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Vaughn holds up his phone, a text message conversation up on the screen. “I already have.”
“Now, wait just a damn minute..” I start.
“I didn’t have a choice.” Vaughn exchanges a look with Cole, then both of them turn to me with identical expressions of wariness. “This isn’t your fault, man. I know from experience that some girls will do anything to get what they want. But we had to get the alumni involved. This affects all of us.” Vaughn has the nerve to sound apologetic as he gestures for the door. “A car is outside waiting for you. We were bound to get called on the carpet for this. You’re president. It’s only fair it should be you that goes to explain this.”
My gaze narrows on him. “Are you fucking kidding me?”
“It won’t be that bad. Take this with you and tell them whatever you want about how we got it back.” Vaughn pushes the ledger into my hands. I’m forced to take it so it doesn’t hit the floor. “Grandfather assured me the Initiation is still happening. For all of us. They just want to talk to you first and it has to be alone. You have to go now if we want to stand a chance of getting Initiated.”
Nolan nods in agreement. Cole looks away when I meet his gaze, but not before I catch the grim expression on his face. He might not like this sudden turn, but the Initiation is more important to him than anything else.
“You wanted to be president,” he finally says. “Take your lumps and let’s get this done.”
I go because I don’t have a choice.
A black town car waits next to the valet stand when I get outside. Ledger in hand, I climb into the back without waiting for the valet to open the door for me.
With a jolt of unpleasant surprise, I realize someone is already waiting in the back of it.
My father’s expression is stony as he turns to face me. Metal glints in his lap before the butt of a gun flies toward my face. With the ledger heavy in my hands, I can’t react quickly enough to avoid the first hit as it cracks against my left temple.
Pain explodes in a blinding light, distracting enough that I barely see the second hit coming.
That one is hard enough to knock me out cold.
Chapter Thirty-One
“Time to wake up.”
It feels a little like I got hit by a truck. My eyes desperately want to stay glued shut, and I struggle to get them open. Vision creeps back in from the edges first. It comes in hazy, like a looming fog that clears too slowly.
“Come on, Pratt. Fun can’t start without you.”
I hear the words, but that doesn’t mean I’m aware enough to respond to them. That changes when someone slaps me fully across the face.
“I said wake up, bitch.”
The pain of it is more startling than painful. Awareness snaps at me with the force and speed of a dump truck. My eyes snap open to find something out of a nightmare.
Now that they’re open, I sincerely wish I hadn’t bothered to make the effort.
The room around me is dark, but their voices make an echo that echoes off stone. Ice-cold air washes over my skin, along with the stink of mold and still water. This is a combination you only get when you’re underground.
“Back off, Byron. You’re just going to knock her right out again. The drugs are still wearing off.” Vaughn’s face shifts into the edges of my vision, eyes narrowed as he studies me. When our gazes meet, he lets out his breath in a sigh. “There she is.”
My eyes widen in pained surprise, even as a memory of him sticking a needle in my neck filters up from the ether. He takes a step back and my attention widens to include the others. “What the fuck…where am I?”
“The basement of Club Havoc,” Vaughn replies, as if that should be obvious. “The Bacchanal has just started.”
Two guys stand directly behind him, dressed in expensive suits with their arms crossed over their chests. They look similar enough to each other and Vaughn that they have to be his brothers.
“Yeah and we’re missing it for this shit,” one of them grumbles, while the other makes a sound of agreement.
Bravado briefly wins out over terror as I stare at them. “Is this how you guys get all the girls?”
One of them takes a step toward me. My hands automatically come up in defense, but get trapped tight at my sides when I try to move them. I’m tied to the chair. Experimentally, I shift my legs only to find that my ankles are similarly trapped.
A voice speaks from behind me, tone colder than the insulated air. “Bring my chair closer. Where she can see me.”
