaking her head, she mumbles, “I deserved it.”

  “If I ever hear you say that again, I’ll rip your tongue out with my teeth. Understand?” Leaning down, I grab her chin, tilting her face up to mine.

  Chapter Eleven

  Elena

  “You are Elena Montgomery, a daughter of The Society. You demand respect. Don’t let anyone treat you like you’re nothing.”

  I don’t know why, but his words seem to spark something inside me. I always felt like I was a pawn. That I was powerless. Except I’m not. It’s like a slow burn all over my skin as I lean up into him, my mouth meeting his. Tristan stood back and let me do what I needed to at the party. When I was covered in blood and bruises, he didn’t treat me like a fragile little flower.

  “Lena,” he groans against my mouth as my hands slide into his hair.

  Touching my forehead to his, I murmur, “Shut up or I’ll stop.”

  It’s amazing, because for the first time in my life Tristan Radcliffe has done exactly what I’ve told him to. It’s like I’m trying to overwrite my kiss with Sam as our mouths collide, crashing together with a passion that scares me. All the anger and frustration I’ve had for Tristan is coming to the surface but not in the way I expected. I don’t want to hurt him, I want to own him. I want my name on his lips, begging for mercy as I push him backwards onto the bed and climb on top, finding his mouth again to continue stoking the fire I’ve started. I feel his hands moving up my legs and grabbing onto my hips as I kiss him. Every now and again I grind against him, loving the way it makes him groan as I kiss the line of his neck.

  “Fuck, Lena…”

  “Shut up, Tris.” I grab a handful of his hair and yank his head back before nibbling on his ear, playfully sucking on the fleshy part as his hands move under my T-shirt, up my spine.

  “Tris,” he whispers under his breath, and I know what he means. I haven’t called him that since we were younger, back when we were friends. I don’t know what’s going on here, but something has changed between us, and I don’t want to think about it, I just want to feel.

  I push his shirt up and kiss his chest as my hands fumble with the button on his jeans. My tongue finds his nipple, and even though I’ve never done this before, it’s like dancing, my body just knows what to do, and when he makes little noises, I know that I’m on the right track. His fingers dig into the skin on my back as he moves beneath me. Just as I pop that button free finally, the door swings open.

  I have never moved so fast in my life, rolling off Tristan and onto the floor as his dad stands in the doorway with a smug look on his face.

  “What the fuck do you want?” Tristan says with a growl as he pulls his shirt down and sits up.

  His father’s voice makes me cringe as he chuckles. “I was just coming in here to tell you to keep the noises down. I have company.”

  Tristan makes a noise of disgust as he grinds out, “It doesn’t matter, they won’t be coming here again. Why do you care?”

  When his father smiles, the hairs on my arms rise. There’s something sinister about him that makes me nervous. I stand, straightening the T-shirt Tristan gave me to wear, grateful that it’s like a dress on me as he looks at me with an appraising glare. “I was also curious about who you had in here, I never imagined that Elena would be so...assertive.”

  Tristan stands, placing his body between his father and me. “Don’t act like you know a damned thing about her. Get out of my room.”

  Peeking over Tristan’s shoulder, I say, “I’m just leaving now anyway, Mr. Radcliffe. I’m sorry for disturbing your evening.”

  He smiles again. “Don’t leave because of me, stay. Have fun.”

  When he closes the door behind him, I exhale like I’ve been running a marathon.

  “I need to go,” I mumble, as I grab the bloody remains of my dress and my heels from the floor in the bathroom.

  “What?”

  “I need to go home.” I need to get as far away from Tristan as I can so that I can think clearly. So much had happened tonight and now this, whatever this was.

  “You can’t just go.” Tristan grabs my wrist. “Are we going to talk about this?”

  I swallow. “Talk about what?”

  “The fact that you almost made me cum in my pants?” He holds two fingers up, barely an inch between them. “That you were this close to hate-fucking me?”

  Shaking him off, I leave his room. “Like I said, talk about what? Nothing happened.”

  “Like fuck!” I hear him shout behind me, but I’m halfway down the stairs at this point.

  “See you around!” I call back as I slip out the front door and down the expensive driveway. I don’t even check if the door has closed properly behind me or if he’s following me.

  When I clamber into the back of the taxi, that’s when it hits me: I made out with Tristan Radcliffe.

  I spend my Saturday practicing with my violin, but my heart isn't in it. Tristan keeps texting and calling me, but god knows how he got my number because I didn’t give it to him. He’s my future husband, a future I didn’t choose, but he was there when I needed him. It was too much to think about right now, I needed to learn Sonata No.9 flawlessly or my father would be disappointed, and that was something I also couldn’t deal with at the moment.

  With a groan as I ruin another note, I give up and sit on the chaise longue in my room, glaring at my reflection in the mirror. I was a failure. I wasn’t going to be able to pull this off. A fraud. Just trying to pretend to be the perfect daughter.

