Page 2 of Terror Tuesday

O, where are you? Need me to send someone?

Henry

I didn’t get shot at all. I’m good.

Ryan

I’m fucking standing right here, dumbass. I know.

Aiden

O???? Where r u????

Don’t make me bring Dad into this. You know what that will mean.

A slight chuckle escapes my lips, and I relax, knowing my overprotective brothers always have my back.

Me

I’m safe with Hunter! Enjoy the party!

Even as I send it, I bite my bottom lip.

Am Isafe with Hunter?

Despite the fact that I may likely become his appointed—a title given by the Seventh Society to bind a senior fraternity brother to a sorority sister as his wife in a permanent alliance—I’m not sure I am.

There’s no such thing as divorce once the bond is made. No escape. And even though Hunter’s family holds sway, andBetadeals drugs on the side with a wink and a payout, I’ve never been fully convinced I’d be safe in his hands. I’m his presumed future, but only until the appointment is official. And I don’t know if that’s security…or a sentence.

But it’s safer than being alone.

A scream wrenches from my throat at the sound of metal clanging against metal. It’s too close. Too…deliberate. My breathing halts in my chest. Did someonewantme to hear the sound?

Whipping my head around, I expect a person to be standing there. Perhaps a shadow moves, but it’s almost impossible to make anything out. Damn the rear window! A sheen of rain covers the glass, turning the outside into a kaleidoscope of shapes I can’t decipher.

Eyes dart through the ebony midnight. It’s moments before I can relax again. Maybe a game on my phone will distract me.

How long has he been in there? When I glance up at the rusted metal door inlaid into the side of the building, there’s no light seeping from beneath it. If something happens, I could dash inside and yell for help. Maybe I’m overreacting.

As my eyes crawl to my lap, they catch a movement in the rearview mirror.

A darkened figure rushes through the alleyway about twenty feet behind the car. More than one? I’m not sure.

I twist around and look, but there’s no one. Was that another noise?

I’m not waiting around to get murdered while thieves take this car to the chop shop.

With a grip on the handle of my blade and nails digging into my bag, I thrust my body from the car, ready to scream or fight. Not that I’d know how, but I’m prepared for whatever may come. It’s only a few feet to the warehouse door, and I push through, slamming it closed behind me to prevent whoever it was from entering.

I stuff my knife back in my purse and straighten my shoulders, teetering on a stiletto to face the eerily lit hallway. Fluorescents hum every few feet, a bowl of shadows engulfing the space between them.

Unfamiliarity settles in as I step into the wide space that feels too cramped for a warehouse. The cinder block walls hold only two doors halfway down. I’m not sure which Hunter went into.

My gait falters when one of them flings open, my pulse skyrocketing to extremes. A hand flung out to the side steadies me as my fingers press into the concrete.

Bryce Holloway, theBetasecretary and official fix-it man for President Hunter Remington, exits a room with his phone against his ear. When he sees me, his bloodshot eyes light up. A red tint to his nose lets me know he’s been partying hard despite the interruption in our festivities earlier. Which means his jabs will makemethe punching bag.

“Thick Livvy!” He pauses and speaks into his phone. “I gotta call you back. Yeah, as soon as Hunter tells me what he wants. Just hold your balls.”