by Stella Hart
The doctor was obviously a member of the clandestine group that owned and operated this place, and apparently, so was Amy. With the mask covering half my face, I passed for her.
“I needed the bathroom, and I got turned around,” I mumbled, hoping my voice wouldn’t give me away.
The doctor rolled her eyes. “You went down the wrong hall,” she snapped. “And Christ, what happened to your arm?”
“I fell.”
“Wow, you really are drunk.” She sniffed derisively and grabbed the door handle, getting ready to shut it. “Off you go. By the way, find some way to tell your mother that my husband wants a word about the State Department job.”
“Sure.”
I fled back down the hall and went through another arched doorway leading out of the foyer. The first door on the left of the new hall opened up to an elaborate bathroom. With a relieved sigh, I stepped over to a basin and washed my arm. There was only one small cut near my elbow, but it had produced a lot of blood.
Once I’d dried the cut and covered it with one of the bandages, I took off my mask and gazed in the mirror. I looked like hell. My eyes were ringed with ugly black smudges from where my makeup ran earlier, and my hair was sticking up every which way.
After fixing myself up with the makeup and comb I kept in my clutch, I put the mask on and headed back to the party room. At some point, someone would get tired and want to leave. When that happened, I could follow them out and find my way home without getting in trouble by revealing myself as a trespasser.
Until then, I planned to sit near the bar and blend in as much as possible.
I took a seat on a leather-bound stool near the bar, and the same waitress from earlier approached me. “Forgive me if I’m overstepping, but you seem to have had a rough night so far,” she said in a sympathetic tone, nodding toward my bandaged arm. “Would you like an espresso martini? It’ll perk you right up.”
“I’d love one. Thanks.”
She smiled and went off to make my drink. While I waited, I retrieved my phone from my clutch and turned it on again. It had just occurred to me that a place like this would probably have cell service, even if the rest of the tunnels didn’t.
I was right. As soon as I switched the screen on, I saw a barrage of text messages from Marissa.
10:25 - I can’t believe you ditched us. Where the hell are you?
10:27 - Seriously, it’s not funny! We could’ve gotten lost in those tunnels!
10:28 – You’re such a bitch. Grow the fuck up.
10:30 – If you don’t answer soon, we’re gonna leave and go clubbing without you.
10:32 – Look, my feet really hurt after all that walking, so I’ll give you fifteen minutes to come find us and apologize. Okay??
10: 34 – OMG. Willow. Something fucked up is happening at your mom’s party. Seriously. Get back here now!
I rolled my eyes and put my phone away. Nothing was happening at the party. Marissa was just trying to guilt-trip me into going back there so she could get the apology she believed she deserved. It made my blood boil.
While I understood that she thought I ditched her in the tunnel, that wasn’t actually the case, and the things I overheard her saying about me earlier made me feel as if someone had stabbed me in the back with a hot knife.
I always knew my friends could be bitchy, but until tonight, I had no idea that their nastiness was aimed at me when I wasn’t around. I suppose that was naïve of me. Stupid, even.
The waitress delivered my drink, and as I took my first sip, I glanced around the room. No one was leaving yet, and even more guests were filtering in. The lights had dimmed, and the music had become louder with a throbbing bass. The party seemed to be heating up.
I hadn’t noticed earlier, but on one side of the large space, there were several dark doors with gold numbers on them. Scantily-clad women and shirtless men led a few of the guests into the rooms, and when I craned my neck and squinted into the dim light beyond, I saw all sorts of shocking contraptions and tools. Clearly, the rooms were supposed to be mini sex dungeons.
Just when I thought this place couldn’t get any weirder…
I decided to amuse myself by checking out every guest on the main floor so I could figure out who they were, even the masked ones.
I spotted two identical blond men getting lap dances across the room, and I quickly recognized them as the Locke brothers. They owned the country’s third-largest privately-held company, and they made frequent and significant financial contributions to conservative political think tanks. While most members of the public wouldn’t have any clue who they were if they passed them in the street, they were incredibly influential, and they were very well-known in elite circles.
I recognized another renowned member of the upper crust a few feet away from them—oil magnate Robert Grierson. He was being led around on a leash attached to a collar around his neck. A ball-gag had been stuffed in his mouth.
If I was the sort of person to take risqué photos and sell them to the press, I could make an absolute killing tonight.
A silver-haired man in a black mask took the seat next to me, and he gave me a brief smile and nod. “It looks like we have something in common,” he said. “We enjoy people-watching more than participating.”
I nodded. “It’s really something.”
“Yes. I rarely make it to the parties these days, now that I’m living all the way over in Santa Monica, but I try to make an appearance every so often.”
“That’s good.”
He smiled again. “I’ve been a member for three decades now, and it still tickles me to think of all these people right here under the White House, engaging in all kinds of debauchery, while no one up there has any fucking idea.” He raised his chin skyward.
“We’re under the White House?” I blurted out. I inwardly cringed as I realized I’d just given myself away as a clueless intruder.
