See No Evil (Brotherhood Trilogy #1)

by Jordan Ford

  “I hate that guy,” Riley mutters.

  “We all do.” I give him a warning look. “Don’t get involved, Ry. New kid has to fend for himself.”

  “With that wimpy look on his face? He’s gonna be beat down before the end of his first day.”

  Kade grins. “You survived.”

  Riley’s pale brows dip into a sharp V. “Don’t be a smug prick. The only reason he didn’t touch you was because he knew Trey and I would beat his ass.”

  “That’s horse shit!” Kade scoffs. “He knew better than to mess with me. I’d deck him with a single punch.”

  “Whatever, floppy fist. Your punches are like getting hit with a cotton ball.”

  Kade jumps behind my back and grabs Riley around the neck, then scrubs his knuckles over Riley’s scalp. They laugh and tussle while I stand there grinning at them. As soon as they hit the ground, they pull apart, jostling and slapping each other with foul-mouthed insults they don’t really mean.

  Kade hauls Riley back to his feet and we keep walking to our room.

  As we round the corner, I spot Ivan’s new target. He’s standing next to his parents, listening to the headmaster and Dean Hancock. Headmaster Williams has his happy face on today. His ginger head bobs as he smiles and shakes hands with the father. They must be loaded. Headmaster Williams only smiles that big for families willing to donate extra money to the school.

  Like Eton Prep needs it.

  I glance at the pretentious buildings to my right and across the manicured lawns. I didn’t grow up with opulence. Less than a year after my mother died, Dad re-married. Step Monster’s got big boobs, a slender waist and enough money to send me to an exclusive boarding school in the middle of nowhere.

  I don’t care. I’d rather be here with my non-related brothers than the family that doesn’t want me.

  New kid’s father pats his skinny shoulders and whispers something in his ear.

  He glances up, looking miserable…and also a little determined.

  I don’t know what the pep talk is about, but it’s made his jaw clench and nostrils flare. Blinking rapidly, he pulls his shoulders back and lifts his chin as Dean Hancock and Headmaster Williams flank him.

  Spinning for the main entrance, the trio walks right past us. I search the new kid’s face again. I don’t know what the hell I’m searching for…and I don’t know why the hell I can’t stop staring at him.

  There’s just something so pitiful about him with his skinny face and jet-black hair, cut short and combed to the side.

  I force myself to turn away and follow my brothers to the side door of our dorm, but not before spotting the sheer look of dread cresting over the guy’s face. The building loomed large before him and he looked like he was entering a death chamber.

  Poor guy doesn’t even know about Ivan yet.

  #3:

  Until That Day

  Christiana

  Dean Hancock talks too much.

  He’s got one of those fast, clipped, no-nonsense kind of voices. If I stopped walking right now, he probably wouldn’t even notice. He’d just keep marching down the corridor telling me how Eton is the best school in the world with top athletes and Harvard-bound brainiacs.

  “That’s why we’re so strict. I know it may seem unfair to have no access to technology or cell phones in your rooms, but we believe strongly that too much screen time is bad for the brain. We expect top marks from all our students, so we help them by providing the perfect environment for them to learn. Old-fashioned values are the backbone of this school.”

  I roll my eyes, resisting the urge to scream and run away.

  “It may seem isolating at times but that’s why we room the students together. It helps to build relationships and create strong bonds. Lifelong friendships are constantly formed at this school.” The dean glances over his shoulder, eyeing me with disapproving scrutiny. “The fact your parents have insisted you have a single room is to your disadvantage, in my opinion. You’ll have to make an extra effort to get to know the other boys on your floor. I often hear complaints about Eton being in the middle of nowhere. Well, the fact of the matter is, we practically are, which is why we must work together to create our own special world. We provide everything you need to be a successful, well-rounded adult.”

  Okay, he seriously needs to stop talking now.

  We turn into a long, fluorescent-lit corridor lined with doors. It’s like an upper-class prison, each dorm room a cell, inmates leaning against doorframes and watching me pass. Judging me. Sizing me up. Figuring me out.

