Chapter 2

An hour ago, Arlene had stood in front of the cracked mirror in her dorm room. She dabbed cheap concealer over the purple bruise on her neck. Sterling Prescott IV had left it there three days ago.

Her phone vibrated on the desk. A text from Sterling. Just an address and a smiling devil emoji.

Her hand hovered over the screen. Her fingers shook. She typed a quick confirmation and hit send.

Clara Finch leaned over the edge of the top bunk. Her face was pale with worry. "Are you seriously going? That's Prescott territory."

Arlene put the concealer down. Her voice was terrifyingly flat. "If I don't go, my scholarship is gone. I'll lose my campus job, too."

Clara jumped down from the bed. She grabbed Arlene's arm. "But Sterling is a psycho! Last time he almost..."

Arlene gently pulled her arm away. She couldn't look at Clara's eyes. "I just need to apologize. I'll keep my head down. Everything will go back to normal."

She pulled a black sweater from her closet. It was the only piece of clothing she owned that didn't have a hole in it. She pulled it over her head.

Clara leaned against the metal bedframe. "Arlene, doesn't the Boone family care? What about Dr. Hardie..."

Arlene's eyes turned to ice at the name. "The Boones only want to watch me die. They will never pull me up."

She grabbed her worn jacket from the hook by the door. She shoved a small can of pepper spray into its pocket.

Clara opened her mouth to argue again. Arlene shot her a look that silenced the room.

"Don't tell anyone where I went," Arlene said. She pulled the door open. The cold draft from the hallway rushed in.

She shut the door in Clara's face.

Now, Arlene stood outside the VIP room of the downtown club.

The bouncer looked her up and down. He let out a loud snort and shoved the heavy padded door open.

Hip-hop music blasted her in the face. The thick smell of marijuana and spilled liquor made her throat close up.

Sterling Prescott IV sat in the center of the room. Two girls in tiny skirts pressed against his sides. He held a glass of amber whiskey.

He saw Arlene. He shoved the girls away and smiled. It was a smile that promised pain.

"Look who it is," Sterling yelled over the music. "The Boone family bastard."

Arlene shoved her hands deep into the pockets of her jacket. She walked forward. She forced herself to look into his bloodshot eyes.

"I came to apologize, Sterling," she said. Her throat was dry, but she made sure every word was clear. "I shouldn't have talked back in seminar."

Sterling threw his head back and laughed. Kip Holloway and the rest of the fraternity brothers howled with him.

The laughter stopped abruptly. Sterling lunged forward. The smell of alcohol hit Arlene's face. "An apology? You think words are enough?"

He tilted his glass. The whiskey poured directly onto Arlene's chest. The cold liquid soaked through her worn jacket and the black sweater beneath, sticking to her skin.

Arlene's whole body went rigid. Her nails cut into her palms. She did not take a step back.

"Since you're here, we play by my rules." Sterling pointed to the glass table.

Two rows of shot glasses sat perfectly aligned. They were filled to the brim with clear liquor.

Arlene looked at the alcohol. A wave of pure despair washed over her, quickly replaced by a numb resolve.

If she didn't do this, she wouldn't walk out of this room.

"Fine," she heard her own voice say. It sounded dead.