In the Arms of the Elite

by Stunich, C. M.

  “What we were doing in there is none of your business, Lizzie,” he says, and the way he looks at her, I can tell he's sorry, too. He cares about her, but in the same way he cares about Creed. As a friend. That's it. When he looks back at me, there's a brightness in his eyes that makes me catch my breath.

  He turns back to Lizzie again, and I remember his words from before. “I was waiting for you to fight for me.”

  I step forward and curl my arm around Tristan's.

  “I'm sorry, Lizzie,” I tell her, feeling one of the tight knots in my stomach come undone … and another one reform. “I wanted Tristan to choose between us so badly that I didn't think about asserting myself as much as I should have. I—”

  “I love him,” she says, her eyes filling with fat tears that roll down her cheeks and land on the black chest of her uniform. “I love him enough to choose him and only him. So what about you, Marnye? Is Tristan your choice then?”

  A flare of fear shoots through me, lighting me up on the inside. Do I choose Tristan? Have I chosen him? But … I can't choose. Not yet. Just the idea of it makes me sick. It's only January; I still have months left to make that decision.

  “Don't pressure her,” Creed drawls, appearing from the sea of books with my bag and Tristan's both thrown over his shoulder. He saunters out and pauses beside us. If I didn't know him as well as I do, I might not notice the way his fist clenches around the strap of the bag, or how his ice-blue eyes are dark with jealousy. “She doesn't have to make that decision now.”

  “Seriously?” Lizzie asks, looking between Creed and Tristan. “It doesn't bother you that she refuses to pick a guy? Not at all? Because that's all I ever wanted: for Tristan to pick me.” Tristan reaches into his pocket and pulls out his handkerchief, but Lizzie doesn't accept it. Instead, she backs up even further.

  “Different things make different people happy,” Creed says, coming to stand beside Tristan. “I've gotten everything I've ever wanted, my entire life, just as I've wanted it. For once, there's a what-if. That's enough for me.”

  “This is bullshit,” Lizzie murmurs, running her fingers through her hair. “This is … I can't believe this is happening.”

  “Don't do this,” Tristan tells her, but when he moves forward, she moves back again.

  “I came to Burberry Prep for you, left all my friends behind. I …” she starts, and then stops, turning on her heel and taking off through the library. One of the librarians yells at her to stop running, but Lizzie ignores her, disappearing from view.

  Crap.

  I squeeze Tristan's arm hard, and he glances down at me.

  “I don't regret my choice,” he says, exhaling and glancing over at Creed with a brief scowl. “Take your time; I don't want you to regret yours.”

  “What's that supposed to mean?” Creed drawls, but Tristan ignores him, tugging me along by the hand. Creed sighs, but lets us go.

  Surprisingly, Tristan takes me back to his dorm, sets me up with fluffy towels, and a shower, and by the time I get out, he's brought some pajamas and clothes up from my room.

  “You better not have planted a camera in my dorm,” I whisper as I towel-dry my hair, a black robe wrapped around me. Pretty sure it's Tristan's. Just wearing it gives me a little thrill.

  He's sitting on his couch, silhouetted against a long window with a view of nothing but the moon, stars, and the distant rolling hills. He's got a glass of alcohol in one hand, and he looks so much older than eighteen. But in a good way. Like, I can see the sort of man he'll turn out to be in a decade or two.

  “Not a chance,” he says, sipping his drink as I come over and sit on the opposite end of the couch, perching myself on the arm. “And just so you know: I wasn't aware we were being filmed in the library. That wasn't a game; it was a moment of weakness.”

  I pause for a moment, putting the towel in my lap.

  “I knew that. As soon as I saw your face, I knew.” I look down at the floor, my mind briefly wandering back to that moment, my greatest humiliation. “They could be playing the long game, you know.” Harper's words poke and prod at the edges of my mind, but I refuse to let them in. I won't let myself believe that. Doubt is truly a harsh enemy.

  Tristan doesn't say anything, and we sit there in silence for a while. I glance shyly over at him, wet tendrils of hair hanging in my face. We just had sex! a small voice in the back of my mind calls out, and I have to resist the urge to do a girly dance of excitement, maybe squeal a little.

