BLAKELY
IT’S A FRIDAYnight, and I’m lying in my bed watching a horror movie on Netflix while scrolling through my social media page. Not seeing anything interesting, I close out the app and turn up the TV, thinking over my time here at Barrington University since classes started two weeks ago.
I haven’t run into dipshit anymore. But Matt’s been acting weird ever since I stormed into the library demanding answers. That he didn’t give me. He’s always bringing up Ryat. Every day, he asks me if I’ve seen or spoken to him. When I say no, he says okay, but I can see it in his eyes that he doesn’t believe me. And it’s starting to bother me. I’ve never cheated on him before, never even flirted with another guy, so the fact that it’s got him questioning my loyalty is pissing me off.
I’ve been the one begging him for sex, and he’s the one who turns me down. Always telling me that he promised my parents we’d wait for our wedding night. That’s bullshit. Who the hell waits these days? We’ve fooled around, but he always stops it before it goes too far, leaving my body begging for more.
“We’re going,” Sarah states, entering my bedroom and plopping down on the end of my bed.
“But …”
“No buts.” She shakes her head. “We’ve done nothing but stay in, and I didn’t leave Texas just to stay home all the fucking time. Plus, Matt is out of town.” She winks at me.
He went home for the weekend. I wanted to ask why he didn’t invite me, but I also didn’t want to see my parents, so I kept my mouth shut. “What does that have to do with anything?”
“You can let loose and have fun without him accusing you of wanting to fuck Ryat.” She’s overheard several of our arguments in the past couple of weeks. The walls in our apartment are too thin. Or maybe we just fight too loud.
“Please.” She resorts to begging when I remain in bed just staring at her. “Just this time … It’s just one party.”
It’s been a while since I’ve had a girls’ night with her. Matt’s never been a big fan of Sarah’s. He says that she’s too flirtatious with everyone. He’s been very vocal about his hatred for her over the years. When we’re all back home in Texas, he’d always show up or make plans for us with his parents, so I’d have to cancel mine with her. She never seemed to get mad at me for that. Funny how I’m just now noticing that he would do that. “Fine,” I growl, throwing the covers off. I do want to get out and have some fun. “We’ll find out what this chosen shit means,” I add.
“Yes!” She jumps to her feet. “I’ll go get dressed.” Storming out of my room, she yells over her shoulder, “Wear something slutty.”
I laugh, entering my closet.
An hour later, we’re pulling up to an open gate outside the house of Lords. It’s about fifteen minutes from Barrington’s campus off a two-lane road. It was a hotel back in the day that was given to them. All members must live in the house during their duration of college. Matt moved in his freshman year. You’re not welcome to be here unless they are throwing a party. Otherwise, the gate is closed, and the property is off-limits to outsiders.
Two men stand on either side of the gate dressed in black cloaks and white masks, resembling skeletons.
A building comes into view at the end of a long and curvy drive. The renovated hotel stands five stories tall with large windows. Its white brick with black shutters makes it look designed for the rich. Six columns are decorated with black garland wrapped around them from top to bottom. Spotlights are placed strategically on the ground to illuminate the site of the party.
It has a large roundabout with a pond in the middle with a fountain on either side and a white arched walkway across the center. Men and women stand on it with their drinks, some smoking cigarettes.
After pulling into a parking spot to the left, we get out of the car. “Are you sure we’re invited?” I ask.
“Of course.” She waves me off. “Everyone is.”
“But Matt has never let me come here.” Not even during the parties. He said even though I was off-limits, he didn’t even want me around the members. I never knew what he meant, and when I asked, he would get mad, blow up at me, then avoid me for a few days.
You can hear “Make Hate to Me” by Citizen Soldier blaring from the inside of the house.
Both glass doors are wide open, and we step inside. The marble floors, expensive décor, and artifacts make my mouth fall open. Now, I’ve grown up around money. My father owns a multibillion dollar business. My mother isn’t nearly as wealthy as my father, but she’s known around the world for her swimsuit spreads. That’s how they met. He saw her picture once and flew halfway across the world just to buy her coffee. Three months later, they were married. I was born six months later. Pretty sure my mom got knocked up that first night on purpose—trap the wealthy man type of situation. Then after they had me, they were done. I always begged for a sibling. Not like it would have taken time out of their days. I was raised by nannies and tutors. But this is on another level.
Everything is white as snow and polished to perfection. The walls are painted white with black and white pictures. The one on the wall to my left is a large picture of the Eiffel Tower. I’ve been there several times, and I’ve never seen it prettier than in this photo. Straight ahead is a grand staircase covered in black carpet with a matching banister. On the second floor, the platform opens up, giving the option to go left or right. The upper level is also open in the middle, allowing you to look up at the high, black-painted ceiling where chandeliers hang down to the first floor. I see multiple doors that lead to some of the rooms. An elevator in the left-hand corner must take you to the third and fourth floors.
