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.”
Who are you talking to?
“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.
No way am I going to let that be me.
I jolted upright as the phone vibrated against my chest with a new message. I didn’t recognize the 702 area code. Some part of me felt like it was The Crows watching me. Reluctantly, I opened the message.
Unknown: Evelyn and I are hoping to see you this Sunday. I’ll bet a nice homemade meal would be just the ticket after your first week.
A spark of hope struck me.
Immediately, I remembered Xander Gale’s parents, Quincy and Evelyn. At dinner she’d said to come to them if I needed help with anything, and after watching the video, all I could think was maybe they could get me out of the line of fire. I didn’t have a plan, but I urgently needed to find a way out.
Mr. Gale wasn’t the dean, so it technically wasn’t snitching, even though he was on the board. He was the one who pushed for my mid-semester enrollment as a favor to Dad, based on the scholarship riding program. It was stupid, but I figured since he’d vouched for me once, maybe he’d put his neck on the line to protect his choice.
Then all I had to do was stick it out for a few months and it would all be over.
That’s what I’d been thinking after Abbie told me about The Crows and The Ravens, how I just needed to find a way to peacefully coexist. But after seeing the video, I knew a few months in this wasteland was far too long, and their idea of coexisting was bullshit. My mind was all over the place as I wondered who I could and couldn’t trust. The list was shrinking fast.
One thing was for sure. I wasn’t going to be run out of school.
But Xander’s warning not to tell his dad anything about me niggled in the back of my mind. There must have been some reason behind it, but at the moment I was leaning toward what seemed like the lesser evil. If I spoke to Xander’s dad in private, it might keep me from being a meal for a murder of crows—at least for the weekend.
I bit my lip, debating what kind of response was appropriate, then tapped out a rapid-fire message. My fingers were still shaking, and before I could press send, I heard the creak of the floorboards and then light shone in from the door. I shaded my eyes, trying to see who it was, but the light was too bright. The person looked like a long, looming silhouette.
My voice was still shaky. “Um—"
“I don’t think we’ve been properly introduced.”
I jerked my head toward the male voice coming from the seat at the end of the aisle I was sitting in.
Marshall. Fuck.
My heart knocked against my chest, and I could feel adrenaline storming through me. I clutched my backpack and considered running in the other direction, but as I glanced over my shoulder, there was Jorden Battle at the other end of the aisle, blocking me in. Oh, fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
I swallowed and tried to steady my breathing, but it hitched up a notch, my chest rising and falling, panic paralyzing me from the inside out. This was it.
“I know who you are,” I said despite my nerves. I meant to sound defiant and strong. I’d been through hell and back in my life, and I wasn’t going to take this lying down—or on my knees.
“Like I said, we haven’t been properly introduced. I know who you are, Izabelle, but I was rather hoping we could become friends like you are with Xander.”
The glow of the light dimmed, and I looked over my shoulder again, praying it was someone I could plead to for help, but the silhouette came into focus. Honoré. I should have known.
I looked back at Marshall. “And if I say no?”
Marshall turned his head, facing forward and inhaled deeply before releasing a heavy sigh, getting to his feet. Slowly, he walked into the aisle and took the seat beside me. One of those crazy, missing-most-of-your-marbles smiles crept over his mouth and up to his eyes.
“Then I will make your life a fucking living hell.”
I considered this. I expected this.
“What do you want? You want to run a train on me and post it online like you did with Emily Sutton?”
He still kept his eyes ahead, but the corner of his mouth tugged upward in a lopsided grin and a loud, boisterous laugh erupted from him. “I like you. You don’t beat around the bush.” As he slid his hand up my thigh, his tone hardened. “Let me make this clear. You’re beneath me. You don’t belong here, but as long as you are here, I’m going to enjoy violating your comfort zone. If...and that’s a very small if. If I want you, I will have you in any way I see fit.”
He paused as if he didn’t just send terror pulsing over my skin.
“Those dirty little lips of yours look like they’re just my size. I’ve always wanted to know what it was like to fuck a black girl.”
I crossed my arms, and he gripped my thighs, his fingers digging little half-moons into my skin.
“You’re hurting me.” I uncrossed my arms and pried at his fingers, but he held firm and tilted his head forward.
“I trust I’ll see you at Xander’s party, then?”
“Yes,” I yielded. “Fine. I’ll be there.”
“Good. Make sure you dress accordingly. It’s a lipstick party, so wear your favorite shade. You’ll want to look nice for the camera.” He fingered the amethyst charm on my necklace then let it drop with a dull thump against my chest. “Purple is one of my favorite colors too.”
