Page 23

CHAPTER 22

I have no idea what Benny Boy put in that drink, but whatever it was, paired with the other…oh, three or four I’ve had, has me feeling really damn good. Warm, weightless, and maybe a little dangerous.

My body sways beside Benson, moving to the beat like it’s my own private rhythm. I don’t give a damn who’s watching. Except, I do, because they are.

Aidric, Sebastian, and Callan.

Their eyes follow my every move like they own me. And maybe for tonight, I’ll let them think they do.

I wonder what they’re talking about, or plotting, rather.

It’s hard not to notice that something’s been off with Callan lately. That moment in the kitchen when I first got here was almost normal. It felt like I was talking to the old Callan. The one I knew before we had sex. Before everything got twisted and cold.

For a split second, it felt like the old feelings I buried years ago were starting to resurface. The ones I had before he started treating me like I was nothing.

I still can’t forget what he said about me breaking his heart. It still haunts me and at the same time, it doesn’t make sense. He’s the one who turned on me. Maybe one day I’ll have the courage to ask him what he meant. But not tonight. Not when his eyes are on me like I never hurt him at all.

I’m starting to realize this is my life now. At least for a while.

To protect myself, and my mom, I’m keeping my mouth shut. I won’t tell anyone about the twisted, messed-up shit they’ve done.

The truth is, I don’t even know the full extent of it. I don’t know what they’ve done that I haven’t uncovered yet. There are secrets buried in this house, ones my curiosity is dying to unearth.

I watch them just as closely as they watch me. I’m not sure why. Maybe I’m waiting for an opening, a moment to slip past their gazes and dig deeper into whatever shadows they’ve hidden.

Callan twists the cap off a bottle of water, cool, calm, and collected, smiling at something Sebastian just said. And God, it’s a beautiful fucking smile.

Sebastian flicks a glance in my direction, but when he catches me watching, his eyes lock on mine and fire rips through my veins.

He nudges Aidric, who shifts his focus to me. Under the backlights, Aidric’s eyes practically glow.

He swirls the glass in his hand, the ice clinking softly in the caramel-colored liquid. Then he lifts it to his mouth, lips curling behind the rim in a knowing grin.

All three of them have their hooks in me, but I’ve got my claws in them, too. And I’m starting to think they don’t just keep me close to protect their secrets. They like the thrill of the chase. The push and pull, not knowing what I’ll do next.

Well, if it’s a chase they want, it’s a chase they’ll get. This cat likes to test her nine lives.

I push myself onto my tiptoes, lips brushing close to Benson’s ear. “Be right back,” I whisper.

I slip into the crowd, heart pounding and a smile on my lips because now, it’s my move.

Without looking back, I don’t stop until I’m at the bottom of the staircase. I don’t know if they’re following, but I keep moving like they are.

As I close the door behind me, I stumble a little, catching myself against the wall. A giggle escapes me. Those drinks definitely aren’t doing me any favors, but maybe a little recklessness is exactly what I need.

I scan the room, eyes darting past all the unfamiliar faces, “Alone in a Room” by Asking Alexandria vibrating in my chest. The air tastes like cheap vodka, reminding me that I need another drink.

I shoulder my way through the crowd, brushing past bodies, ignoring the conversations and sidelong glances. When I reach the kitchen, I head straight for the refrigerator where my alcohol is.

A pale girl with inky black hair and eyeliner smeared like war paint around her eyes stands in front of it, an angry scowl on her face as she watches a couple flirting directly in front of her. From where I’m standing, it’s not hard to piece it together. She’s into him, and the girl batting her lashes is probably her best friend. Ouch.

“S’cuse me,” I murmur, reaching past her, fingers brushing the side of her black trench coat as her glare stays locked on what’s happening in front of her.

“Oh sure,” she groans, stepping aside. “Go right ahead. Everyone just takes what they want anyways. Take, take, take.”