“This place is amazing,” she whispers in awe.
“Phones, keys, and ID.”
We both turn to the right to see a man standing behind a concierge desk. He wears a black mask with Xs over his eyes and stitches for lips along with a black cloak.
“Phones, keys, and ID,” he repeats loudly over the music, holding out two baggies for us.
Walking over to him, I take them. “Why?” Sarah asks.
“Because those are the rules. Either drop your shit in the bag or get the fuck out,” he barks, handing the kid next to us a bag. He doesn’t think twice about digging his belongings out of his pockets and placing them in the bag. He zips it up before giving it back.
The guy in the mask writes on it and then places it in a cubby behind him on the wall.
“Come on.” She bats her eyes at me. “What could it hurt? It’ll be fun.” Then she starts placing her things inside hers.
“Right?!” What could it hurt? This is what I wanted to do. Get out and get some answers.
Handing him back the bag, he gives us two pieces of paper. “Write your name on the tag and place it on your shirt.” Then he clicks the pen and hands it to me.
Bending over, I write my name and then give it to her to do the same with her name tag.
“This is wild. I’ve never been to a party like this.” She grabs my arm and starts bouncing up and down excitedly. “Is this for a prize?” she asks him.
He throws his head back, laughing. We can’t see his face, but the angle gives us a clear view of his Adam’s apple moving from his laughter. “This is the start of the ritual,” he states once he’s calmed himself.
“What is that exactly?” I ask because I still haven’t gotten a direct answer.
“Don’t get too concerned. I doubt you two have anything to worry about,” he answers cryptically and then dismisses us, moving on to the next set of girls who just walked in.
“Let’s go find some alcohol.” She drags me through a hallway and into a kitchen. The room is large with industrial-size stainless-steel appliances. To the right is a bar area where people currently occupy.
It looks like any other college party. The only difference is some are dressed as the guy up front—masks and cloaks. “Who are these people?” I whisper-shout in her ear over “Needles” by Seether.
She shrugs. “If I had my phone, I’d google it.”
Something tells me Google isn’t going to know shit about the situation we’ve found ourselves in. Ritual? Sounds churchy to me that involves blood and a sacrifice. I wonder if it’s the Lords that are dressed differently. It’s no secret at Barrington who the members are as far as I know. You don’t hear much talk about them, but all I know is what Matt has told me, which isn’t much. I’ve just always assumed they were like a fraternity.
Going over to the island, I see small glass bowls lined up side by side. Each one contains pills of various colors and shapes. I recognize some as Xanax, Percocet, and Adderall. Things my mother will pop every now and then when she’s either stressed or has a headache.
“What do you want?” Sarah asks me, looking over the drinks lined up.
“I’ll have a rum and Coke, please.”
She nods her head and starts to pour me a drink. Once done, she makes herself one. We tap them together in cheers. Taking a drink, I cough. “Dear Lord.” I hiss in a breath. “Trying to kill me?”
She laughs. “No. But a good liquor coma sounds good.”
She was in rehab twice while in high school. Her mother came home during our freshman year to find her passed out on the floor in her own vomit. She took some Oxy. She’s not suicidal, but she wanted them to see her. When that didn’t work, she went to a party, got drunk off her ass, and wrapped her father’s one-of-a-kind car around a tree. She didn’t even have her license yet.
Obviously, rehab wasn’t any help. I think her parents were just glad she left for college after her senior year. She was someone else’s problem kind of attitude.
“Come on. Let’s go see what this place is all about.” She grabs my arm and pulls me out of the kitchen and through a hallway. We step into an open room. I’m guessing it was once a ballroom with high cathedral ceilings. The walls vary in shade from white and gray. The black granite floor has white vines running through it. It’s gorgeous, just like everything else I’ve seen so far.
The music is louder here. A DJ is set up in a corner at the front of the room, and he too wears a black mask and matching cloak. A long table seats every bit of twenty-four, but only one side is occupied. Twelve people sit side by side, all wearing the same black masks and cloaks overlooking the room.
“What the fuck?” I whisper in her ear over “Like Lovers Do” by Hey Violet.
“I like it.” She nods quickly, taking a drink. “Mysterious.”
It can’t be that bad, right? Not if Matt is involved. He’s a Polo and loafers while playing golf kind of guy. Not a mysterious, I’ll chase you down in an alley and kill you type of vibe. “It’s like a cult,” I mumble to her. “If they try to brand our asses, we run for it.” Fuck the keys, cell phone, and ID. I can get new ones.
She laughs like I’m joking.