The logic behind what’s asked of us isn’t always straightforward, so it can be daunting. It’s usually warranted, though. If nothing else, the Sin Keeper’s requests are well thought out, even if we don’t comprehend why he’s made certain demands until well after the fact. And looking back, I’ve never had trouble sleeping over what I’ve been made to do.
I focus on the screen again, waiting with bated breath. The tension in the room is stifling, the air thick with nervous energy.
“Welcome to a new year at SIN. I hope you’ll find your accommodations comfortable. There will be no new pledges this year, as we’ve had a transfer, filling our final available room—Davis Madden.” The shadow near where his lips must be moves, revealing the way they twitch in amusement. Or maybe disappointment? Nevertheless, he nods and continues, “I hope you’ll do well here, brother.”
Royal has visibly stiffened as each word had fallen from the Sin Keeper’s lips. His gaze cuts to Davis, who’s dripping blood onto our floor. I can’t quite tell whether he’s nervous about what our infamous leader thinks of what happened between them or if it’s simply hitting him that he’s fucking stuck with Davis for the entire year—that they’ll have to somehow get along. Otherwise, this place is going to be a bloodbath of epic proportions.
There’s a maniacal, deadly chuckle that comes through the television’s speaker before the Sin Keeper continues. “It would seem like you’re off to a… rough start. Please do your best to fit in with our other souls in need.”
I grimace. I fucking hate being referred to like that. But after everything—and knowing what little I do of some of the brotherhood—maybe it’s fitting.
Davis clears his throat, looking furtively around the room as the Sin Keeper speaks again. “The rest of you, I look forward to having you serve again this year. Together, we can change what should never have been. Remember, I’m always watching. Listening. Strategizing.”
Why do I feel like he’s looking right inside my head, those dark, obsidian eyes scanning through everything I’m thinking and feeling. I shudder, despite trying to make it seem like I’m taking what he’s saying in stride.
And speaking of listening, we’re so focused on what he’s saying that when there’s a zapping sound and the screen goes blank, it makes half of us startle. Fucking jerk. I give myself a full-body shake as if it will rid me of the sensation of my skin crawling. My nerves are fucking shot.
Wilder glances around, then claps. “All right. Fuck off, everyone. You heard the scary hooded man.” Usually, it would be Royal to make a statement like that, but fortunately, Wilder has the balls enough to step in when needed. He focuses on Royal, as do I, because he gives every appearance of wanting to fly across the room like some sort of winged demon and remove Davis’s appendages from his body limb by limb.
As everyone else disperses, Wilder slings an arm around Royal’s shoulders. “Come on. Let’s go.” He nods to me, and I already know what he’s thinking.
“Darts?”
“Yeah. Let’s go to the game room. Can you grab that little medical kit from under the sink?” Wilder grasps one of Royal’s hands, inspecting his busted knuckles. “Dammit. You’ve gotta fight tomorrow.”
Fuck.I wince internally. That’s right. Royal finally gets a chance at Bear Pierce during the first fight night of the semester. Fuckin’ Daddy Pierce made Royal fight all sorts of people last year, but he’d never let him have a shot at the main event since he was technically a freshman. But now, all bets are off. Royal’s got the first of the big fights this year. Not good timing at fucking all. “On it.”
Before I move, my gaze lands on Davis. He’s still breathing rather heavily, his jaw clenched. Dude looks lost. Like he’s wondering what he’s gotten himself into. Why the fuck did he transfer here? Did he know Royal was here? “What do you need?”
“Could someone at least fucking tell me where my room is?” Davis glances at the floor, swiping the back of his hand across his face. He only succeeds in smearing blood everywhere. “Fuck.”
My brain clicks back to the verbal volley between him and Royal. It’d seemed like Davis was as surprised as Royal had been. And there was mention of a sister. I pause, thinking.No. Seriously? It can’t be.Studying our new brother, I grimace as it hits me this isn’t just one and done. Far from it. There’s no way around this. We’re going to have to deal with this guy who Royal has history with living in our space. I grit my teeth, tucking my assumptions about Davis away so I can focus on him. The other stuff can wait. I gesture to the bloody mess that he should follow me.
In the kitchen, I whip the paper towels off the dispenser, and pluck both the disinfectant spray and the medical supplies I need from under the sink. I shove the bottle and towels into his hands. He glances at the first aid box. I stifle a laugh, then deadpan, “Clean up the floor first. I hope you brought some Band-Aids or something, man. Your room is upstairs, second on the right.” With that, I take off for the game room.
When I get down there, Wilder is staring at Royal, his arms crossed over his chest. Clearly frustrated, he throws an arm in Royal’s direction. “He won’t talk.”
My eyes ping between the two of them. Royal’s jaw grinds hard enough that he may pulverize his teeth, and Wilder’s hair-trigger temper is about to snap. “That’s okay. Let him shoot some darts first.” I set the medical supplies down on a nearby chair. Wilder can deal with the mess Royal made of his hands later. When neither of them budges an inch, I stride forward, pulling the darts from where they’re embedded in the board on the wall. Stopping in front of Royal, my brows quirk up as I hold out a trio for him. “Let’s go. You and me.”
Royal huffs out a breath through his nose. He’s still pissed off. I don’t blame him. I don’t know exactly what the deal is with him and Davis, but it’s gotta suck to realize he’ll be in our faces this year.
Speaking of faces, fortunately, Davis hadn’t landed a punch directly to Royal’s face, but he did get him with the elbow to the side of the head. I roll my shoulders back, loosening up, as I stare at him and wonder what’s going on in that brain of his and whether that asshole has jolted a screw loose inside it.
Apparently, Wilder is having the same thoughts. “Come here a sec before you start.”
Royal turns with an agitated frown. “What?”
“Just humor me, okay?” Wilder’s lips press together, and he takes a few deep breaths, crooking his finger.
With a grunt and a stony glare, Royal ventures closer to Wilder, who takes his head between his hands, carefully studying his eyes. “I just want to make sure that hit to the side of your head didn’t jar something loose.” After peering carefully for a few seconds, he holds up a finger and asks Royal to follow it with his eyes. A moment later, he gives a satisfied grunt. “I think you’re good.”
Physically good? Maybe. But Royal is already on the edge half the time. Between Echo and Davis, I think we’re screwed.
Royal shoves out of Wilder’s hold and turns around without a word and begins our game. Taking turns throwing our darts at the board and subtracting our points as we go, I silently observe Royal. I’ve gotta admit, coming downstairs to find him whaling on a random stranger had been bizarre. Fascinating, really. I’ve thought often of what his time in prison must have been like, seeing as how I’m a criminology major, but I’ve veered away from asking about it. I doubt I’d want to know the full story of every brother who lives here. We’re all a fucked-up mess. And let’s face it, my studies have nothing to do with him, and everything to do with me.
When I’m not far off from winning, Royal throws his darts harder than he normally would and with zero finesse, then turns to us as he scrubs his hands through his hair. Anger burns hotly in his eyes, and he shakes his head, as if he can’t believe the events that led us here tonight. “Davis is Echo’s brother. In case it wasn’t obvious.”
Wilder raises a hand to his jaw, gently probing the bruised skin. Royal’s handiwork. When Royal doesn’t expand further, Wilder wanders to the first aid box.