Luckily, the man thought I was joking, and he let out a booming laugh. “Good one.”
“Thanks,” I murmured, smiling nervously.
“You know, these parties are actually quite frightening, if you think about it,” the man went on, gesturing toward the throngs of guests. “So much of the country’s true royalty is here tonight. Imagine what would happen if something happened to the structures down here and it all caved in. The whole world would probably fall apart at the seams.”
I frowned, wondering what he meant by ‘true royalty’. In that instant, I spotted a man with a familiar profile standing near the spot my new companion had just gestured toward.
“Is that Rutherford?” I asked, leaning forward. It would make sense if it was. POTUS was probably the closest thing we had to a king in the States.
The silver-haired man chuckled. “You’re kidding again, right?”
“Um…” My legs began to tremble. What would he do to me if he figured out I didn’t belong here? Given the way things were going with my big mouth, it probably wouldn’t be long until that happened.
He waved a hand. “You know how rare it is for a president or vice president to be a member. They’re just puppets.”
I gulped. “Oh, yes, I know,” I said, forcing myself to adopt an airy, confident tone. “It’s just that the man over there looks a bit like him, so I was confused for a second.”
I could see that it definitely wasn’t the president now, and I felt like a complete idiot for revealing my ignorance once again.
The man next to me grunted and tilted his head slightly to one side. “Hm. You’re right, they actually do look similar from a certain angle.” He turned back to me and motioned to my espresso martini. “Anyway, I see you’re planning on having a late night. Big plans with another member, or do you have someone on the outside?”
I pressed my lips into an awkward smile. “No, I think the alcohol sort of cancels out the coffee. It’ll give me a buzz now, but when I get home, I’ll probably sleep like a baby.”
If I ever get home, I silently added.
The man’s brows knitted in a frown. “I was referring to the secret ingredients. Not the coffee.”
My forehead wrinkled. “Sorry, what?”
“The espresso martinis at these parties are laced with hallucinogens and uppers. You know that, don’t you?”
I pushed the drink away and tried to keep the shock out of my voice. “I completely forgot. I’ve only been to a couple of parties before.”
The man’s thin lips turned up in a faint smile. “Ah. You’re a new member. I was wondering why I didn’t recognize you right away.”
I gave him a wide smile in return. “Yes. Very new,” I said.
His smile suddenly faded. “Hold on. The last initiation was several months ago, and parties are mandatory during a member’s first year. How have you only attended a couple of them?”
Shit. I cleared my throat and kept the smile pasted on. “Well, it’s probably more than a couple. I really can’t remember. I have the world’s worst memory,” I said lightly, hoping he’d buy the ditzy act.
He didn’t. He stared right at me, dark eyes narrowed with suspicion. “I actually don’t remember seeing any redheads at the last initiation,” he said. “Who are you?”
I swallowed hard and stood up. “Please excuse me. I’ve had a bit too much to drink, and I need to use the restroom.”
He rose to his feet as well. “Show me your tattoo before you go,” he demanded, refusing to drop the subject. Before I could move, he stuck his hand out and threaded his fingers in the hair at the nape of my neck, roughly pulling at it. “If you belong here, you can prove it.”
A flurry of dings and vibrations suddenly echoed throughout the room, and a tall blonde waitress let out a shriek from behind the bar. Her eyes were glued to her cell phone. Within seconds, half the room had followed suit and whipped their own phones out.
In the flurry of noise and confusion, the silver-haired man seemed to forget all about me and his quest to prove that I was an intruder. He dropped his hand from my hair and pulled his cell out of his pocket. I checked mine as well, wondering what the hell was going on.
I had two more messages from Marissa now.
10:34 – I’m not joking, Willow! President Rutherford just collapsed right in front of Kate. Everyone is going crazy. I don’t know where you are, but this shit is real. Please come back. I’m freaking out!
10:45 – They just called it. He’s fucking dead. Heart attack. OMG. OMG. I can’t believe it. Where the hell are you?????
As well as the messages, there were also several Google alerts notifying me of the breaking news. The President had collapsed at my mother’s birthday party, and reports of his death had just been confirmed.
The silver-haired man turned to me with wide eyes. His suspicions about me seemed to have been forgotten entirely. “Is it true?” he asked. “Rutherford is gone?”
“Looks like it,” I said, slowly nodding with bleak astonishment. This evening had already been so surreal, and now this had happened on top of it all. I couldn’t quite believe it.
“Christ. Didn’t see this coming,” the man muttered beside me. He patted my shoulder and helped me back into my seat. I murmured a grateful response. My legs had turned weak and shaky from the shock, so if I hadn’t sat down again, I might’ve collapsed.
I closed my eyes and took a deep breath, trying to calm myself. It didn’t work. My pulse raced faster and faster with every passing second, and dizziness threatened to overwhelm me as reality set in.
Rutherford was dead.
Dead.
That meant my mother had just become the president of the United States.
* * *
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