Total pages in book: 175
Estimated words: 164346 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 822(@200wpm)___ 657(@250wpm)___ 548(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 164346 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 822(@200wpm)___ 657(@250wpm)___ 548(@300wpm)
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.