Page 89 of Under the Influence

“You’re on the right track, Dray.”

Because I’m headed straight in that direction.

CHAPTER

TWENTY-SEVEN

MADDEN

FRESHMAN YEAR

I rounded the banister in Nash Langdon’s house, which looked like it was straight out of an episode of Cribs. If you asked him for a fridge tour, I’m sure he’d gladly oblige.

I almost snorted. It must be nice to be rich.

I glance around the party. Girls in tiny bikinis. Guys dressed like they walked straight out of American Eagle. I was indeed a long way from the apartments I’d become accustomed to. This was my hell.

A splash of liquid threatened the toe of my vans, but I jumped back before it soaked them. Red solo cups filled the kitchen counter and now the floor.

The upper-level students treated Nash like royalty, and Carson carried a Go Pro around like another appendage. No doubt filming for his YouTube Channel, but careful not to incriminate anyone.

Some of the guys from the team huddled around a table playing beer pong while I walked around looking for my friend, Grady. He was understanding of the situation and didn’t criticize me for it like my other friends did. He knew I’d do anything to help my mom. Lucky for me, I could count on him to attend these “mandatory” baseball parties with me. There was no way I was coming otherwise.

By the time I find Grady, it’s too late. His tongue is already buried deep in some girl’s throat. I decide to go upstairs and find a bathroom that isn’t occupied or covered in vomit.

A couple of the rooms are locked, but when I finally find a door that isn’t, I quickly shut it behind me. Turning into what I assume is Nash’s bedroom by the gaming consoles and baseball trophies scattered about.

Just my luck.

I move into the bathroom to take a piss and wash my hands. I try to hurry because the last thing I want to do is run into Nash, especially in his room.

I hear the floorboards creak beneath my shoes, but a faint sound catches my attention, and I halt, waiting to listen to it again. I hear a cough or a gasp, then shuffling. At first, I think it is in the room next door, but I notice a lock outside the closet door.

Who locks their closet from the outside?

I turn the deadbolt and release the chain lock from the top, turning the knob.

My stomach clenches when I see her. Light brown hair is matted to her head, her fingertips covered in blood. A TV on the wall in the closet is playing some kinky porno.

What the hell?

I move toward her, but the sound of my footsteps startle her.

“Are you okay?” I ask, dropping to a kneel, my hand landing in something wet.

Shit. What is that?

The TV sounds are low but loud enough to hear the panting and moans. She stares at me, afraid to speak.

“It’s okay. I’m here to help.”

Before I realize what I’m doing, I unzip my jacket, pulling it over her tiny floral Sunday school dress. Her lifeless body is easy to manipulate. I try to turn the TV off, but it’s useless. He’s made sure that this video didn’t stop.

“How long have you been in here?” I ask, lifting her to her feet. Her entire body shakes with weakness. Unlike someone wanting to escape, she doesn’t run. She stands completely frozen and empty.

I continue to hold her up, taking steps slowly toward the door, trying to think of how I can sneak her out of here. I pull my phone out of my pocket, dialing Grady, but he doesn’t answer, so I dial again.

Two calls means emergency, and he knows it, so I’m not surprised when I hear him on the other end.