  I used to like guys checking me out. It made me feel pretty, important, wanted.

  Now I feel like a lamb being lead to slaughter—skinny legs buckling, a pitiful bleat echoing down the corridor.

  There’s no sympathy here.

  Just curiosity.

  It’s hard not to hunch over, pull my chest into a concave so they won’t figure it out.

  I fidget with the short strands of hair below my ear, then remember McNeal’s stern frown. I bury my fist in my pocket and keep my eyes on the floor.

  Just keep shuffling.

  A movement to my left catches my eye and I glance up. Dark, narrow eyes strip me bare. He’s smug, arrogant, instantly ugly. If I were allowed to be a girl, I’d give him a look of contempt before sashaying past him. But I can’t do that anymore.

  I’m not a girl right now.

  He’s not going to try and flirt to win me over.

  No, that one there, he wants to bury me…and have fun doing it.

  I press my lips together, trying to hide how much I don’t want to be here right now. Keeping my eyes forward, I focus on the door at the end of the corridor, like it’s going to somehow save me.

  Mr. Narrow Eyes is behind me now, but I can still feel his gaze, like a laser beam between my shoulder blades.

  I won’t turn back.

  I’ll never turn back again.

  “And up this way is your room,” Dean Hancock says.

  I hold the door while he walks through it, then follow him up the stairwell. Our clumpy shoes echo in the isolated stairwell. I rise to my toes so I’m not quite so loud, then realize how girly it must make me look.

  The dean doesn’t notice.

  He’s moved on to dorm expectations, evening schedules, the dinner routine.

  I take it all in without a word, following him to my room and absorbing all I can.

  New faces watch me, crowding in their doorways to check out the fresh meat.

  I can’t help wondering where the hockey guy is. His gaze was different. His face strong and confident. His eyes telling me…what?

  That he’ll be an ally? That I can trust him?

  I must be out of my mind.

  I finally reach my room.

  My hand is on the door; a small reprieve awaits me.

  “Dinner will be in thirty minutes. We don’t tolerate tardiness at Eton, so you best be on time. Bathrooms are down this way.” He flicks his finger at me and I’m forced to let go of my door, to prolong my nightmare.

  I shuffle after him.

  Doors are closing now. The boys have had their peek of me and are no doubt satisfied until dinner.

  A loud belch makes me grimace. I’m not sure if I hide my expression in time but a big bear strolls out of the bathroom, scratching his chest and looking pleased with himself.

  “Afternoon, Mr. Blair.” Dean Hancock nods.

  “Sir,” the guy mumbles and lumbers past us, scratching his ass cheek.

  Bile surges up my throat. Yes, an extreme reaction to a belch and butt scratch, but those two little things seem to crash in on me from both sides, reminding me of what I’m really doing. I’ve been thrown into a cold lake with weights around my ankles, dragged into the pitch-black depths.

  “Excuse me,” I murmur, rushing into the bathroom.

  “See you at dinner, Mr. Lorden,” the dean clips.

  Lorden. Chris Lorden. That’s not my name. And it never will be.

&
nbsp; I rush past the urinals.

  Ew. Smelly urinals where boys stand to pee.

  Yellow spots stain the white porcelain, making me gag. Stumbling into the end stall, I slam it shut behind me and drop to my knees. Leaning forward, I wretch into the bowl, the smell fueling my nausea and emptying my aching stomach.

  There’s not much.

  Eating has been damn near impossible since the night I turned back.

  How do I chew and swallow after what I’ve seen?

  Closing my eyes, I lean my head against my forearm and fight the burning tears.

  I want to slide to the floor and crumple into a feeble ball.

  But I have to stay strong.

  Can’t be late for dinner, right?

  I smash my teeth together and squeeze my eyes shut.

  A gunshot rings in the back of my mind. So loud. So final.

  Rage surges through me again, snapping my body up.

  That’s why I’m here.

  That’s why I have to pull my ass off this floor and pretend I’m a boy.