  Later.

  I'll do that later.

  Right now, there's this quiet peace between me and Tristan, and I'm loving it too much to disrupt it.

  “I didn't think I'd be here this year,” he continues, tapping his fingers against the edge of his glass. “That's why I tried so hard last year to get first in our class. I wanted to make sure I could get into a good college when the time came, considering I was destined to spend my year at some military academy, or maybe even a public school.”

  “God forbid,” I joke, but I can tell he's serious about it. He planned for everything, made sure I was set up to be taken care of, and tried to secure his own future at the same time. “But I'm glad you're here.”

  “Windsor must really care about you, to put up with me,” Tristan says, looking over at me, his silver eyes a dark charcoal color in the shadows. The only light on currently is the small one in the kitchen. It's barely enough to see by.

  “He must,” I whisper, curling my hand around the front of the robe. Wind knew that if he didn't pay Tristan's tuition, he'd be gone and out of my life, and yet he did it anyway. Why? My heartbeat starts to pick up, and I feel overwhelmed with emotion suddenly. “What would've happened if he didn't pay your Infinity Club dues?” I ask, glancing over at Tristan again.

  His face darkens and he takes another sip of his drink.

  “Considering the things I know?” he asks, turning to look at me. “They'd probably try to drown me, too.” Tristan stands up and puts his glass on the edge of the kitchen island, turning to face me as he leans up against it. I consider asking him how many girls he's slept with, the same way I did with Zack. But I have the idea that maybe I don't want to know. I'm guessing his number isn't five. “Do you want to sleep here? Or would you rather I walked you back to your room?”

  I only have to think on that for a split-second.

  “I'd like to spend the night, if that's okay.”

  Tristan smiles at me then. A real smile. Not one of his cocksure smirks, or wicked scowls, or anything of the sort. No, this is well and truly genuine.

  “If that's okay … Jesus, Marnye. Far too sweet. You're gonna give me a fucking cavity.” Tristan moves over to stand beside me, holding out a hand to help me up. He leads me into his room and watches as I crawl into his sumptuous silken sheets. They feel so good on my legs that I end up stretching and rolling around like a total weirdo.

  Tristan crawls in beside me and pulls me up close against him, spooning our bodies together. His breathing is soft, and his body loose and relaxed. It's the most normal I've ever seen him.

  “How old were you when you lost your virginity?” I whisper into the darkness, feeling that special secret sharing sensation that only seems to happen during sleepovers.

  “Thirteen,” he says, and my eyes go wide. Holy crap. And I'd thought Jennifer was young at fourteen. That's insane. “It wasn't all that pleasant. Don't be jealous. I just did it to get back at my dad.”

  “Has he always hurt you?” I'm not entirely sure I want to know the answer to that question, but I feel like I should know it.

  “Always,” Tristan whispers, pulling me even closer, so close that it's hard for me to tell where I end and he begins. “I never knew my mother. I still don't know who she is. All I know is that she sold me to my father for a price, and left. Money is all that I know. Even I have a price, Marnye. The only person I know who doesn't seem to … is you.”

  My eyes close, and I curl my hand over his, pressing into him as hard as I can un
til I hear his breathing even out. Only then do I allow myself the luxury of sleep.

  “There's so much gossip going around!” Miranda whispers, grabbing me by the arm and dragging me toward our third period civics and economics class. “Briana told Jessie who told Andrew who told me that you and Tristan were seen sneaking into the library bathroom together …”

  “Creed didn't say anything?” I ask, and Miranda gives me the weirdest look ever.

  “Why would Creed say anything? He would totally freak if he knew you were banging Tristan.”

  “Would I?” Creed asks, appearing from around the corner and surprising both me and Miranda so much that we scream. His smile is all lazy, cavalier arrogance. “You're a crappy twin. First, you get a crush on my crush. Second, you tell the whole school I'm a virgin. And third, you completely and utterly mis-predict my reaction to an inevitable event.”

