Chapter Two
Chapter Two
Killian
I’m a big believer in potential.
Most people waste theirs to live a life of mediocrity and that’s perfectly okay—for them. It’s not how I choose to spend my time here, and I believe in surrounding myself with like-minded friends.
People are often judged by the company they keep, but that’s not why. Except for the rare occasion that getting something I want hinges on someone else’s opinion of me, I couldn’t give fewer fucks what people think of me. I like myself just fine, and anyone who doesn’t can fuck off.
That doesn’t mean I’m always a tactless asshole, but I certainly can be.
Is it possible I could miscalculate and offend someone who would have made a better friend than a foe? Sure. But there are plenty of people in the world, and I’ve found precious few (read: none) to be irreplaceable. It’s worth a few casualties to preserve the habit of not wasting my time.
The redhead on my left is not only wasting my time, she’s annoying me with a slew of questions that grow more and more desperate and tedious as I continue to be uninterested in her.
She has potential for somebody, but not for me.
Besides, I’m not here tonight for a girl.
I’m here to observe the lame-ass Rho Kappa Halloween party instead of enjoying the significantly better one my friend is hosting tonight.
“So, what are you supposed to be?” the girl asks, given it has been a whole eight seconds since the last word was uttered.
My gaze shifts in her direction, and her eyes widen at the possibility that she has finally caught my attention.
Not that she has trouble getting attention, but she can’t seem to capture mine and that’s what tells her it’s worth having. She knows I’m tall and well-built, but she can’t even tell what I look like with this mask covering my face.
Her eyes haven’t found proof that I’m attractive, but my disinterest in her convinces her I must be. If I weren’t an attractive package myself, I’d be eager for attention from a girl like her.
Obviously, this girl has been trained to sniff out potential even if it’s not in plain sight, and I respect that.
But I don’t have time to waste on her tonight.
I’ve got a job to do, and I won’t be distracted by the way that tight black bodysuit clings to her curves, or the long, toned legs encased in fishnet stockings and pretty feet in expensive heels.
She’s wearing a headband with ears on her well-cared for and perfectly styled hair.
A sexy cat. How original.
She’d probably make a decent girlfriend for a while. I can see the entire relationship we would have unfolding in my mind. Nothing long-term or serious, but she’d be a pleasant enough plaything to drag into my bed for a short time. The crazy would set in when she realized she couldn’t untrain me to be an uncaring asshole even after I’d fucked her a few dozen times. It would be dramatic and unpleasant. She’d feel like I wasted her time, and she’d be right.
I know she’s not for me.
She doesn’t know that, though.
Her blue eyes brighten when my gaze lands on her, and she eyes my mask with interest. It’s a gouged skull with deep, empty eye sockets that bleed blue all the way down to the mouth, which is turned up in a wicked grin.
“Death of the middle class,” I answer dryly.
Her eyebrows rise, but her eyes dim with confusion.
I barely had any interest in her, but any glimmer I might have had wanes. “A blue blood.”
She smiles without comprehension and nods politely, confirming my suspicion that she must be a townie. She’s not bright enough to go to this school, and she’s certainly not familiar with the campus lore. “Can you drink in that thing?” she asks.
I stare at her for a moment, the empty nothingness of my mask’s black eye sockets a mirror of the empty expression she would find underneath if I weren’t wearing it. “No, I can’t drink with a mask covering my entire face.”
“Right.” Self-consciously, she tucks a chunk of her glossy hair back behind her ear. “Um… maybe you should take it off,” she says with a brave, fragile smile that tells me just how quickly I could break her spirit.
Forget a brief relationship. In one night, I could decimate this pretty kitty and leave her with issues she would carry into her next few relationships.
Luckily for her, I’m not interested in making an impression.
“I could get us drinks,” she offers. “Maybe we could… go somewhere quieter and—”
I don’t bother letting her finish. “No, thanks.”
She’s quiet for several seconds, then she says, “Do you have a girlfriend or something?”
Maybe I should be honest and let her grapple with the reality that she just isn’t liked by someone despite her charms, but she feels so unfairly matched, I take pity on her and lie. “Yes.”
Relief lightens her expression. “Oh. Okay, that makes sense.” She flashes me a smile, her confidence back in place. “Too bad.” She gives me one last flirty look, then, mercifully, fucks off and leaves me alone.
Now that the cat girl isn’t intent on distracting me, I turn my focus to the leader of this particular pack—Kyle Roarke.
Kyle is one of the most generic people I’ve ever had the displeasure of meeting. The fabric of his entire personality seems to be scraps he stole from others and stitched together into what he thought would be popular.
I get it. Not everyone can be the genuine article, and most people probably adapt little pieces and parts from those they admire, but Kyle is so fucking artless about it, he should have to pay royalties to the people he rips off.