I blink, caught off guard, then roll my eyes and offer a strained smile. “Bad day?” I ask, though I’m not sure why I bother.

She gestures at the scene unfolding in front of her. “Do you see this shit?” Her voice shakes with rage. “My best fucking friend is flirting with my brother—my twin brother, for God’s sake. Bet they’re already screwing behind my back.”

I steal a quick glance at them before pulling the refrigerator open and retrieving my drink. The door clicks shut on its own, and before I’ve even stepped back, Emo Chick slides right back in front of it, reclaiming her spot.

She shakes her head slowly, arms folded over her chest. “How could she do this to me?”

I twist the cap off my drink, take a sip, then glance back at her brother and best friend.

Reality sinks in that this could have been Brogan watching Callan and me years ago, before everything went downhill.

I turn to her again, voice quieter now. “Is it really such a bad thing?” I ask. “I mean, if you love them both, what’s the harm in them liking each other?”

Her brows pinch together, but it’s the shift in her eyes that gives her away. She’s angry, but even more so, she’s hurt.

“There wouldn’t be any harm if they’d just come to me,” she says. “But to go behind my back. It fucking sucks.”

“I get it,” I start, but the moment I catch the basement door creaking open, my words vanish in midair.

My gaze snaps to the hallway where I see Aidric stepping out. I was sure he was still upstairs. Guess they followed me down, after all. But if he’s here, where the hell are Sebastian and Callan?

Doesn’t matter.

This is my chance.

Before I can think twice, I’m already moving. Aidric strolls away, thumb pressing the button on the remote in his hand. I see the door start to seal, but I’m faster. I shoot my hand through the narrowing gap, drawing attention to myself, but I don't care.

I rip the door open and slip inside. Instincts kick in and I twist the lock from the other side then instantly slam it shut.

I’m immediately engulfed in the warm glow of the lit sconces lining the staircase. My pulse kicks up, and each step down feels more and more like I’m walking into a trap I set for myself. I’ve always been a nosy person, but this is bold even for me.

When I reach the bottom, I take a second to scour the area, making sure I'm alone. Once I’m certain I am, I let myself breathe. My fingers trail along the rough brick walls as I move, grazing the surface, tracing the details I’ve seen before but never truly noticed until now.

Symbols and chaotic words are hand-painted on the brick in various colors. It makes no sense to me, but I’m sure it means a great deal to them.

I reach the door Callan once disappeared behind, the memory of him retrieving a skeleton key from somewhere near the altar fresh in my mind. I was curious then, watching from a distance, but now I’m desperate.

This might be my only chance to find out what’s hidden in there, so I have to try.

Moving quickly, I go to the altar, taking the two steps to rise on top of it. Leaning over the podium, I look on the backside of the small shelf but all I see is a strange metal rod resting on a silver stand.

I pick it up, noticing a plate at the base and a small on-off switch. I flick it and it instantly begins to warm in my grip. Curious, I turn it over and freeze when I realize it’s a branding iron.

There’s a shield at the center, surrounded by two crossed hockey sticks, and a hockey mask with vented holes pressed into the middle. Along the top, engraved in bold letters, is Ice Lords .

I swear I’ve heard that name tossed around a few times. I always figured it was because their team is the Lords, but this feels like something else entirely. I’m starting to think the Ice Lords aren’t just a simple college sports team, but rather part of whatever secret society this is.

First mystery cracked. Sort of. I need to find that damn key.

After putting the branding iron back, I look around on the altar, noticing the cuffs hanging from the ceiling. I don’t have to wonder what they’re for because I already know. I remember the bite of the metal, the way it burned into my wrists. I remember it all too well. I wonder how many people hung from there, not to feel pleasure, but pain.

I turn around and notice something I didn’t see before. Against the shadows behind the altar is a nearly invisible, black curtain. It blends so seamlessly into the darkness, I almost miss it.

