25. The President Gala #2
“It isn’t just me and Corey.” Candace says. “Several other guys are starting to date a little more seriously. Even Tucker hasn’t been partying as hard as usual lately. The only ones who might graduate still single are Connor and Keene.”
That statement stops me in my tracks. “Why do you say that?”
“Come on,” Candace chuckles. “It’s more than obvious that they both have a thing for you, Bex. You might not have noticed, but it’s written all over their faces whenever they look at you.”
I wonder if Candace would understand if I told her about my relationship with my three boyfriends.
I think she would, and I almost decide to say something, but I want to make sure the guys are ok with it first. Besides, this isn’t the time or place to get into a lengthy discussion about relationships, and I really do need to use the bathroom.
“Connor and Keene are amazing men.” I just say.
“Any woman would be lucky to catch their eye. I’ll see you in a few minutes, Candace. I really have to go.”
The Zeta president stops me by grabbing my forearm.
“I shouldn’t tell you anything because I’m going to make the announcement later, but you won the secret kissing game.
You guessed correctly that your secret kiss was Keene.
So you won a date with him. Do you think Jamie will be ok with you going out with one of his roommates? ”
I’m going to speak to the guys and tell Candace about our dating situation tomorrow.
“Jamie and Keene are best friends. I’m sure Jamie will be fine. I need to go now, or I’ll have an accident.”
“Sorry.” Candace giggles. “Make sure to be picture ready. We’ll take some photos for our website when we announce the price.”
“You got it.” I smile.
I don’t encounter anyone past the foyer, and the house is quiet once I reach the first floor.
The presidential suite is on the top floor, together with all the executive rooms. I climb the extra flight of stairs already regretting the decision of buying such high heels. But what can a girl do when she wants to wear a long dress and her twin brother got all the tall genes in the family?
Candace’s room is the biggest in the house, but I don’t stop to admire the white and gold canopy bed, the lavender pastels of the curtains and the expensive-looking comforter on her king size bed.
I make a beeline for the en-suite bathroom and quickly relieve myself.
Remembering Candace’s request to look picture ready, I stop to reapply my red lipstick after washing my hands.
I check the rest of my appearance in the mirror above the sink.
The frame is surrounded by lights reminding me of a Hollywood star changing room.
Apparently, there’s a software that allows you to ask for more light, natural light or to magnify the mirror to your desired level, and it’s all voice controlled.
I don’t know how the old Zeta house that burned down two years ago was, but this new, high-tech mansion takes luxury to the next level.
Satisfied with my appearance, I turn around to leave the bathroom.
A noise coming from the bedroom attracts my attention. It sounds like someone came in and closed the door.
I wonder if it’s Candace or if one of my guys came upstairs looking for me in the hopes of getting some alone time.
“Candace?” I call out, crossing the bathroom threshold.
I freeze in my spot when I see a man standing against the door, blocking my way out of the room.
His face is covered with a hockey mask.
That’s all I manage to see in the split second before he turns the light off, plunging the room into darkness.
My mind is racing as fast as my pulse. This can’t be happening.
Kurt is still in custody awaiting trial. He was my stalker; he was the one who broke into our condo. The DNA he left behind was a match.
Could this be one of my father’s followers?
The harassing posts and comments have been taken down since Kurt’s very public arrest; but it’s more than possible that someone who saw those comments encouraging their followers to hurt me could have decided to punish me for what happened to their favorite hockey player.
There’s also the possibility that this could be some kind of prank. But who would do something like this?
The people partying downstairs are my friends, and no one could possibly think that this is funny.
All those thoughts go through my mind within a few seconds, but I’m none the wiser about how much danger I really am in.
The door the masked stalker is blocking is my only way out of this room unless I want to try my chances with the window.
I’m terrified of heights, and we’re on the third floor, so that isn’t really an option. Especially since the two windows in the room are on the opposite wall from where I’m standing.
I have no idea how easy those windows are to open, and they’re shaded by long curtains. He could catch me even before I managed to attempt to open the window.
Against all common sense, my best option is through that door. I need to get him to move away from it somehow.
My eyes are starting to adjust to the darkness. I can’t see that well, since the drapes are closed, but I can make out the furniture and some of the decor in the room.
The tall table lamps on the nightstands have a heavy-looking base. I dash to grab one to use as a weapon.
Shit. The lamp is obviously plugged into the wall, and the precious seconds I need to pull on the cord, ripping the plug out of the socket, are fatal.
The masked stranger lunges forward from his spot by the door.
This would be the perfect time to drop the lamp and attempt to run past him and get out of here.
But I’m not fast enough in letting go of the lamp that’s still plugged into the wall despite my efforts to free it.
He’s on me before I have the chance to do anything, and the lamp hinders my movements.
The man lands on me like a ton of bricks, using his body weight to throw me on the bed.
I lose my grip on the lamp and thrash around in a futile attempt to get the man off of me. He’s way too heavy, but even through the terror clawing at my senses, I can see that he isn’t as tall and big as Kurt.
“Stop fighting me, bitch!” He grunts, straddling me to keep me from moving and closing his hands around my throat.
His voice is familiar, and his scent too, even if right now I can’t quite place either. Fear and oxygen deprivation are clouding my senses and making it impossible to think.
The only thing that takes over is the need to breathe and to fight to get out of his vise-like hold.
The ringtone of my phone cuts through the man’s grunts and my desperate gasps for air.
It’s in my small, sparkly evening clutch. I must have dropped it when I tried to grab the lamp.
It must be one of the guys wondering where I am.
If I don’t answer it, I know they’ll come looking for me. My only hope is to stay alive long enough for them to find me.
Even though I can’t answer it, the phone is helpful as a distraction.
The masked man turns his head to look for the source of the sound, and he loosens his hold on my neck just a fraction.
It’s enough for me to gasp some precious oxygen into my lungs and to try to escape his grasp.
The need for air, however, is my downfall. I don’t react fast enough, and my attempt to hit him is so weak that the only effect of the swipe of my hands is to knock the mask off his face.
I gasp in surprise when I recognize Kevin, one of my dance partners.
“Kev—” I rasp.
But the words die in my mouth when his heavy fist connects with the upper part of my face and everything goes dark.