Page 71 of Massacre Monday

“Come on, let’s go,” Amelia says, pulling me forward as the crowd moves.

“Next in line!” A yellow-T-shirt-wearing guard hurries us with a wave of his hand.

We scurry over to show our IDs and invitation to the attendant, but he insists we open our purses and pulls out my phone, holding it between two fingers. “This is prohibited. You can reclaim it on your way out. Next in line!”

When I reach for it, he holds the device behind his back and tosses it in a bin monitored by another guard, who motions for me to approach.

“Name,” he says flatly.

“Uh…I thought this was anonymous.”

His shoulders slump as if he’s had the longest night of his life and has had to explain himself fifty times. “Do you want your phone back later? If so, I gotta put a name on it.”

“Pippi Freidenberg.” When I cross my arms, my breasts almost fly free, so I quickly drop them to my sides.

“Fine. Move along,anonymous.”

Amelia is right. With a step into the entry, we’re greeted by wall-to-wall guests. The house is packed to the brim with students and half are naked. Like, utterly and completely hanging brain in front of everyone.

“Well... Okay… Just, just getting my bearings,” I say over the lump in my throat, letting my eyes adjust to the crowd. A largeman chases a smaller one to the table in the center of the foyer, bends him over with a hand on the back of his neck, and takes him right there with a formidable smack on his ass.

“Ouch! Daddy!” the man on the bottom says with a yelp.

Amelia keels over with laughter and leads me by the hand to the open patio doors. Seeing that, I feel more ready for what kind of party this will be. Who knows what will be around the corner?

A long pool takes up much of the hedge-lined space and is lit up with red lights, giving it the appearance of bubbling lava. It must be heated because plenty of people fill it up with body fluids. Several go at it in the hot tub near the back iron gate as well.

To the right, there’s a row of lounge chairs, where five women kneel in front of a stark nude Landon Turner, greedily taking turns sucking his cock, which, from just one peek at it, appears to be grotesquely large. His longer blond hair flows over his shoulders when he lifts his face to the night with a shout of pleasure. “Get in there. You, over there, come lick my taint. You, darlin’, suck my asshole.” He scoops women’s heads to his crotch, cradling one in front and one behind.

With widened eyes, I glance at Amelia, who looks like she may vomit in disgust. A tiny shrug greets her shoulders as she turns back to the house. “That’s Lan,” is all she says.

Is Ryan somewhere here getting off on multiple women? The thought makes my breathing shallow.

“Let’s get a drink,” she says, walking us toward a bar area set up in an open parlor off the entry. It doesn’t take long to place our orders and grab them, then find a spot along the far wall. Sipping my whiskey sour, I scan the crowd, picking out a potential suitor, one whoisn’ta Cardell.

Bass bumps fill my ears until it’s almost impossible to hear anything else. Red laser lights skirt down a back hall that leads to a large party room, where dancers and a DJ take up most ofthe space. Murmurs of conversations around us make me take a step closer to my companion. Raising onto my tiptoes to be closer to her, I ask, “Can you tell who anyone is?”

Amelia studies the room, then shakes her head. “No. And I hate that my little brother is right outside as a pledge. Makes me feel gross. Do you recognize anySigmas?”

“It’s impossible. Should we dance?”

“Yeah! Let’s do that.” She tosses back her martini and sets the glass on the mantle of the fireplace near us, then says, “I’ll just go to the bathroom and meet you in there. Sound good?”

Everyone around us looks like they’re engaged in their own thing, so I nod, and we part.

On my way to the large hall, a tuxedo-wearing man carrying a tray hands me another whiskey sour, and I give him my empty one. Hurriedly drinking it, I wait for the warmth to hit my brain. Two shots are better than one to quiet my nerves.

After that one is gone, I order another while waiting for Amelia to return. It’s a good twenty minutes of me dancing alone in the corner before I decide I also need the restroom and to find my friend.

When I finally reach the half bath door set into the mahogany wainscotting, a very large man with bright blond hair and a chiseled jaw steps in front of me, blocking my entry. “Sorry. This one is out of service, but there’s one on the next floor up, down the same hall.”

“Oh. Thanks.”

Wondering if he’s lying, I retreat and scan him up and down. He’s wearing a short maroon coat like the men outside, so he must be aThetapledge. With a shrug, I head back to the foyer.

My heels slide on the parquet floor leading toward the L-shaped staircase tucked into the corner to the left of the entry. At the top, the railing overlooks the front door and a large crystal chandelier.

The carpets are of a rich blood red, imprinted with Marquis designs, while the walls are sunless black wood. Long passageways jut in five directions, two to the north, one to each side, and one south. Unsure of which to take, I curve around the landing toward the area above where I just came from.