Page 111 of Ruthless Chaos
I bite my tongue to stop from vomiting again.
TWENTY-EIGHT
ALEXANDER
“You’re sure about this?”I ask Ezra for the third time, as we trek through the overgrown thigh-high grass.
Ezra, who is a few steps ahead of me, responds by saying, “One hundred percent. My father’s friend sent him an extra invitation, but he couldn’t fly in today, so he asked me if I wanted to go in his stead.”
I grunt, but don’t respond.
Ezra has no reason to lie, especially about something this fucked up. Why would anyone try to force my hand like this? I regret not killing Keller.
Then everyone would know not to fuck with what’s mine.
“You’ve got to keep your cool, man,” Ezra says, as if sensing my thoughts. “At least until we figure out what’s going on and get her out of there.”
Ezra thinks the invitation is some sort of gag, an inside joke within the ranks of the Hemlock House Council to scare the freshmen.
He thinks we’re going to walk in and realize we’re mistaken.
Part of me wants to believe he’s right, because the other thought—that they could literally be auctioning off Allie’s first time to the highest bidder—threatens to ignite a murderous rage within me.
I brought my gun. Just in case.
The venue for their “charity auction,” is the old drama building.
The whole structure was decommissioned two years ago after a land dispute, and a new building was constructed on the other end of campus. Because of this, the location for the auction falls just outside the boundaries of the university.
Nobody can convince me that wasn’t intentional.
When the building comes into view, it’s lit up with bright lights and there are a few dozen town cars and SUVs parked outside. I hasten my steps.
The closer I get, the more rage heats my blood.
“Your father’s into this kind of shit?” I say, glancing at Ezra.
He’s worried—his brow is wrinkled, and he’s twisting the edges of his kinky hair. Does he really believe this is a bit, or was he just saying that to keep me calm?
“He’s my father, not my friend,” Ezra says, frowning. “I don’t approve of his vices, but what the hell am I going to do about them?”
The warble of an amplified feminine voice and raucous laughter bleeds through the walls. There are definitely men inside.
This is looking less like a prank with each passing second.
There’s a guard stationed out front, too. A tall, burly guy dressed in full black. He’s got a bored look on his face but perks up when we approach.
“We’re here for the charity auction.” I force the words out, pulling a smile filled with more threat than humor. “Let us inside.”
The man doesn’t bristle. He looks between Ezra and me.
“Invitations,” he says, stretching out a hand.
Ezra shows him the invitation on his phone. The bouncer looks up at him, then at me.
“Welcome, Mr. Harrington,” he says, opening the door. He allows Ezra to pass, but holds a hand up when I try to step through the threshold. “If you don’t have an invitation, I can’t let you in.”
The bouncer and I are the same height, though he’s stockier than I am. I’m sure I can take him in a fist fight, but I’m not in the mood for a messy spat.
