Page 2 of Raise Hell

But this is something different.

“We need to do something,” I murmur, even though I have no idea what that should be. We’re at least a mile into the forest that surrounds the campus. I’m either going to need help carrying her out or hiding her body, depending on how this situation shakes out. “Go find me the nearest Havoc Boy. Now.”

Instead of doing what she’s told, Anya puts a hand on my shoulder that I resist the urge to shake off. “Are you okay?”

I can’t stop a burst of dark laughter, even though nothing about any of this is funny. Anya stares at me with wide eyes like I’m the one who just got the absolute shit kicked out of me. Her reaction isn’t a surprise. Nobody is going to care about the anonymous girl sprawled at my feet. Everyone knows the score when they show up for the Bacchanal.

This is a night where anything goes.

Not that it makes this right.

When I glare up at her, Anya takes an involuntary step back.

“Just go,” I growl. “You won’t like what happens if I have to tell you again.”

The simpering expression on her face changes, eyes widening with true fear.

I know what I look like, especially tonight.

My mask covers most of my face. Filigreed flowers decorate the crown. Twisted ram’s horns protrude from the top of a demonic and skeletal face that wouldn’t be out of place in the pits of hell. All that’s visible is my eyes and the lips I twist into an angry frown. Made of heavy porcelain and hand-painted with metallic black, the mask could be a work of art.

All of our masks are slightly unique, individually handcrafted by some artisan in Venice, but the general theme is the same.

Lotus flowers and skulls.

The lotus represents our endless pursuit for hedonistic pleasure.

A human skull carries obvious symbolism, besides just being generally threatening.

Havoc House is for life and death.

The Havoc House pin, a human skull with a lotus flower carved over one eye, that we wear on the collar of shirts might as well be stuck into our skin.

Even when you’re not wearing it, the mark it leaves never fades.

I lean over the girl again. Her features are vaguely recognizable, but I still can’t place her.

I’m careful not to get any of her blood on me as I try to check if she is still breathing. Blood is evidence of what happened here. It’s messed up that I’m already considering the criminal implications of this, but it is what it is.

Havoc House is more important than one girl who was stupid enough to show up for the Bacchanal.

The pulse in her neck is weak, but there. I have to watch for almost an entire minute, but eventually her chest rises with a shallow breath.

Still alive, at least for now.

Her dress is torn to shreds, revealing a delicate pink bra printed with roses. The panties are missing, and I look away from her bruised thighs in disgust.

I’d like to think none of the guys in Havoc House could be responsible for this.

Not that it matters — this is our night. Everyone is going to think it was one of us.

The sound of someone crashing through the trees makes me tense. A painted skull mask appears first, lotus flowers over the eyes shimmering in the moonlight. Even though the thing completely covers his face, I know who it is.

“What do we have here?” Brady — one of the graduating seniors — asks, slowing as he catches sight of me.

“A problem.” I shift out of the way so he can see the girl sprawled on the ground in front of me.

Brady takes a few more steps into the clearing. He stops short when he catches sight of the girl. “Jesus Christ. What did you do?”

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