Twisted Circles (Secret Society 2)

“My reputation precedes me,” Nolan said. “I used to think that was a good thing. These days, I’m not so sure.”

“Does it matter to you if it’s a bad thing?”

“I guess it depends on what they’re saying.” He shrugged a shoulder, stirring his nearly empty glass.

“What about your brother?”

“What about him?” When he met my gaze this time, his expression was serious.

“What’s his reputation?”

“With him, what you see is what you get.”

“And with you?”

“I rarely let anyone see me.”

“Must be lonely.”

“I’ll live.” His lip twitched. It struck me that his mouth and chin and jaw were eerily similar to Adam’s.

“Who’s older? You or Adam?”

“Him.” He set the glass down behind him. “By one minute.”

“You’re twins.” My brows rose. My heart felt like it had leaped twenty steps with the knowledge. What were the chances? “Your hair is long.”

“Most people focus on the scar.” He grabbed my hand. I jolted at the movement. And brought it up to his mouth, letting the tips of my fingers brush over his soft lips and the scar he was pointing out.

“How’d you get it?” I managed over roaring ears.

“Hockey.”

“Oh.” I pulled my hand away and grabbed onto the side of the cloak I wore.

“So you and my brother are a thing.”

“No.” I frowned. “Why would you say that?”

“Just a guess.”

“Wrong guess.”

“So, if I ask you to leave this party with me, you’d do it?”

My eyes flicked up to his, heart slamming against its cage. Why was I hesitating? It was unlike me in a situation like this. I thought of Karen, who had a theory on moral code and how that feeling deep within our gut is what drives it. I’d always rolled my eyes at the theory, told her the only thing rumbling in my gut was whiskey and Taco Bell. As I held Nolan’s gaze through our masks, I wondered if this was my limit. My moral code. Because I’d have to see Adam in the forthcoming days. I’d need him to answer questions for me if I wanted to find out where the real Stella was. If I wanted to meet her. People did things for their families all the time—bad things, good things, and whatever seeped into the cracks in between. For the first time in my life, I felt like I was up for that challenge. I didn’t know Stella yet, but she was coursing through my veins and I needed to find her.

“I wouldn’t,” I said, finally.

Nolan smiled and gave a nod.

“Why would you ask a girl you think is involved with your brother to go home with you?”

“Why would I not?” He tilted his head slightly.

“It’s wrong.” I frowned.

“All the more reason for the invite.” He chuckled, straightening. “Well, it was nice talking to you, Stella Thompson. Good luck at the burial?”

“What burial?”

“Yours.”

With that, he walked off.

My heart roared so loudly, it drowned out the music. A bartender walked by with a tray and paused, lifting it as if to offer me a drink. I looked at the tray, which had nine glasses on it. Each row was labeled: tequila, vodka, whiskey. I grabbed the whiskey and began drinking it quickly, but stopped midway. If I kept at it, I’d get drunk and I couldn’t, wouldn’t, let my guard down in here. I looked up and Adam was no longer upstairs. The music switched to rap. There were guys rapping along loudly, everyone seemed to be bobbing in sync, the way I normally would have been but my feet were lead, rooted to the ground.

Burial.

Mine.

What?

It took me the length of the song to shake it off as hyperbole. He was trying to spook me, trying to make me second-guess my decision to choose this society over any other. He had a competitive nature. One five-minute conversation with him and I knew that. Another black cloak stood beside me. I sighed heavily.

“What’s the deal with you black cloaks? You walk around trying to size up the opponent?” I said before the tall guy beside me had a chance to.

“I would hardly call The Swords opponents.” He smiled. “Besides, my cloak isn’t black, it’s navy.”

“Navy.” I looked at it again, but it was too dark to tell the difference. “And what secret society do you belong to?”

“Quill.”

“You’re the ones who publish the members’ names in the paper the first week of every semester.”

“We have no use for anonymity.” He shrugged a shoulder.

“Interesting.”

“We could use more women though.” He turned toward me and even with the mask around his eyes I could see him checking me out.

Before I could answer him, someone pulled me away and I turned to see Adam standing there.

“Let’s dance.”

“What?” I pulled away slightly, on the border of the dance floor, in that place where I had to make a choice—in or out.

I looked at the guy I was talking to, but he was now looking at Adam as if they were having some sort of standoff. I couldn’t be sure if that was the case, but the guy walked away, and I got the indication that Adam won.