That was the thing about Daniel, the thing he knew Angie hated more than anything else. He believed in the power of the wordyet.
No, I don’t have a hit song…yet.
No, I don’t have any clue how to write a hit song…yet.
No, I don’t have a muse…yet.
But the wonderful thing about the wordyetwas that the answer to thatyetcould be just on the horizon. He only had to find it.
Chapter Five
On Saturday night, the Rage continued. As the drinking clubs and socialites and frazzled youth of Oxford made their way home, and as the pubs rang their closing bells, Sam’s night was only beginning. She’d been under the impression the Rage was a private affair, a way to infiltrate the home of a rich man and live like kings for a weekend, but there she was, standing in the yard of Christ Church, wearing nothing but her underwear under an impossibly long fur coat. It dragged along the ground as she walked, occasionally tugging the fabric away to reveal her state of undress.
Knickers. Lingerie. Bra and panties.
She tried telling herself it was like wearing a bathing suit. When she was in high school, her foster mother would drag her and the gaggle of children she’d collected out to the beach, and on those excursions, Sam braved less clothing than she was wearing now.
The defense was as thin as the high-waisted purple lace she’d chosen to cover her modesty. No one who passed her by—and there would beplentyonce the pubs let out in earnest—would shrug off her near nakedness. They would gawk, stare, and titter about her near-nudity and she wouldn’t be able to do a damn thing about it.
As the regents walked her toward the center of the yard, she clutched the fur closer, hoping it was fake but doubting very much that it was. Either way, she was glad for its temporary warmth it gave her already chilled skin.
“Everyonedoes this? This is usually part of the initiation?”
“Chickening out?”
“I’m comfortable with my body,” she said, noncommittal. “I’m only curious.”
“Everyone does it. Most of us don’t have the goods you do.”
“Except Wellington here.”
A chorus of guffaws rang out as Graham swung around the portly man to squeeze his sagging pecs. If she hadn’t sealed off the feeling parts of her, Sam might have pitied him. No one seemed to give her a break for her looks, either. But Wellington didn’t give her any slack or feel anything for her; it seemed a waste of her shivering energy to feel anything for him.
“We’ve paid off the guards down the way,” PJ muttered, too low for any of the cutting up men to hear him. “They’ll turn a blind eye to the public indecency but keep an eye on you so no one—”
The curly haired black man didn’t have time to complete the thought, but Sam understood him. The local cops wouldn’t keep these guys from forcing her to stand basically naked in a public place, but they would make sure she wasn’t going to get assaulted for her troubles. It was as thoughtful as it was nauseating and as relieving as it was painful.
When they finally reached their destination, Captain dropped a cardboard sign at Sam’s feet. Even in the dim light of the surrounding lamps, she recognized the Animos insignia and the words written around it. BYDECREE OF THEOXFORD REGENTS,BRAND THIS PIGGY. Her stomach turned. She didn’t dare let them see her shivering, not from the cold and certainly not from the chill the sign ran up and down her spine. All of this had been explained to her before, but cold reality stung her harsher than the early winter winds ripping through the courtyard.
“Graham,” Captain barked. “Rules.”
“You are to stand here, uncloaked, until morning. You are not to move. You are not to hide. With your marker”—he pulled a round black marker from his pocket and dropped it beside her cardboard sign—“you must let anything be written on you. Any violation of these rules means an automatic disqualification from initiation.”
“How would you even—”
One look from Captain and the question died in her throat.
“If you make it to the stroke of six tomorrow morning, when the morning service starts here, you’ll be an Associate Member of the Animos Society.”
“And I’ll be a full member if I do the ball thing?”
“Full only if youwinthe Mud Duck Ball,” Graham corrected. “So, you’d better get cracking on your grease spot. Remember,weare the ones who vote on the winner, so you’re going to want the worst date you can get. The more humiliating the whole thing is for him, the better your chances. Now. Take your coat off.”
Another Sam would have hesitated or at least given a thought to modesty before dumping the coat off her shoulders. The Sam standing before Christ Church didn’t. She tossed the swell of fabric to Wellington, her face an impassive mask.
“Your time starts now. See you in the morning, Piggy.” They moved to leave, but something stopped Captain short. “Wait…”
He turned, and the air, chilly only a minute ago, now boiled hot enough to scald. With careful grace, he leaned down, his face inches from Sam’s bare flesh. His eyes taking in everything as they traveled across her skin, his nose so close it brushed the swell of her belly. When he passed her plump thighs, he reached for the pen at her feet, then popped up to standing as if nothing had happened.
