Page 258 of The Invite
Love.
Laughter.
My Nessa.
CHAPTER – 65
Nessa
The Massacre Ball is an affair beyond my wildest dreams.
Huge double iron-wrought gates with vines curling around the bars looming ahead beckons sinners and innocents alike to dip their toes into the wickedness waiting inside.
My imagination fell terribly short in picturing its aura and popularity.
The queue to enter is a mile long, stretching to the end of the block. I don’t know how security will handle the crowd from trampling over each other once they start letting them in.
Augustus and I arrived here an hour ago. Unlike the general crowd, we entered through a private entrance marked as VVIP. Very, very important people. The brief glimpse of the massacre style set up with blood and gore sent a chill down my spine. Apparently for this year’s theme, it’s exactly what the name suggests.
Is it another omen for us?
What’s more forbidding than the ball itself is its mysterious founders.
No one knows who they are. If they belong to this town. Or how many of them there are. It shows how much power they have to keep their identities hidden.
Until Augustus and I went inside, I had completely forgotten about the meet and greet that he was participating in and appearing as@thedeviluworship.
We first went to meet the organizer of the meet and greet. I stood in a corner while Augustus chatted with him privately.
Now as I’m watching him switch his mask for a shiny helmet and slide on a tight biker jacket that stretches tight around his biceps, I’m brimming with jealousy and a savage impulse to stake my claim on him.
How dare they worship and fawn over him when he’smydevil?
I own Augustus Grayson.
Every side of him.
Call me crazy but I don’t want to share him and watch from the sidelines. I don’t give a flying fuck that it comes with the territory of being a viral biker.
A red haze appears in my vision and I’m seconds away from acting on the urge when I feel him crowd my personal space, his scent invading my lungs, and tremble as he unties my mask. Only to replace it with the purple helmet.
Tipping the visor up, he meets my confused gaze, and says, “I wouldn’t be a devil without my little demon by my side, would I?”
I feel sucker punched. My heart galloping behind my ribs.
His intention becomes clear, making my head dizzy.
Interlacing our fingers, he leads me from the backstage area into the large circular tent like we’re in a circus, lined withred-and-black booths. Each has a photo stand to take pictures with the fans, rectangular tables displaying cards to sign, and a 3D virtual banner playing their online videos.
The atmosphere is dripping with anticipation. The dark color scheme blends with the anonymity of the bikers and masked men everyone is here to meet.
An undercurrent of tension and wildness pulses in the temperature. It raises goosebumps along my skin. Putting me in a trance. A giddy excitement bubbles inside my stomach. And I haven’t even explored the rest of the rooms, especially the big haunted castle.
I survey the place and notice a few people lingering.
No clue when they’ll start letting the fans inside.
I find Augustus’s booth right away and almost trip after seeing who the one adjacent to his belongs to.
