Page 1 of Raise Hell

Prologue

SIX MONTHS AGO

The Bacchanal is supposedto be a night of excess. Too much sex. Too many drugs.

It’s initiation night for the senior members of Havoc House, cementing them as brothers in arms after graduation and beyond. They’ll enjoy the benefits of membership for life.

But let’s be honest, tonight is just an excuse to throw the biggest party of the year.

Next year, it will be my turn.

I’m so close to being done with all this shit that I can practically taste it.

Half-naked girls shriek in fear and excitement as they scamper through the trees. Bare-chested guys in skull masks chase them through the darkness.

This night is about fulfilling all of our darkest desires.

But not murder.

A large shape on the ground catches my attention as I wander through the trees.

The shape of a girl.

At first, I think she might just be passed out.

The girl lies facedown on the ground. All I can see is tangled blonde hair filled with leaves and bits of twig. For about half a second, I tell myself it’s just a prank. This has to be a full-size doll or particularly lifelike crash dummy laid out to spook whoever is lucky enough to walk by.

I kneel on the grass. Cold liquid seeps into the fabric of my jeans. Just like the others, I’m not wearing a shirt. The chill wind blowing over my bare chest feels like the icy breath of the Grim Reaper.

Death is coming.

Then I turn her over.

Her face is so bruised and bloody that even her own family wouldn’t recognize her.

I hear a shriek behind me. Anya Davenport comes running out of the shadows, her too high heels sinking into the dense ground so she stumbles as she reaches me.

Anya is precisely the kind of girl who wears sky-high heels while running around the woods in the middle of the night.

“Oh my God. Who is that?”

I don’t look away from the girl’s face. “No fucking idea.”

“Is she dead?”

“Do I look like a doctor?”

“We need to call for help.”

Words I’ve heard over and over again whisper through my head.

Havoc business stays inside Havoc House.

If I call the police, then this party is over. There might not be any parties following it ever again. The school administration turns a blind eye to our activities most of the time, and so do the local police. Havoc House has always had free rein on the campus of St. Bartholomew’s College.

That will change if the authorities find out we let a girl get hurt like this.

Things have gone wrong at our parties before, of course. That kind of thing is inevitable when this much alcohol and sexual tension is involved. Worst-case scenario, some chick gets dropped off at the door of the emergency room so she can get her stomach pumped. We’re responsible for what happens out here, but there is a long history of otherwise reasonable adults looking the other way when Havoc Boys get into trouble.

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