my face, damp and ripe. The tree limbs waving as we pass, leaves rustling in grim celebration. I can’t see the moon overhead, but I can feel the pull of it, loud in its magnetism.
You are alive, it’s screaming. You are free.
If I thought standing on a dark dock was exhilarating, then zooming over the onyx lake, blindfolded, in the dead of night, is on another level entirely.
I have too much time to think and feel as we buzz across the water. I wonder if my parents have discovered I’m gone yet. If they found my phone tucked under the pillow in my bedroom. I wonder what my brother’s involvement in all this is. I wonder how desperate Reyn must be to agree to this arrangement, and if whatever is happening is worth the information I’m hoping to get. Both Emory and Reyn have a history filled with bad decisions and epic fuck-ups. Yet here I am, once again, willingly following them into the fray.
Yes, I’m an idiot.
My lips curl into a smile as the wind whips my hair around my arms, fluttering about me like an excited puppy who’s missed its owner.
Well. At least I’m an idiot who’s having fun.
There’s more of that ratcheting thrill when the boat begins slowing, the sound of the motor decreasing to a hum before cutting off altogether. After the roar of the motor, the sudden silence is jarring in its loudness.
It doesn’t last long.
“Get up,” my captor says, and now that I’m listening more than looking at him, I can tell he’s chewing gum—a subtle smack punctuating his words. I can also hear his feet as he exits the boat, so I struggle to follow, holding onto the back of the seat for balance.
Suddenly, a hand clenches around my upper arm. A low, velvety voice rushes against my ear, “I’ve got you.”
A shiver runs down my spine.
I was wrong. I do know who’s hiding under that mask. There’s no doubt who that voice belongs to; Reyn.
My body should relax, knowing who’s actually helping me off the boat and onto the dock, but it doesn’t. I’m caught in a twist of emotions. Excitement, nerves, confusion, frustration. It’s not like I didn’t know he was involved. I mean, I’d even been looking for him at the boat ramp.
I guess it’s the fact that he has the upper hand—again.
I look weak—again.
Reyn’s hands clutch either side of my waist, and when he lifts me over the side of the boat, he doesn’t even grunt. With his strong grip, he sets me down on the dock, hands lingering to make sure I’ve found my footing.
Before I can even think to feel embarrassed about this, someone speaks.
“Don’t take off your masks yet.” I instantly recognize Emory’s voice. It’s firm and assured, loud in the stillness around us. “You’ve all been hand-selected as the best of the best at Preston to pledge in an exclusive club.” I feel more than see Reyn turning to look at me. Emory’s voice turns mocking. “This isn’t your garden variety Preston Prep spirit club. There aren’t going to be any bake sales or dances. This will be physically, mentally, and emotionally exhausting. This will probably be perverse. This will, in all likelihood, be illegal as hell. So if you can’t handle that, then raise your hand now, and we’ll cart your ass off.”
There’s a long pause, and I wonder who’s raising their hand. I’d be lying if I said that I didn’t feel my own twitch of apprehension.
Emory says, “Some of you might not make it, anyway,” I can hear his voice travel, like he’s pacing the line of us, but at this, it seems closer, fixed toward me. “Just because you think you can handle it doesn’t mean you can.” His voice starts moving again. “If you have what it takes, then you’re about to be a part of something that can’t be dismantled. This is about leadership. Loyalty. Legacy. By pledging to this, you’re swearing an unbreakable bond that transcends shitty little high school cliques.”
“Last chance,” another guy says. I don’t know who. “Does anyone want to bail?” When no one makes a sound he says, “Well, alright then. Let the games begin.”
It’s a lot of dramatic fanfare, but my brother joined the Devils for a reason. Elitism, popularity, social dominance. That’s why, when we’re told we can take off our masks, I’m not surprised to see two other former Devils, Carlton Wade and Ben Shackleford, standing next to him. And of