Who told this asshole Silvan was going to be a Viking tonight?
He’s a shabbier version, of course.
Silvan’s costume is high quality with real fur and gold accents a true Viking would pillage for. Silvan has known what he wanted his costume to be for a while and grew his hair out in preparation, so even his long Viking hair is authentic.
Kyle’s hair is short and he lacks the foresight—not to mention the dedication—to prepare for a one-night role with such commitment. He’s wearing a godawful wig, nylon and frizzy, with a shine that makes him look even cheaper than he is.
Silvan looks like he stepped off a ship ready to pillage villages. Meanwhile, Kyle looks like what you’d get if you ordered a Viking on Wish.
I’m not surprised by this shit anymore, just amused.
You’d think the fucker wouldn’t be so goddamn transparent about trying to be something he never will be, but I guess he’ll keep pretending as long as there are idiots dumb enough to buy the pilfered goods he’s selling.
Any idiot can find a friend, and Kyle has plenty.
None of them made the cut, either.
Being left out of something so exclusive didn’t sit right with the entitled assholes, so they decided to do what they always do: copy us.
Forget how fucking ridiculous the notion is.
Our society is legitimate. It was founded nearly 200 years ago and has an established (but secret) roster of powerful men who have come together and achieved great things with the help of their small, loyal group of friends. Our history is established, our laws as good as blood oaths, our philosophy proven again and again by every graduating class since the first group of just five.
Five friends who were truly loyal to one another, exchanging secrets and certain intimacies that bonded them, and while sure, civilized society might find that bonding process a bit depraved, I’m more interested in the benefits of the society as it exists today than I am its sordid history. That’s what will benefit me and take me where I want to go in life, to assure my success and that of my brothers, and it was built upon the backs of the founding five.
Whatever their kinks, I appreciate the originals.
It was on this night 173 years ago that the founders kidnapped the girl two of them were interested in, dragged her into the woods behind the school, and took turns defiling the pretty little virgin.
Nothing can come between two Blue Bloods, after all.
Our bond has to be strong enough to surpass any conflict. If something comes between us, we have to find a way to squash it and move on because we are bonded to each other for life. That’s the only way this works.
Of course, Kyle and his idiot friends don’t understand the significance behind what happened that night. Only those selected to be a part of this club know the full history behind it, but since that tidbit of our history is a bit sordid—and, of course, completely unconfirmed—it’s something that comes up when people talk about the possibility of secret societies on campus.
Officially, there are none.
But, of course, there are.
Two of them. The other one is more vanilla, more traditional. If you’re not some politician’s son (or of use to some politician’s son) then you can fuck right off thinking you’ll get into that one, but I wouldn’t want to be, anyway.
I got tapped to join the only club I was interested in, and Kyle Roarke did not.
So, according to our intel, Kyle and his chosen “brothers” are planning to defile their own virgin tonight and found their own society.
Ridiculous.
I’m not worried about competition. We don’t consider them that.
What we are worried about is these stupid fucks doing something so goddamn illegal in such a blatant, artless fucking way that they raise the alarm on campus about secret societies. All it takes is for the copycats to fuck up and cry “secret society,” and the real ones will be put under a microscope.
Of course, the university is aware of old, exclusive, secret clubs like ours, but they’re able to ignore us as long as we aren’t clumsy enough to attract too much of the wrong kind of attention.
And we aren’t.
But these guys are.
When they get caught, they won’t go quietly and keep their mouths shut. They’ll sing like birds, maybe even try to say they are Blue Bloods in an attempt to invoke the club’s protections.
Which they won’t get, but that could lead to a lot of headaches for us, and that is not how I want to spend my senior year.
I watch from across the room as Kyle circulates. I’ve been watching him since I got here. It hasn’t been a very interesting surveillance. Mostly, he’s just hitting on every girl who will talk to him and sporadically checking in with his friend Tyler.
An oblivious couple walks in front of me, momentarily blocking my view of Kyle.
I’m bored of watching him and I am getting thirsty, but I can’t drink in this goddamn mask. Can’t take it off, either. They’re not smart enough to realize I’m blatantly dressed as a “blue blood” at their party and make the connection that way, but they’d recognize my face. They don’t know I’m a Blue Blood, but they strongly suspect I am, and I don’t want to spook them into putting off what they’ve got planned for tonight.
I suppose I could sneak outside for a few minutes and unmask somewhere no one would see me.
I’m just about to step away when something catches my attention. A cape of delicate white lace trailing behind a pretty brunette with chocolate brown curls. Her costume is modest and provocative at the same time. White thigh highs keep much of her legs covered despite her wearing a bodice structure that covers little more than a swimsuit, but a swatch of creamy thigh is exposed—just enough to be strangely sexier than being able to see her entire bare leg.