  I can’t show my true self until pre-trial when I walk into the courtroom and scare the shit out of the accused…bury him with my eyewitness testimony.

  I wonder what his eyes will look like when he’s staring at me.

  I already know. They’ll be cold and hard, warning me of my impending death. It doesn’t matter that we’re related, that he watched me grow since I was a newborn. It doesn’t matter that I used to call him Uncle.

  We’re enemies now, because he killed Robbie and he has to pay for it.

  This is why I have to stay hidden.

  Until I step foot in the courtroom, flanked by bodyguards, I have to be Chris Lorden. The rich kid who transferred from Wesley Academy in Maine because I want to graduate with honors from the more prestigious Eton Preparatory School for Boys.

  It’s a lame backstory if you ask me, but it’ll have to do.

  Rybeck promises it’ll keep me safe. Alive. Unlike Robbie.

  I fight a whimper and push myself up. The door creaks, followed by a shuffling of feet and then the lowering of a zipper. I press my shoulders against the wall and cover my ears when the stream of pee hits the porcelain.

  As soon as he’s gone, I flush the toilet and slip out of the stall, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand and wondering how many days I’ll be scratching off on the wall before I get my life back.

  #4:

  A Turf Takeover

  Trey

  I dump my hockey bag at the base of my bed, my sticks rattling together. Shoving it with my foot, I push it under the metal frame and pull off my hoodie.

  “So, who wants a little contraband?”

  “Me.” Riley raises his hand.

  Kade nods. “Definitely me.”

  I grin and head for the wall. We discovered a chink in the room’s armor a while back. We were bored, lying on our beds and tossing a football between us. Kade said something insulting, can’t even remember what, and I hurled the ball at his head. He deflected it with his elbow and it smashed into the wall behind his desk.

  Turns out the prestigious Eton isn’t as high class as everyone thinks it is. That wall was an obvious patch-up job, and we took advantage. Ripping the wood away, we unearthed a short passage between our room and the one at the end of the hall. Don’t know who put it there, but we’re all grateful.

  Sliding Kade’s desk to the side, I shift the poster-covered plywood and get down on my knees. Room inspections happen every Saturday morning, which includes a search for items we aren’t supposed to have. Thanks to the empty room next door and our secret passageway, we never have to worry. All contraband is stored in our spare room, which we also use as a lounge for late-night TV and any holiday weekend we decide not to go home.

  We’ve yet to be caught and are confident we’ll make it to graduation with our secret firmly intact, especially since Riley went the extra mile and improved the design. I don’t know how the guy smuggled the materials in, or if he just stole them from the caretaker’s shed or what. He’s taking it to the grave just in case we ever get busted. He doesn’t want Kade or me getting any blame.

  The idiot still doesn’t get that we’ll stand beside him no matter what. He’ll figure it out eventually.

  Anyway, thanks to his genius, the hidden doorway into our contraband storage closet now has these smooth rail sliders which means it opens without a sound and can be closed from either side.

  Sliding the door open, I crawl through the space and close it behind me. Riley gets pissy if I don’t.

  “What if you get busted in there?” he asked the first time I didn’t close it.

  “By who?” I argued back.

  Riley rolled his eyes. “Dean Cockhead’s a sneaky bastard. He’s like a panther waiting to pounce. Just close the door behind you every time and cover our bases, okay?”

  Kade and I smirked at each other but agreed.

  Riley’s always the cautious (or suspicious) one. It’s just his way.

  But he really shouldn’t worry. The end room hall isn’t a coveted space. No one comes in here. The school’s all about forming friendships, blah, blah, blah, so hardly anyone bunks alone. Only the special needs cases end up on their own—either as punishment or because their parents want their precious offspring rooming alone.

  It’s smaller than the usual rooms, like the builders were working without a plan and went, “Aw, crap, what are we gonna do with this end space here?”

  It wouldn’t surprise me if it started out as a big storage closet and was then converted into a room one busy year when the roll was higher than usual. The only form of natural light is a narrow rectangular window near the internal wall.

