Page 18 of Vicious Butterfly
I could do a lot with one hundred thousand. Start a business, invest … it would be enough to start a new life under usual circumstances, but it’s not enough to get away from my father, so what’s the point?
“I already talked to the others. They’re in if you are.”
“Why does it boil down to me?”
“We stick together. You know that. Besides, we need our captain on the ice.”
We continue to dress in silence. I do up the choking collar, and even though the material is lightweight, heaviness settlesover me. I move faster, since we have to get to formation, which better fucking go quickly because I’m about to eat my hand.
Becks nudges me with his massive shoulder. “Think about it, okay?”
“Yeah, I’ll think about it,” I say, even though there’s nothing to think about. It’s the stupidest shit I’ve ever heard. Hard fucking pass. If I were caught playing in an illegal underground hockey ring, dying on the ice during a game would be a saving grace.
No amount of money is worth that kind of risk.
Standing at attention after practice is a torture all its own. The whole school gathered on the parade ground while the officers walk through the ranks, making sure our uniforms are perfect—no slouching, no talking. It takes them thirty fucking minutes, and then we’re blessedly released for breakfast.
My stomach is eating itself at this point.
The hockey team sits together in the mess hall. Even if we didn’t want to, it’s our assigned seating. Many of us began our first year together last season, and we formed a tight bond. But today, I’m less interested in my hockey brethren, looking out for Griff as soon as I enter. The plebes set up the mess hall for meals. He should be here.
But he isn’t. I can pick Griff’s red head out in a mob.
Instead, it’s Torin’s and Gideon’s brothers, running toward me.
“Sir! Sir! Mr. Savage, sir!” Torin’s younger brother … Scout, I think it was, shouts too loudly.
That’s going to get the kind of attention we don’t want if I don’t get him to cool it. The officers expect the upperclassmen to handle the lower-level cadets, but they’ll step in if necessary. It’s good to see some of their Block training sunk in. At least they know how to address an upperclassman.
I know why they’re tossing the rest of their training—Griff. They just want to tell me about him, and that’s all I want, too. But it won’t end well if we attract the wrong attention.
“Plebes. Slow down.”
“Uh, sir, sorry, sir,” the other one says.
I let out a huff, curling my fingers into fists. All this protocol is fucking ridiculous. I want to get to Griffon.
“Address properly, cadet.”
The pair snap to attention, their leather boots click together. “Sir, Plebe Ackerman reports an, uh, injury?” he states as a question, “involving Cadet G. Savage, sir.”
“Understood. Thank you, Plebe Ackerman.” Godfuckingdammit. “Where is he?”
“Infirmary,” he says. I raise an eyebrow. He sighs. Yeah, protocol is shit, but it must be done. “Sir, infirmary, sir.”
“Eat your breakfast, freshies.” My stomach growls. I take a long look at the table filled with trays of scrambled eggs, breakfast sausages, pancakes, and more. Fuck, the smell of butter and onions alone has my mouth watering. At least we eat good here.
I book it over to Captain Grady, the mess hall officer who’s least likely to be a dick about allowing me to leave.
“Sir, request permission to be excused, sir,” I say, straightening my posture, chest out.
His gaze rakes up and down. “Have you eaten, cadet?”
“Sir, no, sir.”
“Then sit.Eat.”
I lick behind my teeth.Stay calm, Ryan. Stay, fucking calm.My brain scrambles to find the right words that won’t get me sent to detention. I can’t help Griff in detention.