What an unusual costume. I’m more distracted by it than I was by the cat.
I don’t like to be kept wondering about things, so I’m about to walk over to her when, to my immense displeasure, she gently grabs Kyle’s shoulder from behind.
He looks back at her and there’s a spark of familiarity I don’t appreciate.
She smiles a bright, open smile.
Disappointment settles in my gut when he turns around to greet her, looping an arm around her waist and pulling her against him for a hug she doesn’t seem to hate.
Well, that’s an unpleasant turn of events.
I watch for another moment or two to make sure she wasn’t just saying hi before wandering off, but she stays by his side. I watch as she smiles and laughs, watch her follow him to the beverage table to get drinks.
At least she’s smart enough to not let him get her a drink she hasn’t had eyes on the entire time.
Not that she seems worried about that.
I can’t quite believe it—and I don’t know why it bothers me—but the girl seems to have come here for him.
Which can mean only one thing.
She’s the sacrificial virgin.
It makes sense given her costume, but why would she be dressed for the occasion? Only a severely disturbed individual would consensually take part in something so fucked up.
I suppose he could have lied to her, only told her about the one part, but if I’m trusting my gut on this, the brunette does not seem like a girl who would sign up to have a few frat-boy fucks run a train on her, either.
It’s probably the costume, but there’s something about her that strikes me as innocent. Whether it’s true or not, I’m convinced she’s ignorant of the danger she’s in.
And I’m the only help she’s got.
Doesn’t bode well for her.
I watch them talk for a few minutes before Kyle finds a reason to lead her out of the room, probably looking for somewhere quieter so they can “talk.”
It’s a little harder to follow him this way without being noticed, but I’m the guy they sent for a reason. I can be plenty stealthy when I need to be.
The girl glances back over her shoulder uncertainly as they walk through a dark, empty room with couches. I hear her say, “This seems like a good place,” and Christ, her voice. So melodic, the perfect pitch. The way it hits my ears…
I’ve never found someone’s voice attractive before, but it feels like I could listen to her speak all night long and still crave more.
But Kyle tells her he has a better place, so she keeps following him.
Unease creeps down my spine, and I pull my phone out of my pocket. We all agreed that Silvan probably has the best alibi tonight since he’s throwing a party and people wouldn’t expect him to leave it. He’s also the most connected Blue Blood on our current roster, so I text him first. “Hey, you free? I might need some backup.”
When Kyle leads the girl through the kitchen, I can’t follow. That room is too empty and too open, so I hang back and watch. He opens a door and gestures for her to walk in ahead of him.
I’ve already checked out the floorplan of the house, so I know that door leads to the basement.
She’s not dumb enough to follow this fucker down into the basement, right?
She glances up at him uncertainly. He smiles to reassure her. Then she walks through the doorway like a goddamn lamb to the slaughter.
Goddammit.
I check my phone, but Silvan hasn’t read my message. I back out of that one and text Shane instead. “Silvan isn’t answering my text. Have you seen him?”
He reads my text a second later and answers, “Yeah, he’s distracted by some girl.”
I frown. Distracted by some girl? That doesn’t sound like Silvan.
“I’m free though. What do you need?” Shane asks.
“Not sure yet, but Kyle just led some girl literally dressed like a virgin sacrifice down to their basement, so I think something is about to go down.”
“Lol fucking subtle, isn’t he?”
Irritation rubs up against me, but it’s unwarranted. It’s not like I came here tonight to be a knight in shining armor. I didn’t give a fuck about the random girl Kyle had chosen to victimize, I just didn’t want his bullshit to come back on us.
But now, Shane’s cavalier attitude toward the harm she’ll come to if I don’t get down there and intervene in time annoys me a little.
It would help if I knew how many men were in that basement.
Five founded our society, but that number can change as long as the group stays small. It depends on how many prospective members there are in the incoming freshmen class. Maybe none and we tap a sophomore or junior that has shown up on our radar instead. Most years, we only tap one or two new members. This year, we only tapped Dare. That gives us eight members.
If they’re following the same format, I would guess anywhere from five to eight guys are waiting in that basement for her, and while I’m more than capable of handling myself, I’m not John fucking Wick. I don’t know if I can take on all of them without a little help.
We figured Kyle and his cronies might drag a girl into the woods behind the frat house so he could copy the original event as closely as possible. The woods behind the school where the original ritual actually happened would be too far unless they drove her there, and that would open them up to a lot of trouble if the girl put up a fight.
There is a walkout cellar in the basement that opens to their backyard, but I don’t want to wait outside. What if I’m wrong? What if she never leaves that basement until they’re done with her?
I can’t say what kind of shape she’ll be in then. If she’ll even be alive. I don’t know exactly what they have planned, and there’s only one way to find out.