  “I’m proud of you, darling,” my mother coos as she swans into my room with a bottle of champagne and two glasses in her hand. “Atlas told me everything. You’re more like me than I thought.”

  I don’t even need to ask to know what she’s on about. She’s talking about Sam and the way I turned him into a bloody pulp yesterday. She never usually talks to me like this, and she especially doesn't bring a $1,000 dollar bottle of alcohol to my room as if we’re about to have girly chats and giggles. As she pops the cork and pours, I shake my head. “How can you be proud of me?”

  “Because you are Elena Montgomery, and no one stands in your way.” She hands me a glass, her eyes narrowed as she watches me. “Why do you seem so forlorn?”

  “I lost control,” I sigh before taking a gulp of the golden-colored liquid. My room is bright and airy, painted in a pastel pink with gold accents, and white furniture. It’s not the room of
someone who had blood on their hands yesterday. It’s gentle and dainty, not something an angry psychopath would choose, and I feel my stomach tighten with guilt as my mother stands before me, proud expression clear.

  “What’s wrong with that?”

  I bow my head. “Father will be angry.”

  She scoffs. “Your father doesn’t need to know.”

  While The Society was based upon wealth and power, there were still levels within, and while we didn’t talk about it, I knew my mother was from a more prominent family than my father. Her family tree went back to the founders, while my father’s only went back a few generations, and while I assumed that gave her a little more sway, I’d never actually thought about it until now. She was able to keep this a secret from the town mayor, her husband, and a fellow member of The Society. Looking at her carefully, I see the way the corner of her mouth pulls into a slight smile. Her cards were always held so close to her chest, but this felt like some sort of weird bonding moment.

  She pours herself a second glass and lays down on my bed, propping herself up on her elbow. Her black dress is fitted and her hair perfect as always as she gives off major femme fatale vibes.

  “Did you ever think that if you embraced who you are instead of trying to be perfect, you might have more control over your life, not less?”

  I almost snort champagne from my nostrils with that one. “That's rich coming from you. You’re Silvercrest’s ultimate trophy wife.”

  She bites the inside of her cheek before answering. “They only see what I want them to see, and if your father wants me to smile and pretend to be the perfect housewife, I will because out of the limelight, I do what I want. “

  Standing again, she smooths down her dress in my mirror. Twirling a strand of dyed gold-colored hair around her fingers, she’s fixated on her reflection as she laughs, “It’s a veneer, a mask, darling. You don’t actually have to be perfect, you just have to make them think that you are. All the men in this town seem to underestimate us, but it’s their mistake in the end.”

  I don’t think I’ve ever really seen my mother until this moment. She wasn’t the airhead my father thought her to be, instead she was calculating and ruthless—a true daughter of The Society.

  She tops up my glass with a sneaky grin. “Quit the squad. Get drunk. Skip a class or three. Fuck Tristan Radcliffe. There is nothing you can do, that The Society cannot fix.”

  Was my mother encouraging a rebellion? Why had it taken her this long to talk to me like this? Why hadn’t we done this before?

  “Father—”

  Rolling her eyes, she finishes off her second glass. “Your father wouldn’t know real power if it bit him on that enormous nose of his. Stop treating his words as gospel, you’re only forcing yourself into a box you don’t belong in. The Grim blood in you is too strong for you to be this weak.”

  Her eyes assess me as I sit there with my violin in one hand and a glass of champagne in the other. I have been struggling for weeks, trying to do everything that was expected of me, where was she then? This must be a trick.

  “I am not—” I try to reassure her. This must be a test. I can do this. I can be Elena Montgomery, captain of the cheer squad, class president, accomplished musician, talented ballet dancer, and daughter of the mayor. I can.

  “You are weak like this.” Her face almost looks sad as she sighs. “You’re pulling yourself in too many directions, and instead of embracing the potential you have, you’re letting it float by. Pick something and commit to it. Fight tooth and nail for it. Get your hands bloody.”

  I sit for a moment with my mouth open. Fuck Tristan? Is she crazy? Had she been drinking before she came here? What she was suggesting was that I just do whatever I wanted? That would be...chaos. My mind flits back to Tristan’s words that echoed the same sentiment before I shake away the thoughts. “How can you be encouraging that?”

  Shrugging, she moves towards the door. “This is the life we live and only the strong survive.” There’s a soft, sad note to her voice, and I wonder who made her feel this way.

  “Mother—”

  It’s almost like her mask has fallen back into place as she gives me a 1,000-watt grin, even though her eyes are cold. “Well, I’ve enjoyed our little mother-daughter chat. Let’s do it again sometime.”

  With that, she leaves the room, and I’m sat confused about the conversation I’ve just had with my mother. A woman, it turns out, I barely know at all.