  “Um, excuse you, but I saw Marnye first.” Miranda ticks up a single finger, painted with bright orange polish. “You quite literally turned your nose up at her, I'll have you recall. Second, I only told Marnye that you were a virgin. I have no idea how your stupid friends found out. And third, you knew about this and didn't tell me?!” Miranda punches her brother in the shoulder hard enough to make him scowl, and I smile.

  “What business is it of yours?” Creed growls back at her, and she punches him again. He lets her, his only retaliation a roll of his crystal blue eyes.

  “I'm the best friend. And I'm the number one supporter of #TeamCreed. I have a right to know these things.” Miranda turns to look at me, and this awkward silence falls between the three of us. There are people streaming past us, but we may as well be in our own little bubble. “Well?” Miranda asks, and I blink in confusion, cheeks heating. Please don't let this be going where I think it's going …

  “Well, how was it?” the twins ask in unison, and my pink cheeks turn scarlet red.

  “I—”

  “It was mind-blowing,” Tristan says, appearing beside me, his voice completely deadpan. He narrows his eyes on Creed, and the blond boy scowls. “So good that she slept over.”

  “Is that so?” Creed asks, but I'm already elbowing Tristan in the stomach. He catches my arm and pulls me close, giving those butterflies a very real and prudent reason to swarm.

  That's when I see Lizzie at the end of the hall, opening her locker and pretending not to notice us all standing there.

  I try to imagine what it'd be like to be in her shoes, and extricate myself from Tristan to walk over there. I can hear Miranda asking Creed what's going on as I move down the hall and pause on her right side.

  “Can we talk?”

  “There's nothing to talk about,” Lizzie says, slamming her locker and then turning to look at me. Her amber eyes are dark with pain. “Just so you know, during the Infinity Club meeting, several of the senior members expressed their desire to see you taught a lesson.”

  “What?” I ask as I hear Tristan call out Lizzie's name in a sharp, angry tone. He makes his way toward me, but the damage is already being done.

  “They don't want to see one of the ninety-nine percent take them down like this. There's a fine line to keep the classes in order, and they want you either put back in yours, or …” Lizzie pauses as Tristan comes up on my right, Creed on my left with Miranda just behind him. “She should know, don't you think?” She glances up at Tristan, eyes narrowed, breathing coming in sharp pants. “They’re beyond just trying to make you kill yourself. They are going to kill you, Marnye.”

  “What?” I choke, blinking in surprise. “What do you mean?”

  “I mean the senior Infinity Club members want you dead. Period. They don’t care how or why.” Lizzie slams her locker shut as Tristan grits his teeth in her direction. They stare at each other for a long, long moment. “They want you dead. All we did at that last meeting was maneuver things around, so that the only people who can touch you are the students at this school.”

  “You just broke a bet,” Tristan snaps as Lizzie starts off down the hall, dark ponytail bobbing. She turns around, her laptop and a huge hardcover textbook tucked in her arms, and purses her lips.

  “Yeah, well, so did you.”

  And then she spins away and disappears down the hall.

  I don’t see hide nor hair of her for weeks.

  “They want you dead.”

  Lizzie’s words ring in my head, but I can’t seem to nail down one of the guys to get them to tell me why. Why me? What the hell have I done that’s so wrong?

  “Zayd Kaiser,” I snap, putting my hands on my hips and pausing in front of him. He’s situated on the edge of the fountain in the front courtyard, lifting his shades up to look at me. We’ve got a week until Valentine’s Day, and I’m stumped on how to handle it with all five boys. Last year, Zack and I … Well, you know what Zack and I did. This year, I want to spend the day with everyone.

  “Marnye Reed, long-time no see,” he says, as if he didn’t spend the night in my dorm last night. I haven’t told the guys this, but I’ve been putting their names in a hat and drawing one for every day of the week. The two remaining days I leave as a group day and a personal day. I only let the guys sleep over—or sleep over in their rooms—on the scheduled days.

  It’s not a perfect system, but it’s working. That, and it manages to take the complicated real-life complexity of an alternative relationship and make it fit on paper, which I appreciate.

