I tapped the green icon. “Andie, I’m?—”
“Grace, you need to come get me.” The slur in her voice sent chills down my spine.
Music thumped in the background, reminding me of other parties, other nights when music had drowned out the screams.
“What frat house are you at?”
I hated parties, and parties at fraternities were the worst. When pledges were handed down to newbies, they sometimes involved how many girls the newbie could screw in a weekend. If a college boy was desperate enough to meet that pledge, he could give a girl a roofie. That had happened. But I discarded the idea. Fraternities went through pledges at the beginning of the school year, not in March right before spring break.
“I’m at the Omega House,” she drawled. “Please hurry. I feel weird.”
My hands clenched around the wheel. “Weird how?”
“Weak… sleepy…”
“Dollface, there you are.” A deep baritone voice sent ice through my veins.
“Andie, talk to me!”
But the line went dead.
I sped through the streets of Boston, fury and paranoia stealing the air out of my lungs.
Suddenly, images of Thea and me at one of John Smith’s parties danced in my vision.
“Darling,” a thinning bald man said as he grabbed my ass, “you’re mine tonight.”
I balled my hands into fists as I stood by the bar, locking eyes with the bartender, silently pleading with him to get me out of the coven of hungry old men who wanted to fuck Thea and me until we couldn’t walk.
The middle-aged bartender gave me a pitiful look.
I mouthed, “Help me.”
He shook his head. He knew if he attempted to rescue any of us, he was dead.
The bald man with a gut the size of two basketballs slid his hand up my dress. “I can’t wait to fuck you senseless.”
A horn blew, zapping my trip to hell. I blinked to find that I was stopped at a green light, shaking.
I was turning mad, crazy, and I was a second away from a nervous breakdown. But I had to stay strong. I couldn’t allow my own problems to get in the way of saving my friend. So I continued my trek to the frat house, trying to regulate my breathing and praying like a girl in church that Andie was okay.
A few minutes later, with my purse to my chest, I pushed through the rowdy crowd at Omega House, the bass of the music vibrating through my bones.
I searched the sea of drunken college students, the stench of alcohol and sweat hanging heavy in the air.
“Andie, where are you?” I mumbled as I entered the kitchen where students were playing beer pong, a favorite of hers.
But no sign of a petite redhead.
I poked a tall brunette by the sliding glass door in the arm. “Hey, have you seen a short, wavy-haired redhead? Her name is Andie.”
Her eyes glossy, the brunette shook her head.
A dangerous blend of anger and fear coursed through me as I checked the deck and backyard with no luck. I rushed through the house, found the stairs, and took them cautiously as I stepped over people lounging on the steps.
If that frat boy was forcing himself on her, I swore he was a dead man.
I checked room after room on the second floor, yielding nothing but couples rolling around on beds. Panic simmered beneath the surface as I approached the last door at the end of a long hallway.