They left me in a crumpled ball of tears and anger and shame. I couldn’t eat, my appetite was gone. I gathered my stuff and headed for the stables as I pulled my phone out, still trembling. All I knew was that I had one week to get away from Wastelands, and so far only one option for help presented himself.
Izzy: Sounds amazing, Mr. Gale. Thanks so much. See you guys Sunday.
CHAPTER EIGHT
XANDER
As I followed the grassy path down to the stables, my blood was boiling. I’d
just left the squash court and run into Nic Harding, whose mouth spread unkindness just as effectively as her sister’s. She fixed her thin red lips together and appeared to relish the news that Izabelle would be in attendance at my party next week. While she didn’t provide further detail, she mentioned that Marshall had extended the invite.
It was all I needed to know.
I had to get to Izabelle, find out what Marshall said to her.
To my surprise, I made it to the stables first, which gave me a few minutes to get my nerves in check. Months had passed since I was last here, since I felt the crush of fresh hay and dirt beneath my feet, the smell of earth and animal mixing. It was almost like coming home again. I’d almost forgotten how much I loved this place, the horses, the getting lost in the moment.
When your father decides law is your future, there’s no sense in continuing to train to ride. I left it behind with all the rest of my childish dreams. Dad was intent on making me a man, and I was all right with it, so long as I didn’t turn into the kind of fucked-up man he was. I couldn’t care less about a girl’s so-called innocence. For me, fucking virgins was about giving them a chance. A girl could get over letting some guy her own age hit it when she was seventeen or eighteen. But there were lasting effects when some pedophile manipulated and conned his way into her panties.
That’s where my head was at when I started all this shit with The Crows—I was stopping him, avoiding turning out like him. But who was I kidding? Knowing Marshall and what was coming for Izabelle, I couldn’t fool myself anymore. I was exactly the same as my father. Like him, I was fucking virgins and stealing innocence.
Enough. I have to put an end to the feedings. I have to help Izabelle.
I walked the few feet to Rustin’s stall and waited as he moved with his slow rocking gait toward me. A rush of homesickness washed over me as I ran my palm over his coarse, rusty mane.
“Long time no see, stranger.”
He released a happy neigh at the babying tone of my voice.
I looked up as the period bell rang and saw Izabelle rush past me in a blur. She didn’t speak, just kept moving, head down, toward her horse’s stall. She was still trying to maintain her distance, and I didn’t blame her, not after an encounter with Marshall. He had a way of exerting his power over the weak.
Exactly what I was afraid of.
I glanced over as Izabelle grabbed a curry, rubbing it over the horse in a short, swift, circular motion to loosen the dirt and hair. Her hands worked in jerky moves, and even from a distance I could see she was trembling. The horse blew air out of her nostrils and let out a high-pitched squeal. Then Izabelle disappeared into the enclosure and I heard another squeal.
“Easy. I’m just going to check your hoof here.”
I ambled over and peeked into the stall, my nerves shredding from just being near her. When Izabelle didn’t immediately notice me, I cleared my throat to announce my presence. Her eyes darted up over her shoulder and she pressed her lips together in a slight grimace before turning back to the filly.
I guess I’m the last person you expected to see.
“I...um...came to see if I could help.” I hated how my inflection went up like it was a question. “Not sure if you remember, but I used to train. I might be able to help.”
“The farrier said he’ll check her out tomorrow.”
It took everything in me not to roll my eyes and tell her to get out of the way. It was obvious she just didn’t want my help, and I deserved it. Still, I sighed and walked into the stall anyway. Gently, I ran my hand over the point of the filly’s shoulder to her ribs and back to her thigh, letting her get used to me. I was careful not to walk behind the horse as I bent down and gently lifted the back-right hoof. A foul stench saturated the air. The hoof was packed tight with hardened mud, and I noticed a deep, cracked groove between the heel, almost up to the hairline, where it was supposed to be teaspoon-shaped, fairly wide, and shallow.
I ran my finger over it. “May I borrow your pick?” I hedged around with my back toward her, held out my hand behind me, and let my eyes fall to her feet.
She hesitated, but then she placed it on my palm, lingering long enough for my skin to blaze beneath her touch.
That spark. She’d given me a small taste, and now I was craving it, going through feverish withdrawals because of it. And Izabelle was the only one who could give me another dose. This was the girl I met at the house. The one who sent shivers up my spine and filled my mind with dirty thoughts and lurid fantasies. I’m sure she thought I was an arrogant asshole—it was the persona I’d created to give me space. This was the same beautiful girl who made me want to kiss her and fuck her in the hall until she came on my fingers again.