  Chapter Twelve

  Tristan

  Silence. That’s all I get, all weekend. The woman rubs herself all over me, then runs out of my house and won’t take my calls. I spend my free time avoiding Blythe’s texts, Serena’s friend requests on almost every social media platform, getting high, and painting. I paint all weekend, from dusk until dawn and again when I get up for a few hours in the afternoon. It’s like that kiss consumed me because she’s all that I see as the colors bleed into one another. I paint until it’s like I can no longer remember her face, and I need the canvas to remind me. That’s why I’m already agitated when I get to school on Monday. I thought we’d finally been making progress, but the lack of response was saying something else.

  “Hey, where did you go on Friday? I looked all over for you,” Serena purrs as she comes up to me in the hallway, linking her arm through mine.

  “I went home,” I reply, shrugging her off. I can’t see Lena at her locker, which means she’s either late or already in class. If she thought she could avoid me today, she had another thing coming.

  “Alone?” Serena says, suspicion in her voice. Still trying to cling to me.

  “What’s it to do with you?” I stop in front of my locker, take a quick look at the timetable stuck to the inside, and see that Elena has free period right after lunch, which means she’ll be practicing her stupid violin again.

  “I was thinking maybe you should come over tonight. My parents are out at some charity dinner.” She slides her fingers in the belt loop of my jeans and tugs gently.

  “And?” I’m bored now, her whiny voice grating on me. I only ever showed interest in Serena to get under Lena’s skin, but now she was clinging onto me like a fucking barnacle.

  “And we could have some real fun,” she breathes into my ear, lips brushing against my skin, making it crawl.

  “Look, I’m not interested,” I say, closing my locker and stepping away from her.

  “I knew it.” She scoffs, holding her hands up in disbelief. “It’s Elena, isn’t it? Always fucking Elena.”

  “Yeah, it is.” I lean in, keeping my voice low. “And don’t think for a second I don’t know what you were playing at setting her up with Sam. I mean, it was your suggestion, wasn’t it?”

  I wasn’t sure how I was going to deal with her yet, or whether I should just leave her to Elena’s mercy, but if she was bitter enough to risk her friend’s safety, then she definitely needed to be punished. People like Serena were dangerous if you left them to their own devices, and while I wasn’t against getting my hands dirty, it might just be the push Lena needs.

  She crosses her arms and leans against my locker, the over-friendly facade vanishing as she scoffs, “So? She needed to be taken down a notch.”

  “You’re a fool.”

  Her mouth twists, and it’s like I’m seeing the real Serena. “I’ll show you. I’ll show all of you. Elena Montgomery isn’t anything special, she’s just another rich kid with the right people backing her.”

  “You’re a fucking idiot if you think that,” I scoff. Yes, Elena had connections, but that wasn’t why we were her friends. Serena, who was supposed to be Lena’s best friend, should know that.

  “What’s going on here?” Quinn asks as she strides over, dirty blonde hair in a messy bun, green eyes blazing. It was easy to tell that she was Elena’s cousin, they were similar in looks but opposites in personality. Quinn already knew who she was, what she wanted, and she wasn’t taking any prisoners, while Elena needed a push. Harlyn and Belle st
and close behind her, and together they look like some sort of girl gang, ready to defend Lena.

  “Nothing.” Serena gives a sweet sickly smile that’s more fake than her nose. Don’t get me started on her tits.

  Grabbing Serena’s blazer, Quinn hisses, “If I hear Elena’s name in your filthy mouth again, you’ll regret it.”

  “You’re all just proving my point!”

  “Watch it,” Quinn warns as the class bell rings. Letting go of Serena, she glares at the girl as she rushes away down the corridor like her ass is on fire. Her lip curls with disgust, and I know Serena is on her shitlist, and that’s not a place anyone wants to be.

  The small crowd that gathered to watch the interactions breaks up, and I wonder how long it will take to get back to Elena that her best friend is a snake who tried to set her up with a rapist.

  I planned to look for Elena at lunch, but instead I’m on a call with Reid who’s pestering me to donate some pieces to a fundraising auction Elena’s father is throwing as part of his stupid ball. Everyone who is anyone in this town will be there.

  “It’ll be great publicity,” he coaxes down the line.

  “I don’t want publicity.” I chuckle. I own shares in a major corporation, and I’m the only child of Malcolm Radcliffe—my art was never about the money. Not really.

  “Well, it’s not like you use your real name anyway,” Reid reminds me, and I sigh.

  I did have a few new pieces that might go down well at the auction in Silvercrest, they might even win Elena over a little. But they would be a public declaration, and I needed to gauge how that would go down right about now.

  “Fine, are we done now?” I’m impatient, I needed to talk to Lena about what was going on between us.

  Reid laughs before hanging up, leaving me to make my way over to the music rooms. As I pass through the courtyard, I can’t help but overhear the whispers about the party on Friday. A group of kids in the year below are sitting on the benches chatting, and I hide my grin as their words reach my ears.