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She visibly relaxes, nodding, “Yeah, I think he’ll fit in well. Not sure he’ll make it through the trials, though.”
I nod. We haven’t had a pledge make it through the trials since we were initiated in by our parents. “Will you be able to capture him?” It’s something I need to know. I’ve known Amiyah since I was five, so if she needs help, I’ll help her.
Amiyah rolls her eyes. “I got it covered, but thanks.”
I shrug, chugging the rest of my coffee. I need to get to the church, get shit set up for tonight. “I’ll see you around,” I toss over my shoulder.
“Beck, do you need help? Setting up, I mean,” Amiyah asks.
“Nah, I got it. Enjoy the rest of your Saturday.”
I hear her laugh before it turns into a screech. Her stepbrother, Madden, murmurs something to her, but I don’t care to listen, so I simply leave. My monkey, my circus. But also, fuck all that. Not my problem.
* * *
We all gatheraround the altar. Madden, Vance, Devlin, Amiyah, and me. The sun beams through the stained glass. The church pews old with faded cloth. The cross stamped with bloody prints of every member of the renowned Misfits.
Vance pounces on the balls of his feet, always the eager psychopath that he is. Madden looks bored. Amiyah, she looks a bit nervous; it’s her first time participating. And Devlin watches me, as if he’s looking for my weakness. He won’t find one.
“Are you ready?” I ask the group, and they all nod.
Except Vance who claps, grinning. “Fuck yes.”
I grin. “Let’s go hunt.”
6
Brixley
I don’t rememberthe last time I had a free Saturday. Maybe when I was around fifteen? I began dancing at a seedy club when I was sixteen. Fake IDs are lifesavers. Expensive, but a necessity.
I didn’t start the whole sleeping with clients gig for money until I was eighteen, though. I really tried to hold on to my innocence, but everything has a price when you’re trying to survive.
I walk around campus, admiring the great detail in the old structures, the way the trees seem endless, how the weather is always perfect. Never too hot, never too cool. I absolutely love it here in Washington. When I graduate, I’ll make it my home and try to convince Aunt Beth to move here with me.
I stop and stare at the library, the stained glass in particular. I can only envision the dead body swinging from the roof, how the sickening smack of guts sounded as they fell out of his body. I shake my head, wanting to look away, but my eyes go back to the exact same spot.
The school paper released an article this morning. Speculations of a suicide, but I don’t believe that propaganda. The way the body was disemboweled doesn’t scream suicide to me. I lean toward the article I found online. The small print that reads,The campus killer is still on the loose. What will the dean do next? Will it simply go away, or will we finally get some answers?
I’ve been pondering the small three lines. If it’s who I believe it is, they’ll sweep it under the rug. What I’ve learned so far about the group—club—whatever they are—is that they’re important. Parents’ donations go a long way. So do last names. Beckett Cutler. Cutler Enterprises. Madden Donavan. Donavan Oils Co. Vance De Luca. De Luca mafia. The only one with no big ties is Devlin Williams. No internet search hit on his last name as it had the others. It’s the things Netflix dramas are made of. Rich boys getting away with everything. Including murder.
My eyes fall away from the building, and I go to take a step, when a bag is shoved over my head. My fight-or-flight instincts take over and I try to kick behind me, swinging my arms and screaming. It’s of no use as my body gets pinned to the ground, my arms stretched behind my back before they are being tied tightly with an itchy rope. I’m hauled up again, my body being slung into the air and over something broad and hard.
“Make this harder,” the voice whispers, “and I’ll gut you like a pig. You’ll be Mount Crest’s next victim, got it?” My body relaxes. I don’t fight, I don’t scream. Because my entire life has been based on surviving, and this will not be my end.
* * *
I’m shovedto my knees, hands bound behind me. Wherever I am is quiet. The bag is ripped from my head and my eyes widen as I frantically look around. A cross with bloody handprints. Church pews, an altar, stained-glass windows. The church looks old, the wood floors and pews outdated.Where the fuck am I?My eyes land to the person next to me, Prim, who looks unharmed. No bound hands and sitting on her knees beside me. Eyes in wonder as she looks over the old church. I frown, wanting to speak, knowing I can’t. I look to the other side, noticing three other people tied up just like me, on their knees, eyes wide as they watch the front of the church. My eyes follow, wondering how I missed it? Missed them.
A group of five—four males, one female—stands at the front. Arms crossed, half their faces hidden by black bandanas. I recognize them. Vance, Beckett, Amiyah, Madden, and Devlin. My back stiffens as they all take a step closer. All formal and synchronized.
The one with the tattoos, Vance, throws his hands up. “Welcome to church, fuckers. Where you drop to your knees and praise The Misfits.”
Vance’s voice causes an eerie shiver to break down my spine. Beckett’s eyes flash to mine, something cruel sparkling in their deep depths. Making my stomach churn as my legs tremble with the need to flee. His eyes narrow, as if he can see the emotions swirling in my gaze, the need to run rippling on the inside. I swallow, looking over to Prim to make sure she’s okay.
Madden speaks, his voice a false comfort, like the whispered promises of a demon convincing you the temptation is worth it. “You will complete a series of trials. Each one different and more challenging. If you want the perks of the elite, if you want to be a part of The Misfits, reap the benefits of having the world at your fingertips, you have to prove you’re worthy.” Madden’s eyes flash. “Most of you won’t.” He combs his fingers through the blond strands of his hair, leaving a mess in their wake. “Now is your chance to leave. All you have to do is say you want to go, and one of us will escort you home.” He pauses, brown eyes connecting with every one of ours. “No? Perfect. Rules, there aren’t many. If we say you’re out, regardless of if you completed the challenge or make it all the way to the end, you’re out. Second rule—the most important rule—you tell no one about the trials, what you’ve seen here, what you’ve done. The consequences of breaking these rules are life-changing.”
The room grows silent as his words sink in, everyone coming to the same conclusion as me.You die.
