Chapter nine
It figured the elusive Mischief Night would be held in the middle of a gothic cemetery on the outskirts of the city. This place was creepy during the day. At night, it was downright terrifying. The moonlight reflected off the lake, lighting our way.
An eerie chill covered my skin in goosebumps as a guy in a hooded robe led Tatum and me past stone mausoleums and underneath tall, looming trees. Concrete statues of angels and saints stared down at us, cracked and broken. The sounds of their ghostly cries echoed with the wind in the branches of the trees.
We ended up in front of a tomb built to look like a cathedral, all white with a domed roof and a steeple. Two lion statues guarded the entrance, which opened to a stairway that led underground. Flaming torches lit up the stone walls, like something straight out of the medieval times.
We stopped at a heavy, wooden door covered in intricate carvings, all gothic and celestial. Another guy in a similar hooded robe and mask pointed to a large steel bowl filled with red glass and fire. The flames licked the glass, bouncing reflections onto the ceiling and the walls around us. Tatum tossed her invitation into the bowl, and as expected, they gave me shit about going inside.
“She doesn’t have an invitation,” the hooded guy who stood in front of the door said.
Tatum grabbed my hand. “She’s with me.”
I puffed out my chest and stared the guy in the face. “Do you know who the fuck I am?” I’d just threatened to expose Kipton fucking Donahue. I wasn’t afraid of some asshole with daddy issues. I was still waiting for the moment that threat blew up in my face. In two more days, my dad would be home, and we would handle it together. Two days was a blink. I would be fine.I hope.
“No one gets in without an invitation.” The guy’s voice was firm. No inflection. No emotion. No concession.
“Okay,” Tatum said. “We’ll go.”
That got their attention.
“I know you’re new to all this, so I’ll give you a pass,” the guy told Tatum. “One pass, Huntington. That’s all you get.”
Someone wanted Tatum in this party pretty damn bad, and I had a feeling it was the same hooded guy who led us here—the one who sounded a hell of a lot like Kyle Blankenship.
He held her stare for a second longer, then he opened the door and let us in.
The inside of the underground tomb was more like a grotto. Large stone arches separated the main area from the darker, more obscure places, hidden in the shadows. A massive pool filled with sapphire blue water was in the center of it all. The blue of the water reflected off the walls and ceiling. A DJ continued mixing his club beat with ancient Latin chants from a platform suspended in mid-air.
Da pacerne domine…
Thump thumpthump
In diebus nostris…
Thump thumpthump
The low timbre of the bass gave the underground room a heartbeat. It was this heartbeat that urged me on. I grabbed two drinks, one for me and one for Tatum. She was staring down, preoccupied with her tits after watching some guy inhale cocaine off another girl’s chest. She was judging herself. I could tell.
I cupped her boob in one hand, proud she’d decided to wear the corset. “You’re perfect. Your tits are perfect. You don’t need some dude with a bad habit and greedy nostrils to tell you that.” Then, for emphasis, I grabbed a lemon from a bowl on the bar and shoved it in her cleavage. I leaned forward and sucked it between my lips, then looked up at her like,See? Fucking perfect.
She shook her head as if she was embarrassed, but her face lit up with a smile.
Then Kyle showed up, maskless this time.
I fucking knew it. The guy had it bad.
I downed my drink in one long pull, then tossed my empty cup into a round plastic barrel. “I’m going to dance.” I threw a wink over my shoulder as I moved into the crowd. “You kids behave.”
Blue lights created neon shadows on everyone’s faces. Beneath the shadows were flashes of smiles and glints of eyes full of mischief. Two guys walked up to me as I started to dance. Strong, thick hands caressed my body, pulling me closer from all sides.
I wished it was Lincoln.
I wanted it to be Lincoln.
But he turned me down.
It wasn’t like he would have been able to touch me like this in public anyway. All I had was the sticky reminder of his visit rubbing from my panties onto my cunt every time I moved. In a weird way, it turned me on knowing part of him was here with me, knowing that if I stuck my hands inside my panties, I would feel him on my fingers. That if I inhaled deep enough, maybe I would still smell him, that I still smelled like him.