Moving to the end, I pull it open and when I see what’s back there, it feels like the air has been sucked from my lungs.

Three metal tables line the space like something ripped straight out of an operating room. Only, I don’t think these are meant for saving lives. Each tray holds various tools and weapons used to torture someone.

My stomach curls, heart pounding against my ribs like it’s trying to escape before I can.

This is so much worse than I expected. It’s not just disturbing; it’s downright sickening. Yet, I don’t run. I don’t even back away. Instead, I enter the room and go over to the items along each table. My fingers hover curiously before picking up a spiked baton. It’s cold and heavy, the jagged edges sharp like tiny knives.

Just as I’m about to set it down, I catch something out of the corner of my eye. Beneath one of the sconces, right where the curtain’s edge falls, a long, rusted nail sticks out from a brick. And hanging from it, like it’s been waiting for me all along, is the key.

I toss the baton onto the tray and it hits with a heavy clank that echoes through The Chamber. Six long strides lead me to the key and I snatch it without hesitation, fingers curling tightly around the cool metal.

A wicked smile curls at the corners of my mouth as I push past the curtain, heading straight for the door at the back of the room.

When I reach it, I slide the key into the lock, noticing the slight tremble in my hands. I can’t tell if it’s nerves or adrenaline, but at this point, not much should shock me.

Once it’s unlocked, I slowly push it open, the sound of creaking dragging through the silence. The only light is a faint glow deep in the room. I can’t even make out what surrounds it, but curiosity gets the best of me.

How many lives do I even have left at this point?

Shadows dance across the brick walls like they’re inviting me in. And, of course, my dumb ass follows them.

Leaving the door open, I let the little light from the sconces enter. With small, cautious steps, I move toward the light, and the closer I get, the clearer it becomes.

A glass display, the kind you would use for a prized trophy, holds a book on a three-point stand. It doesn’t look like any book I’ve seen before. Its cover appears ancient, almost like a spellbook, though I know better. This isn’t a book that grants power, but I have no doubt it’s one that hides secrets.

Before I even reach it fully, I notice the gold key slot and disappointment curls in my gut.

Of course it’s fucking locked.

My first instinct is to start searching for another key, but I don’t have time for that. I’m actually shocked no one’s found me down here yet.

So, I do what I have to do. I spin on my heel and make a mad dash behind the curtain. Grabbing a hammer I saw lying on one of the trays, I return to the display. My heart is racing, but the decision has been made. No backing down now.

I swing the tool in one sharp motion, shattering the top of the display while leaving the bottom part with the light intact. Glass goes flying, scattering around on the concrete floor.

Carefully stepping over the broken shards, I stretch my hand out and grab the book.

I find a clear spot near the light, drop the hammer, and sit down. My back presses against the cold brick wall while my fingers graze over the silver embossing of the typography that reads: Where there is a Lord, there is power.

Fitting for these debauched men.

I open the cover and immediately begin flipping through the pages.

Thirty seconds in, and my jaw is already on the floor.

There’s a short and dry foreword about the Ice Lords being established in the early 1940s by a man named Edison Einhorn. It mentions that the Ice Lords exist under some paradox of The Ice Society. Whatever that means.

But then it gets interesting.

There’s a picture, or maybe it’s a sketch, of a black cloak, and above it is a solid white hockey mask, expressionless and cold. It looks exactly like the one I saw someone wearing earlier today. Coincidence? Maybe. But something in my gut says it’s not.

Apparently this is what they wear during ceremonies.

This is some seriously messed-up shit. But I keep going, reading more.

There are pages filled with strategies, power plays, dominance tactics, strength-building routines, bonding methods that go way beyond the usual team-building fluff.

A fold-out hierarchy map catches my eye. At the top are three titles: leader, Lord speaker, and council advisor. I don’t need names to know those are Callan, Aidric, and Sebastian; it fits considering they’ve always been the ones pulling strings. Beneath them sit the other members, known as barons.

