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I’d let myself forget how I’d gotten to this point: that one or more of the Havoc Boys had violently attacked my sister last year and the same person probably tried to take me out with vehicular homicide. Someone here will kill to keep their secrets, and I have no way of knowing when they might try again.
It would be the height of stupidity to let my guard down, even for a moment.
The bulge in the pocket of my jacket is a welcoming weight and I pat it gently to assure myself that it’s still there.
Our plan has to work.
I have to finish this soon, because I might not survive any more time in Havoc House.
* * *
There isn’t time for me to change clothes before the party starts. I’m stuck in faded jeans with a stained shirt that smells like bleach and scouring powder when people start showing up.
It’s obviously supposed to be a power move on Brady’s part that I was kept busy until the very moment that the party starts. In his mind, it must be every woman’s nightmare to show up in tattered clothes and messy hair.
Little does he know that I’m done giving a fuck what anyone around here thinks about me.
For his part, Brady has spent the last several hours making himself scarce. I’ve heard his name referenced several dozen times, but I haven’t laid eyes on him even once over the course of the evening. The guy is like a dark shadow having over the house. Everyone seems ridiculously concerned with what he wants, but he isn’t anywhere to be found.
And I need to find him.
My hand slips into my jacket pocket for what feels like the hundredth time this hour as I again reassure myself that the bottle with its little dropper is still there.
I didn’t recognize the name of the drug when Drake told it to me. I figured I was doing him a favor by not asking where he got it. As soon as he said that we’re going to spike Brady’s drinks, I decided not to insist on more information.
Drake made it clear that I shouldn’t add more than one or two drops to each of Brady’s drinks because we want him loopy enough to spill his secrets, not so blitzed that he passes out completely. He’d also assured me that his knowledge of the drug’s effects didn’t come from personal experience.
I’m making a choice to believe him.
A few laced drinks might just get me the recorded confession I need to put that piece of shit away for a very long time. But I have to get close to Brady for any of this to work, which means that I need to find him.
I’ve only seen Drake once tonight. He stopped me in the hall to curtly inform me that I’m the pledge on bar duty before stalking away like he couldn’t stand another moment in my presence.
That brief interaction was also part of the plan. The other Havoc Boys need to see us interacting coldly in public, so Drake remains above suspicion. But I still have to remind myself that it’s a ruse whenever I see that coldly distant look in his eyes. Drake can do imperious disgust like nobody else I’ve ever met.
It takes a while for the party to get going, no one wants to be that loser who shows up too early. I stand in the kitchen behind a makeshift bar made up on the table. I’m rearranging the bottles out of boredom when I hear a familiar voice.
“Oh my God, is that Olivia Pratt?”
Two girls with identical sneers on their faces approach the table. It takes a moment for their names to come to me.
“Serena. Maisie. Pleasure as always. What can I get for you?”
Serena looks like a fish as her mouth purses open and closed, surprise making her suddenly unable to form words.
Maisie recovers more quickly. She tosses her long fall of straight black hair over her shoulder and crosses her arms over her chest. Her eyes have all of the intensity of a cat that just spotted a mouse and is about to pounce. “What the hell are you doing here?”
“I’m supposed to be serving drinks,” I say cheerfully. “It would make it a lot easier if you tell me what you’d like.”
“But…how?” Serena stutters.
I resist the urge to roll my eyes. Their confusion is understandable considering the circumstances, but I’m enjoying the moment more than I probably should. “You’re going to need to be more specific.”
They exchange incredulous glances, like they’re trying to assure themselves that we’re all still speaking the same language.
“Why would the Havoc Boys let you back in here?” Maisie says each word as its own sentence, speaking slowly like she would to a toddler.
I casually shrug, like the answer to that should be obvious. “I’m pledging.”
