SNAPPED (The Slate Brothers 1)

I knew I shouldn’t be with Sebastian, yet there I was last night, wearing his clothes. My aunt surely knew Dennis Slate was trouble, but she still couldn’t get out of the relationship before he killed her. How many girls at Berkfield sleep with players at New Recruits Week because they’re hypnotized by the charm of a popular athlete who’s always gotten whatever he wants?

Farrow might be old school, but he isn’t wrong. New Recruits Week is more than just good old fashioned “boys being boys.” It continues a tradition of victimizing women, girls as innocent in their way as my aunt was.

And that innocence is exactly what these people prey on.

I feel burning anger in my chest as I picture Sebastian with his easy confidence, good looks and entitlement.

And to think, I was actually charmed by a Slate boy.

He’s a chip off the old block, no doubt.

“And let’s see, who’s left?” Farrow is saying, just before his milky blue eyes slide to me. “Ah! You, darling— would you be interested in doing some more in-depth research for the team?”

Research? I am a star at research— I consider it an actual super power that I know how to cite my sources without plugging them into an internet bibliography machine. I nod eagerly. “Absolutely. Whatever I can do to help.”

“Perfect!” Farrow says, and scribbles something down on his notepad. “Now, do you already know any of the football players? Or will you need to set up an introduction, somehow?”

My eyes widen. “Um, I—“

“One of the cheerleaders lives on my floor,” Sarah jumps in helpfully. “She could probably introduce you.”

“Sure,” I say weakly. “Do you need any library-based research, though?”

“Oh, no, we’ve got that covered,” Farrow says, tapping his pencil at the names on his list. “We just need some hands on research within the football player community, particularly during New Recruits Week later this fall. Make sure you bring a pencil and paper to write down everything you see there.”

“Or a phone with Evernote installed,” someone says under their breath.

“Sure,” I stumble. “So— you need me to go to New Recruits Week?”

“No, I need you to learn more about the football community,” he says. “The problem with the football players at this school is that they’re seen as gods. We need someone who can prove they’re using that status to engage in unbecoming behavior— which means we need someone who can get into their world, but doesn’t care about burning the bridge either. And believe me, I intend to burn some bridges,” Farrow says with a dire, but excited, look. “Are you not up to the task?”

I nod, trying to keep my jaw from dropping in confusion and surprise. “No, that sounds— I can do it,” I say quickly. I have no idea if this is true or not— but I know this much: I need to do it. I need to do something to remind not only myself, but the football players— Sebastian Slate and family included— that they aren’t kings, immune to laws and rules and common decency. I need to do it, even if that means going deep into enemy territory.

And, I’m making no mistake this time: Sebastian Slate is definitely the enemy.

5

I can’t believe that in less that twenty four hours, I’ve gone from hating football players, to being kissed by one, to hating them, to volunteering (if mostly by accident) to spy on them from the inside.

I also can’t believe I thought I could actually do it— because how the hell am I going to get into the football players’ inner circle? Yes, Sebastian Slate seemed a tiny bit interested in me, but that lasted all of two minutes and then he was over it.

I don’t look a thing like the girls who are regularly installed at their parties— and now I’m supposed to go to those parties, hang around and watch their antics and report back?

While working my shift at Papa Pig’s, I wonder if I can get another shot at delivering to the players’ house and maybe just sort of fade into the wallpaper once I’m there. I need to be at their parties, not actually participate in them. I bet if I waited until late and swung by with a pizza, no one would ask questions, and I could sort of creep around, always pretending like I’m trying to find someone to sign the receipt…

Of course, that’ll mean sneaking around wearing my ridiculous outfit. Just the thought of that makes me want to die of embarrassment.

I’m nearly halfway through my shift at Papa Pig’s when there’s a flurry of excitement around the server station. I crane my head around the soda machine to see what everyone is so jumpy about, and gasp lightly. It’s a group of football players, each of them so large that they make our booths look like doll furniture. It takes me no time at all to spot Sebastian Slate among them. Naturally, they’d come by the parlor on one of the few nights I’m scheduled to the floor rather than out on deliveries.