Page 66 of From Hell

Because his father owns it.

Molly looks at me, worry etched in their depths. “He’s probably just late.”

Maybe he is. However, it’s almost 10 p.m. The ball started three hours ago, and he’s not answering any messages or his phone. I don’t have it in me to believe Jaxon would come over in the middle of the library, in front of everyone cramming for exams, and ask me if he could take me to the party only not to turn up. I always assumed he wasn’t like the others on the rugby team.

Maybe I was wrong.

Anger simmers low in my gut. I would love nothing more than to confront Jaxon right now.

Molly must see it in my eyes because she links her arm through mine. “Do you want to go?” I give her the barest nod. She grins. “Then let’s go get wet.”

Christian whoops, Henry laughs, and Addison says nothing as he leads the way.

Henry drives us there in his car. I doubt he’s sober, but he’s the least fucked out of all of them. Every so often, Molly slaps Christian’s hand away, caught sliding up her dress and onto her leg.

Mild regret fills my gut. I should have sat in the middle, Molly is only doing this for me. She can’t stand the rugby guys because, coming from rich, entitled backgrounds, they do nothing but act like arrogant assholes, deigning to treat everyone like shit.

But when I catch her eye, she smiles, a reassuring one that says everything will be alright. If only I had her confidence.

As soon as we get to Berners House and hurl past it, the grounds swallowing us up into darkness, I know I’ve made a mistake.

“Where are we going?”

“The hunting lodge, of course. That’s where the party’s at,” Christian laughs, grabbing Molly’s leg again. She’s saved by lights glaring and music thumping, encouraging the boys to spill out of the car at the end of a driveway. I’ve been to Berner’s House for afternoon tea with my mother; the Orangery sometimes opens to the public on long weekends. Not the main house and definitely not the Hunting Lodge. You must be a member and pay a small fortune to have access there.

Students are partying on the lawn. Some are still wearing their masks and ball outfits. Others have stripped down to bikinis or even less to congregate in and around the hot tubs. Jaxon is nowhere to be seen.

“You said Jaxon was here,” I hurry to walk with Addison into the lodge, where more students are dancing on tables or playing drinking games.

Addison gives me a sly look. “I said you should ask him. I never said he was here.”

I stare at him open-mouthed as he saunters away from me toward a group of wasted girls doing lines of coke on the coffee table, but when I go to follow, Christian stands in my way with two drinks. He hands one to me and one to Molly.

Frustration flows through my veins. Jaxon isn’t my boyfriend. We haven’t even kissed, but we’ve talked many times since he took me to lunch. We’ve studied in the library together and hung out in the Tower. We even had lunch at the fish and chip shop again, Jaxon letting me drive his car.

Yet nothing has happened. Sometimes, his hand would linger on the small of my back, or his gaze would tarry on my lips when we both laughed at some inane joke. Current gossip is Jaxon is cold and distant toward women except his sister. That he has a string of girls ready to slip into his bed that he fucks and forgets.

But it’s never been like that with me. We’re friends despite my secretly wishing it could become something more. He’s never let me down…until now.

Molly gives me a look as if to say,fuck em, and annoyance snaps in my chest, making my heart feel brave. Fuck em. I don’t need Jaxon to have a good time.

We down our drinks.

I don’t remember much after that.

It’s a lot later when I wake up, leaning on a toilet bowl, staring at my own vomit, and sensing something isn’t right. I stand up, using the bathroom walls to support me, the world around me tilting on an axis as everything warps and distorts.

My head is spinning, and my mouth is like sandpaper, as I stumble out of the ladies’ room. Molly is nowhere to be seen.

“Molly,” I call out, tongue thick in my throat.

The place is quiet compared to earlier when we arrived. Empty bottles and half-filled cups take over every surface. Discarded clothing litters the furniture. There’s a couple fucking on the couch and an orgy happening upstairs, but Molly isn’t among any of the women.

But her gold dress hangs on a plant in the corner, ripped in several places. The gimmer on the material makes it fade in and out of focus as I hold it in my hands.

Dread curls in the depths of my gut.

I need to find Molly, and I need to sober up.