06 | damsel in action

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0 6

d a m s e l   i n   a c t i o n


My eyes widened as I took in the bottles of Svedka laid out on the table in the centre, and I quickly glanced over at Liam. Only this time, he was carefully avoiding my gaze. Instead, he focused on laying out the shot glasses on the table along with the other boys.

"Svedka?" Greg mused, from behind me, sounding rather surprised, "Unusual choice. They usually do tequila shots."

I inhaled sharply, fingers unconsciously crossing behind my back. Greg wasn't even in Corvus, and already he was questioning the frat's choice in the type of drink. Imagine how many questions were raised when Liam asked for a change in alcohol.

Or was Liam in charge of this whole fiasco?

Either way, I was thoroughly indebted to him, and to Marcel, whom I knew played the key role in this. Without Marcel, Liam would never have agreed to keep Miles in till round seven.

A sudden rousing cheer pulled my attention back on track, and my eyes widened as I saw the seven boys being ushered through the crowd. Once again, they were wearing nothing but tiny polka-dotted trunks, and my eyes immediately zeroed in on the boy in yellow.

Miles was looking thoroughly uncomfortable, as did the others. His head was bent, and the jeering and wolf-whistles from the crowd seemed to embarrass him even further. But then he spotted the bottles of Svedka on the table.

He froze for a brief moment, until the other frat boys pushed him down onto his chair. But a frown had etched itself permanently between his eyebrows. It was too much of a coincidence to be true, and I knew he was beginning to suspect some foul play involved in this.

But his focus was riveted back on track when the boy in charge hollered to get everyone's attention. Marcel had pointed him out once to me some time ago. He was the head of Corvus, called Hank Guilford, pretty notorious ever since his high school days.

A lazy smirk was playing on Hank's lips, and he seemed pleased to have such a crowd around him. "Round five," he began, loud enough for everyone to hear, "Well, let's just say it involves something a little more – intellectual."

He paused, his smirk widening as the other fraternity boys began to laugh in a painfully derisive manner. Greg and some of the others in the crowd let out loud whoops, and I couldn't help but frown. Was this all a joke to them?

It had become so much more serious now that I knew Miles's motive for participating in the Hell Weeks. And more than ever, I wanted him to get through this round.

Straining my ears, I blocked out the raucous sounds from the crowd and listened to Hank's explanations to Miles and the other five boys.

"We've prepared a long list of questions from a wide range of topics. I'll read the question, and if you know the answer, you press the buzzer before anyone else does. Answer it correctly, and the others around you will drink. Answer it wrongly – you drink. Got it?"

The boys nodded, as did Miles, but he seemed somewhat distracted, his eyes periodically scanning the crowd as though looking for something. Or someone, as I soon realised, with a start.

Because when Miles's eyes swivelled towards the area where I stood, I involuntarily found myself raising my hand to get his attention. He spotted me, and the relieved smile that broke across his face was unmistakable. I had to smile back, even if it was at the risk of the other frat boys noticing, because this was working in our favour.

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