  Zayd pats his lap like that’s the most logical place in the world for me to sit. I ignore him and sit beside him instead, trailing my fingers in the water and giving him a look. Last night, when I tried to ask about the Infinity Club, he started kissing my neck and I forgot my own name.

  Today, he’s not going to be so lucky.

  “You know, the boys and I were just discussing details for the tour this summer.” He lifts his phone up and wiggles it around. Ah, Saturday and the return of technology to the campus. It gets so quiet on weekends. That is, when people aren’t partying like crazy. “We sort of set it up, so that we go between here and Colorado. Keep it short, sweet, simple, and end with me sliding into your bed at Bornstead.”

  I just look at him then, dressed in tight black jeans and boots, his shirt short-sleeved and covered in pins, and I try to imagine the type of life we could have together if I picked him. I’m so strait-laced, and he’s so … not. But I wonder sometimes if Tristan and I would be at each other’s throats after a time, we’re so damn similar.

  Maybe Zayd could tour with his band, and I could teach seminars around the world or something … I’d spend all day working in a strict academic setting, and then he’d come back all sweaty and covered in ink and charged up from his performance and we’d—

  “Marnye?” he asks, waving an inked hand in front of my face. “Whoa, beautiful, where did you go just now?”

  I shake my head, and sweep my hands up to push some random loose tendrils of hair from my face.

  “I want to know how Lizzie broke a bet, why she’s not like, dead or something, and why she said Tristan just did the same. I think I also deserve to know if people are trying to fucking kill me.”

  “It’s … fuck, okay.” Zayd ruffles up his sea green hair with his fingers, and then glances out at the road like he’s waiting for someone. The bell towers above us ring, and birds scatter in the wind like leaves. “We tried, we really did. We … that’s all we did that week is try to fix things, so that Harper and the senior Infinity Club members would leave you alone. We failed at that, Marnye.” I remember Windsor’s face when he showed up at Dad’s house that day, all drawn and tired. “We tried. But we’re junior members, so …” He trails off and looks up at the sky, leaning back, the cluster of necklaces around his throat jangling. Absently, he reaches up with his left hand and plays with them. I notice some are badges from past concerts. One has a lipstick stain on it that makes my eyes narrow to slits. “The deal is, nobody can touch you unless they’ve attended the academy with you. Period. No hired hi
tmen or special police forces—”

  “Are you fucking kidding?! Hired hitmen?” Zayd turns his head slightly to the side to look at me, like he can’t figure out why I’m so surprised by that.

  “Uh, yeah. Does that really surprise you? Most people have a price, and for the right amount, sure, they could get some crazy ex-Black Ops guy to shoot you. It’s not even that far-fetched.”

  “Even I have a price, Marnye. The only person I know who doesn't seem to … is you.”

  I hear Tristan’s words echoing in my head like a warning and close my eyes.

  “The Club takes real world shit, like economies or wars or political races, and turns it into something bite-sized and manageable. It’s like, aristocrats in a royal court playing at politics. The whole world runs on careful, behind-the-scenes maneuvering.” Zayd turns toward me and folds his legs on the edge of the fountain wall, putting his hands on his knees. “You’re the working class pawn, Marnye, risen up and fighting through the ranks. You’re taking out students whose families have been going to Burberry for generations.” Zayd gestures with his chin in the direction of the chapel building. “If their kids can’t take out one, lone scholarship kid, then what hope do they have for haggling with billionaires from China, or arranging trade deals with India.”

  “So they’re going to kill me?” I ask, because it’s just too freaking surreal to believe.

  “They haven’t made a move yet which scares me,” Zayd says, looking back out at the road. “But they will. Sometime before the end of the year, I know they will.” He turns to me again. “The deal is that they have until midnight of graduation day to kill you. That’s it. After that, we take the crown. If we win, the Infinity Club can never interfere with your life again, or the lives of those around you.”

  “So you’d all be safe, too?” I ask, and Zayd smiles, almost sadly, his lip rings catching the glint of the sun.

  “Whoever you pick, anyway. The lucky guy.” He spins one of his lip rings around with his tongue. “I don’t mean to sound like a total ass, but … please pick me.”