That I could be a tyrannical headcase with the Harding sisters or anyone else who dared test me, and easy and gentle with her now, boggled my mind. What was it about her?
“Suit yourself,” she said. “I assume you retained some piece of information you think qualifies you to care for horses.”
I smiled despite myself.
It’s okay to take off the mask. I see you.
Behind her tough, defensive exterior, there was something more solid about her. She was real, hiding behind the storm. I realized Izabelle was the reason I couldn’t run. Not from my father, and definitely not from Marshall. Because maybe there was something more to this girl. Something worth protecting. Maybe, if it was just us, I wouldn’t mind defying the person I’d become.
The thought scared me. My fight or flight instincts kicked in, and almost every organ in my body urged me to spread my wings far and wide and ride the wind. My stubborn heart, though?
Fight for her, it said.
For a few minutes I worked the pick down the sides of the soft frog inside the filly’s hoof, making sure there was nothing in the cleft, but as I cleared the black, pasty debris, the horse struggled to pull her leg free.
“How often do you clean her hooves?” I asked.
When Izabelle didn’t respond, I turned to look at her. She folded her arms and flashed me a dismissive shrug.
“I’m only asking because it looks like your horse has thrush. It’s pretty mushy and soft around the central sulcus, and it’s sensitive and tender, which leads me to believe there’s lameness. If the bacterial infection gets any more advanced, not only will it be painful, it could travel to the sensitive tissue and damage the healthy structure of her foot.”
“Hence the reason I called the farrier, who’ll let the veterinarian know. I’m sure they’ll give her an astringent to kill the thrush. You don’t need to worry about it.” I noticed she’d edged closer to the door, her stance wider.
I nodded and chewed the inside of my cheek to keep from saying or doing anything to further put her on edge. “Listen, you don’t have any reason to talk to me, but I need to know what Marshall said to you today.”
Izabelle seemed shocked that I didn’t already know. She swallowed and backed against the wall, her full lips twisting. “Why should I believe you? After what happened at your house...I thought.” She swallowed. “I thought you liked me, but then you turned the lights on in class and treated me like shit in front of your friends. Twice. I know what you are. I know you’re a Crow, and I know what you guys do, what happened to Emily Sutton.”
“What did he say to you?” I felt my jaw tighten under the pressure of my gritted teeth.
Her eyes welled and she blinked back a wave of tears. Seeing the fear and the sadness in them, I hated that I had any part in making her a target.
“I’m part of The Feed. He wants me at your party, dressed for the camera. He wants to know what it’s like to fuck a black girl.” A tear fell and she quickly swiped it away. “That’s what you want to do to me too, right?”
I stepped back, raking my fingers through my hair.
“No.”
“So, then you finger-fuck every girl who comes to your house for the first time? I don’t understand what this fucking place is. Or why all of
sudden I have a roommate who’s conspiring to take me down.”
She inched closer to the door.
“Please. Don’t be afraid of me. I’m not like them.”
I don’t want to be my Dad or Marshall. I know now that I’ve been going about this the wrong way, but I’m going to stop this shit.
I reached my hand out to her, then slowly pulled it back. The way word traveled at this school, it wouldn’t be long before someone spelled out exactly what a lipstick party entailed. If I was going to convince her not to be there, I needed to earn her trust first. “I don’t want to hurt you, but I don’t want anyone else to either. Can we please just start over?”
“No.” The word didn’t match her actions. She just stood there, propped up against the stall, like she was waiting for me to make a liar out of her.
I slid the pad of my thumb over her bottom lip. Just like our time in the hallway, again her lips were swollen, and fire flared in her half-lidded eyes.
“I like you.”
“What are you going to do to me?”
“What am I going to do with you? There are so many things I want to do with you.”
My heartbeat raced, my breaths coming faster, but I moved closer still. My pulse quickened, and I watched the hint of a smile slip away.
“Xander?”
“I don’t want to talk about it right now. Give me your phone.”
She hesitated for a moment, but then she fished it out of her pocket and handed it to me, keeping her distance. I found her contacts and added myself before giving it back to her. “For now, text me if you need me and I’ll send you texts to keep you safe. We’ll figure out something more permanent before the party next week.” Before she could say a word to deter me, I brushed my lips over hers and left.
CHAPTER NINE
IZZY
By Friday The Crows and The Ravens had figured out all my hiding spots. Marshall’s minions were posted at every corner, near the billiards hall, the library, the stables, and the lecture halls. They never looked directly at me, but I caught the side-eye stares and the slight head turns in my peripheral vision. I knew they were watching me because Xander was one of them.
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