Page 118 of The Deceptions
I snort, tying my tennis shoe. "I should be asking you the same thing. You were wasted last night. How's the hangover?"
Simon grins. "What hangover? There's no hangover here. Only this guy, ready to take some shots." His brows wiggle playfully. "And you're going to be okay with all that..." He gestures to my body again. He doesn't cringe or turn pale like Jordy usually does. So, that's an improvement. Maybe Simon should become my number one bestie instead of Jordy. In fact, I pull out my phone and text that very thing to him.
Jordy
Really? I thought it was bros before hoes... Besties for the resties. Are you going back on your word now? Rude.
Also, send me a pic of him... ;)
I snort, typing out a quick response. A big fat fuck no. He can come here and take all the pictures he wants. I'm not his middleman. So, I accompany the message with three middle finger emojis and then silence the damn thing. Once he gets going, he'll never shut up, and I need all the concentration I can get tonight. Besides, we both have important cases to focus on.
As Dexter says–tonight is the night.
Initiation interest night. Where I put my name in the jar and hope they pick me. And if they don't? Well, I’ll cross that bridge when I get to it.
"This will be fun, right?" I ask, grinning when I stand, cringing when my binder pushes in on my bruise.
Damn you, Brutus. I'm going to remember you for as long as I live. Or for as long as I'm here. Which, hopefully, isn't long. I'm not sure how much more torture I can take by being in Greenwood and surrounded by them. Every time I see them, I swear they chip away a piece of me. Haven't they gotten enough with my death? Apparently, not. Not that they have any clue I'm the one they murdered.
"Yeah, if you can last all night," he tsks at me, shaking his head. “You give me the signal, and we'll come back and do this." He points to the bed. “It's been a hot minute since I've been able to curl up in bed and just relax with Buffy," he sighs, dreamily.
"I'll be fine," I say, waving a hand.
"Well, if you're not. Just say fried pickles or something, and that'll be our cue to vacate the party."
"Fried pickles it is," I snort.
"Then, let's roll out." He waves me on, and I follow him out of our dorm and through the window into the night.
Loud thumping musicis the first indication that we're getting close to the party. The second is everyone walking around us dressed in short dresses and nice shirts, whispering to each other excitedly about what's to come—something I haven't prepared for. I'm not sure what I'm expecting at a party set in the middle of a graveyard with booze and food. But I guess I'm about to find out.
"So, a graveyard party?" I cringe at the thought of who in their right mind would want to spend their night drinking, eating, and being merry at a damn cemetery. Partying over dead bodies isn't my idea of a good time. Especially since my name sits on one of those gravestones.
My dead body, specifically. Did they do this to gloat about their evil ways? Show everyone who they really are? Fuck. I need to keep my wits about me tonight and not drink so much. Even though my body calls for the numbing effects of the alcohol. It's a bad crutch to have. I know that. But my vices are mine to carry.
Also, I think I'll have to babysit Simon. From what little I know about him, he's a lush. With junk food, alcohol, and binge-watching our favorite shows. He can't get enough. Plus, I kind of want to keep him safe. He's my ally, after all. And I can't lose my newest best friend.Take that, Jordy.
"They do it every year," Simon snorts, lifting his chin with a grin, looking over the heads of the people slowly walking before us toward the guarded gates of the graveyard. "It's a tradition for them or something. They throw another one around Halloween. Right before everyone leaves for a week's break. Hell, they do it whenever they want, really. But this is the important one."
"Every year, huh?" I question as we march through the grass. "Why's this one so important?" Even though I already know the answer.
Because it's the initiation party where they try to convince the people on campus to join their frat.Pick me!I need in. I need to figure out how they're streamlining their frat members into becoming gang members, too. The question for me is: how? How is that fucking happening? And why doesn't anyone else talk about it? Do their frat members run jobs for them?
It's the burning questions I need to figure out before I jump headfirst into their damn frat. But I can't if no one knows the answers on the outside of it all. Damn it, this is going to be harder than I initially thought. My only worry was facing them again and again, which I'd rather not do. Give me an acid bath or something, rather than seeing them daily.
Simon grins. "It's their initiation party. Drink, fuck, and be merry. Also, drop your name into their little sorting jar of destiny." Jar of destiny? What an interesting way to bring people into your gang. A jar. It used to be proving yourself to Franco by taking a life or bloodying someone up.
"And what happens when they pick your name?" We come to a halt in the grass just outside the iron fence surroundingthe booming graveyard. He wasn't kidding when he said they had an all-out party. There are people everywhere with drinks in their hands. Food tables are set up around the perimeter. How the hell aren't people falling over their feet on the gravestones? Especially the drunk ones.
Simon snorts. "Oh, they're very selective with who they pick. Some years, they don't pick anyone." He rolls his eyes. "Have to have connections. Daddy's in all the right places. Moms, too. If your parents can further their dad's pockets, then count yourself in." Well, fuck. I don't have parents who can further Franco's pockets. Not anymore.
"Have you tried?"
Simon eyes me and frowns. "Twice. But I was never selected. But that's okay. My dad wanted me in for the connections and shit, but..." He waves a hand at that. "I'd rather not have to go through their initiations."
I shiver. "What kind of initiations?"
"They're not allowed to talk about them. But I've heard rumors of kidnappings, deadly paintballs..." he trails off, taking in the crowd with a gleam in his eyes. Yes. This is where Simon flourishes. Within the crowds of his peers. He's an extrovert, thriving off them to reenergize his soul. And as for me? I'd rather not. But I'm pretending. Being someone else is quite exhausting. And annoying. I can't wait to go home and be in regular clothes with my normal personality.
