Bad taste

Party O'Clock

***
*Bill version*
I turned into the gravel parking lot, the night lit up with the headlights of all the other partiers arriving. The warehouse had been abandoned long ago, but since it hadn't been slotted for use or torn down yet, we confiscated it every chance we got to let loose and raise a little hell. People brought kegs and liquor, and the town's wannabe youth DJs set up their systems, filling the night with rage and noise so loud we couldn't even think if we wanted to. This is what I'd been waiting for.

Obviously I wanted to see her how she'd hang with us, with my friends. Could she keep up? Could she even manage to make a dent in our world? But what I really wanted was to get her away from Tom a little, just to see her relax. I wanted to see how she was when stop thinking about being kidnapped, about being killed or raped. I know, she doesn't want or deserve this, she is a child, but this is what we are doing and I can't be sorry.

I want to see her suffer like the others, to beat her up until she is begging for her life, but something is different with her. And also, she is Tom's, I can't touch her in any way.

"Goddamn, I hope someone has grills going inside," Gustav complained as Tom pulled into a parking space. "I'm still fucking hungry."

I kept my smile to myself. Every time we brought girls here he is always hungry.

Tom shut off the engine and everyone climbed out, George and Tom pulling off their sweatshirts and tossing them onto their seats, while Daphne grabbed the masks and secured them in the duffel in the back of the car.

Glancing over, I saw Riya looking at Daphne probably not understanding where the masks came from, and then she slammed the door, walking towards the rear.

"Come here Little Monster." George pulled her around the back of the car.

I watched them over my shoulder, seeing him raise his hand over her face, and it appeared as if he was putting something on it. He dragged his fingers down her skin, and the I spotted what was in his hands. Shoe polish. We kept it in the duffel in case a mask broke on one of our escapades and we needed to improvise.

He finished and grinned at her. "War paint," he explained. "You're one of us now."

She turned around a small smile on her face. A smudgy black stripe traveled from the left side of her forehead diagonally down her face, across her nose, and ended on the right side of her jaw. I crossed my arms over my chest, ignoring the rush in my chest. She looked badass.

A few drops of rain landed on my face, and I heard excited laughter and yelps around us as people scurried through the parking lot, trying to get inside before the downpour started.

Riya tripped her head back, cool drops glistening on her cheeks and forehead as her lips spread in a smile.

"Let's go!" Tom yelled.

I turned and walked for the warehouse, Tom and George at my sides while the rest followed behind.

Entering the massive building was like stepping into a different world. The warehouse had been gutted year ago band the steel beams fifty feet above our heads were rubbed raw of their paint by weather and time. Barely any walls remained, and the dilapidated roof had several large holes, making it easy for the rain, getting heavier by minute, to pour in it. We walked in slowly, taking in the chaos that resembled a small, post-apocalyptic, underground city. However, despite the darkness, the raw feel of the unclean and cold metal, and the bonfire raging to the left as people danced.