Total pages in book: 139
Estimated words: 127146 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 636(@200wpm)___ 509(@250wpm)___ 424(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 127146 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 636(@200wpm)___ 509(@250wpm)___ 424(@300wpm)
When they disappear inside, something close to irritation pricks at my skin. I could go in there, grab a tray, and pile it full of food. I could then plop down in a seat beside her, terrorize her with whispers in her ear, or watch from a distance, letting her know I’m close by and that there isn’t a fucking thing she can do about it. It sounds like a fun time, but I do everything I can to limit my time on campus. It's hard enough pretending while I attend classes and even harder when my patience is as thin as it is at this very moment. Your family name and image are the most important things. Don’t fuck it up. I can hear my father’s deep, angry voice in my mind, almost as if he’s standing right beside me speaking the words.
You got lucky this time, Maybel.
With the knowledge that I’ll be seeing her again real soon, I turn and start the short walk to the other side of campus. The crisp air carries with it a slight bite of cold. Fall is upon us, and winter will be here soon. I welcome the fresh air and take the time while walking to clear my head. It’s only about a mile walk to my family's estate, which butts against the school campus.
Right now, a couple of my closest friends and I live here. Of course we use the old Mill House for meetings, but those have been few and far between with everyone's busy schedules. Every year in October, we hold The Hunt. The one big event has been a tradition on school grounds for over a hundred years. The original hunt was nothing more than a glorified game of hide-and-seek back in the twenties.
It wasn’t until ten years ago that changes took place, making the event that much more elusive and popular. Every year, we strive to outdo the year before, and this year will be the first where we have no rules. Everything goes. If you accept the invitation and show up, you agree to those terms. Every year, fifty men and women, mostly Mill members, those members who were inducted into the society the previous year, are picked to be a part of the event. It means the new members, those who are inducted after the start of the year, after The Hunt, don’t get to participate, but..tough shit.
In the past, I’ve grown bored. It’s always the same girls and the same fake screams.
This year will be different, though, I know it. I can feel it in my bones. My family has been at the center of The Mill since it was founded three generations ago. I’m determined to make my time as president legendary. Hell, it already is when college students from other damn states beg to come to our public-facing events. If only they knew what happened in the shadows.
For now, I need to focus on the present. All I have to do is ensure Maybel makes it to the event, and then I can let myself go. I can experience the event for what it’s supposed to be. Ahead of me is the house. My feet crunch across the packed gravel drive to the old Victorian mansion. Back in the day, the house had been built by the dean of the school, then a couple years later, my great-grandfather acquired the place for his own personal and debauched use.
He wanted a home away from home for his eclectic activities, hosting illegal alcohol parties in the basement for the other high-profile students on campus. My grandfather had specific tastes, and I’d heard a number of stories from my father about the fuck fests that took place on these grounds. Unsurprisingly, it all started during the Roaring Twenties.
The wrought-iron gates open as I approach them, and I jog up the other side of the driveway to the landing and front door. The heavy wooden door creaks as I open it and slip beneath the Gothic arches. Stained glass and polished dark wood greet me, and the spicy scent of cinnamon tickles my nose.
Patty hobbles out of the kitchen and into the main entry, greeting me with a smile and a plate of cookies. She looks as she does every day, wearing the maid’s uniform my father provides all the help with. Her thinning dark hair is pulled back into a tight bun at the nape of her neck. Not a single strand out of place. "Andrew, sweetie, take a cookie. They’re snickerdoodles, your favorite.”
My immediate response is to tell her to fuck off, but I pause. Now don’t get me wrong, Patty is a nice lady. In fact, she’s the closest thing to a grandma that I have, but small talk with my father’s staff is my least favorite thing. I’d rather gouge my eyes out than engage in a conversation that will most likely end up being repeated back to my father, becoming our next topic of discussion. Therefore, I simply smile and snag one from the plate she offers me and then another for later.