I flip a few more pages, skimming through the paragraphs about rules and requirements. One detail jumps out: every player on the Lords’ hockey team must be a member of The Ice Society. There are no exceptions, and damn…the selection process is brutally ritualistic.

This isn't just a hockey team; it’s a brotherhood rooted in blood.

As I thumb through a few more pages, a corner lifts. I pause, turning back, only to realize it’s not a page at all. It’s a separate sheet, tucked between chapters.

I unfold it carefully, eyes narrowing, then widening when I realize it’s a map.

Lines crisscross, but there is no title at the top to tell me where this is. My fingers tremble as I trace a few of the streets and some of the picture begins to come together.

When I look closer, I see why. It’s here. The same location, and the same marking from the map Sebastian gave me to burn and bury the box.

But this map doesn’t stop with the number one, or start at eight, rather. There are multiple locations spanning around the two neighboring campuses, and all are numbered. My mind races when I see the total number is thirty-six.

Holy fucking Batman.

This thing could be the key to everything. Each spot could be tied to a crime the Ice Lords committed. Not just one, but many.

I could quite literally destroy these guys. I mean, I could’ve before, but now I really can.

I may never know what happened to Evan, but I might be able to figure out just what is happening here and prevent anyone else from getting hurt like that.

Folding the map back up until it’s small enough to hide in my cross-body purse, I stick it inside. I didn’t uncover any hidden bodies or chained-up chicks who have been kidnapped and held against their will, but I did find this map, and even got a little insight into what their twisted society is. I’d call that a win. And as I’ve always been told, it’s best to quit while you’re ahead.

Pushing myself off the floor, I brush off my hands and start toward the exit.

Suddenly, the door slams closed with a heavy thud.

It feels like the room has swallowed me whole and there is no escape. The light behind me is suddenly dim and useless. Panic rises in my chest as I sprint toward the door, my heeled boots clapping against the concrete, heart racing.

“Let me out!” I scream, voice cracking as I slam my fists against the thick wood. My whole body trembles, limbs shaking so violently I can barely stand. This isn’t just any door, and this isn’t just any room. I know that no one can hear me down here, but I try anyway.

All self-preservation goes out the window as I try to think of a plan. “Please!” I shout even louder. “Just let me out of here!”

There’s a long stretch of silence, aside from my labored breathing. I begin to picture things in my head I don’t want to think about. Me tied to a torture table, the weapons used on my skin. I’m a tough girl, but no one ever taught me how to hold up under torture.

Tears spring to my eyes as I start to realize this could be the end for me. The buzz I had from the alcohol is already making me feel weak, and now I just want to pass out and try to forget. Forget my life and everything I thought I knew or had planned for myself.

“How’s it feel to be in hell, Little Devil?” The voice startles me and I nearly jump out of my boots.

Aidric.

I suck in a shaky breath, forcing down the lump rising in my throat. Using the door to steady myself, I press my palms against it. “Aidric, please just let me out,” I ask again, this time softer, kinder.

“Confess your sins,” he taunts. “And maybe I’ll consider it.” His voice is muffled coming from the other side of this door, but I can hear him clearly enough.

Heat rises in my chest. “For the love of God,” I mutter before raising my voice. “Just open the fucking door!”

I swing my foot out and slam the toe of my boot into the wood with a loud thud, the impact jolting up my leg. The sound echoes, but the door doesn’t budge. And neither does he.

I know this isn’t the time to try and be a badass, but it’s damn near impossible not show these guys I can hold my own. The moment they see that I might be caving is when they’ll go for blood.

Then I hear the soft click of the key turning, and the sound reverberates straight through me.

My head snaps up, shoulders square, and I brace myself for a battle.

When the door opens, I step forward, ball my fists, and shove them hard into Aidric’s chest. “You asshole.”

I don’t wait for a reaction. I push past him quickly because I know these guys love to grab, hold, and torment. And just as I hit the first step, I’m proven right.