  I flick on the light, checking that the piece of black plastic we attached to the bottom of the door is still intact. The light doesn’t shine into the hallway, so we can be in here well past curfew and the dean won’t know it.

  I pull open the closet, reaching into the back corner for our stash of candy bars. Our beer cooler is stored beneath the floorboards under the bed. Riley tutors kids in town on Tuesday nights, so he can restock it for us on his way back. We’ve perfected the art of concealment. He’s gotten past the gate guards every time, his backpack loaded with Bud Light.

  Snagging the black bag, I pull it down and grab a can of Pringles, some Three Musketeers bars, and a packet of Reese’s Pieces. Dinner’s in twenty minutes. We can wolf this down and still have room for healthy eats.

  Retying the bag, I make a mental note of our stock before throwing it back in the corner. Closing everything up, I head for the secret door and pause. Something’s caught my eye and it’s not a good sign. I should get out of here double-time, but I have to check out the suitcase I just spotted beneath the bed.

  My brow furrows.

  Who else is storing stuff in here? I have to know…and then warn them to stay the hell off our turf.

  I tug it out and am about to open it up for a look when an idea hits me.

  Wait. No frickin’ way.

  The new kid. Mr. Skin and Bone. Ivan’s next victim.

  They wouldn’t put him in here, would they? He can’t be a senior.

  The door clicks open and I shoot to my feet, kicking the bag back into place.

  Shit. Shit. Shit.

  I cram the candy into my pockets. The Pringles can sticks out of my sweatpants, impossible to hide.

  It may seem ridiculous to be worried about getting busted with candy, but Dean Hancock is a strict SOB and I only have one strike left. I wouldn’t put it past him to use this small misdemeanor as an excuse to kick my ass to the curb.

  My first strike came after I beat the shit out of Ivan.

  Strike two was the fire hose incident of junior year. Freaking funny, but apparently only to me.

  I’m on my final strike, and they remind me every chance they get.

  I’m sweating bullets, trying to come up with some excuse that won’t land my ass back home, when a face appears in the room. />
  It’s not the dean.

  It’s the new kid.

  He jerks to a stop, his brown eyes popping wide. “What are you doing in here? This is my room. I’m not supposed to be sharing with anyone.” His voice is all high and squeaky, and his tone makes it sound like rooming with someone is the worst thing in the world. He clears his throat, his eyebrows dipping in a sharp V as he lowers his voice and growls, “Get out.”

  “Calm down.” I raise my hand, then have to make a quick grab for my Pringles. I hate it when they get smashed up in the can. “My room’s next door.”

  I use the Pringles to point at the wall and then give the guy a little smile, hoping he won’t go running to the dean.

  His sharp little nostrils flare. “Did you get lost on your way back from hockey?”

  Huh, so he remembers me then.

  I wasn’t imagining things. We had a connection, which is totally disconcerting. I need to get the hell out…while not looking like a guilty snoop.

  I paste on a smile. “Well, I just wanted to welcome you to Eton.”

  “By sneaking into my room?”

  His voice is rising again, like some squeaky tween going through puberty. Have his balls failed to drop, or is that fear I’m detecting?

  “I’m not gonna hurt you, man. I’m just…” I shrug. “I’m Trey.”

  I extend my hand in greeting.

  He points to the door. “Get out.”

  “O-kay.” I raise my eyebrows. “I would say nice to meet you, but your shitty tone’s not really doing it for me, so…”

  “You’re standing in my room uninvited. How do you want me to speak?”

  “It’s a boarding school, man. Chill out. We sometimes visit each other’s rooms. Big deal.”

  His skin pales, his thin black eyebrows wrinkling into a rollercoaster line. “Well…d-don’t come into mine.”

  “Whatever, man.” I shrug and head for the door. “Good luck tomorrow. You’re gonna need it.”

  I swear he looks like he’s about to faint.

  I can’t help a snicker as I leave the room, shaking my head in confusion.