Aidric’s arm wraps around my waist and he pulls me back, lifting me off the ground. Before I can even twist away, he’s already carrying me straight back into The Chamber.

He hauls me to the first row of chairs, and I kick my legs out, knocking a couple over on purpose. Not because I think it’ll help, but because I know it’ll piss him off.

He drops me down in one of the chairs like I’m a sack of potatoes. “Stay!” he snaps, stern and commanding.

“Oh, now you’re gonna talk down here,” I scoff. “That’s new.”

“I talk when I want to,” he growls. “My position comes with benefits you’d sell your pussy for, Little Devil. Others speak for me, so I don’t have to waste my breath on nosey little bitches.”

“So now I’m a bitch?”

I should be offended, but I’m not. Not much this asshole says surprises me anymore.

“You tell me,” he says, voice sharp, as he heads to the front of the room.

I roll my eyes and cross my arms, settling in with all the fake composure I can muster. I know better than to run. I already spotted the remote sticking out of his pocket and I have no doubt he’s two steps ahead of me, as usual. The door to the upstairs is definitely locked.

My only other option would be to run into the dark room I was just in, but I’m sure as hell not doing that. Although, there very well could be another exit or entry point in there. I didn’t really have the chance, or the courage, to look deeper.

Aidric steps onto the altar, and I watch him closely, heart hammering as he reaches behind the podium. But I was just back there and the only thing on that shelf…

I lose my train of thought when he comes forward holding the branding iron. I notice the switch pushed up and I can see that it’s heating fast.

My stomach knots. “What are you doing with that?” I ask, scooting back in my chair as he comes toward me.

His eyes lock on to mine, cold and unreadable. “What did you read in that book?”

I shrug, eyebrows caved in confusion. “What book?”

“Don’t play dumb with me, Avery!” he snaps, the name slicing through the air like a whip.

I jolt. He hardly ever calls me Avery, and just hearing it sends a chill down my spine.

“I saw the broken glass and the book on the ground,” he continues, seething. “You fucked up, Little Devil. You really fucked up.”

I swallow hard, panic rising fast. “Okay,” I blurt. “I flipped through the book, but I didn’t really read anything incriminating. Just society stuff like traditions, ranks, and rules. I swear, it was all just bullshit. I didn’t see anything worth hiding.”

Aidric tsks, slow and deliberate. “You shouldn’t have done that,” he says, tone laced with intent. “Because now, I have to do this.”

Before I can react, he yanks me to my feet, causing my breath to catch in my throat. In the next instant, he lifts my shirt, and suddenly there’s a searing pain.

The iron presses into my side, and a scream rips from my throat as the heat tears through skin. I claw at his arm, at anything, but it’s already done.

My knees nearly give out, tears streaming down my face, and I hate myself for letting them break free.

“You want to be someone important, Little Devil? Well, now you are. We’re your Lords, and now you’re our queen. Stuck with us forever.” He pauses for a beat. “Unless, of course, we decide to kill you.”

As fast as he pressed the iron to my skin, Aidric pulls it away, but the unforgiving burn still lingers.

“Get your ass back upstairs,” he snaps. “And don’t let me catch you down here again without our permission.” He leans in slightly. “And I don’t think it needs to be said, but keep your goddamn mouth shut and your nose where it belongs.”

While I can, I run like fucking hell.

Aidric is the worst. He just marked me for life, something I know I will never be able to get rid of. He called me a queen, but I know better. I’m not royalty like them. I’m a simple pawn in their fucked-up game and I just made myself the center of attention for them all.

My boots pound against the stairs, breath burning in my lungs, and then, as soon as I push the door open, I collide with someone at the top.

I crash into him hard, falling right into Callan’s arms.

“What the fuck,” he mutters, catching me, arms wrapping almost instinctively around my back. “Where the hell have you been?”