CHAPTER FOUR
INITIATION
RYAT
ONE OF THEM
SENIOR YEAR AT BARRINGTON UNIVERSITY
THE BACKS OF my knees are hit, knocking me down onto them. I grind my teeth to keep from making a sound when they impact the concrete. Blood rushes in my ears, and my heart beats wildly in my chest.
This is what I live for!
The adrenaline rush is unlike anything I’ve ever known—an addiction. Something that can’t be bought off the streets or drank from a bottle.
The hood is ripped off my head, and I blink, looking around to adjust my eyesight. I’m in the center of a room. Seats filled with men dressed in thousand-dollar suits circle the large space. You wouldn’t know they’re all killers if you saw them on the street. The room is filled with power. Some are senators, while others are CEOs of multibillion dollar companies. A Lord is made to feed off another. It’s like anything else—someone has to be at the top, and another has to hold up the bottom. But still, powerful nonetheless. After graduation, we’re each strategically placed where we fit best in the world.
My eyes fall to what looks to be a birdbath sitting in the middle with a small fire going, and my breathing picks up.
“Restrain him,” someone calls out.
I’m shoved face-first to the floor. My arms are yanked behind my back and handcuffed. I growl as I’m jerked back to a kneeling position. A belt is wrapped around my neck and is pulled from behind while a boot presses into my back right between my shoulder blades.
I bare my teeth, trying to breathe with what little air I have.
“Ryat Alexander Archer, you have completed all trials of initiation. Do you wish to proceed?”
“Yes, sir,” I manage to growl out.
He nods, placing his hands behind his back. “Remove his shirt.”
Another man comes up to me and cuts the collar of my shirt, then rips it down the center. He leaves it hanging off my shoulders and walks away.
Instinct has me fighting the restraints, and the man behind me pulls tighter on the belt, shoving his boot farther into my back, cutting off my air in the process. I fist my cuffed hands and watch the man place a hot iron into the fire.
“A Lord must be willing to go above and beyond for his title. He must show strength and have what it takes.” He pulls the hot iron from the flames and turns to face me, the end burning red. “If you shall fail your position as a Lord, we will take what was earned.” He looks over to his right and adds, “Silence him.”
A hand fists my hair, yanking my head back to stare up at the black ceiling. If I was able to breathe, I’d growl at the motherfucker who is touching me. A small cloth is shoved into my mouth, and I bite down on it, knowing what’s coming.
“Ryat Alexander Archer, welcome to the Lords. For you shall reap the benefits of your sacrifice.” Then the hot iron is pressed to my chest, searing the crest to my body.
CHAPTER FIVE
RYAT
IWALK INTOthe empty office, looking out through the floor-to-ceiling windows behind a set of couches. The city lights illuminate the night. It’s one in the morning and my first time here.
Making my way down the hallway, I knock on the last door.
“Come in,” a man calls out.
Entering, I close it behind me. A man sits behind a desk in front of the floor-to-ceiling windows. A single lamp glows from the corner of his desk, and I wonder if this is so people won’t know he’s in his office at this time of night. “You wanted to see me, sir?”
“Have a seat, Ryat.” He gestures to the chair across from him.
Doing as I’m told, I cross my arms over my chest. My senior Lord ceremony was three weeks ago. Classes at Barrington University start in two. For three long years, I’ve proven myself to the Lords. And now I’m one of them. But this morning, I got a call to be seen by a fellow Lord. It’s not uncommon but definitely had me curious as to what the fuck he wants.
He pulls a picture out of the pocket of his Armani suit jacket and slides it across the black surface. “Here is your first assignment.”
Picking it up, I look it over but quickly lift my eyes to him once again. “What about her?” I ask confused.
“She is to be yours.”
My gift—a chosen one.
Freshman year, we all took an oath, knowing that we all might not make it. During our senior year, we are rewarded for our servitude with sex. We’re allowed to take more than one chosen one. We can share her with the other Lords if we’d like. It happens a lot. I don’t know how many damn orgies I’ve watched over the past three years. There are no rules for us once we take on a chosen. Only for the women. If they accept—they have to willingly take the oath to belong to us—then they are ours. If a friend wants her for a night, we have the power to say yes or no. But if they are caught stepping out, they are punished. Humiliation is key.
I snort at his answer and throw the picture down. “No, seriously.”
His light brown eyes just stare at me, jaw set in a hard line. The man looks too young to be in the position that he has. Not many wrinkles and in good shape, a full head of dark hair that he keeps slicked back. But that’s a Lord for you. We put all the hard work in during our first three years of college. Once we graduate from Barrington, we rule.
I look away, running my hand through my hair, and choose my words differently. “She doesn’t belong to me.”
“She does … for now.” The man nods once.
She’s a junior this year at Barrington. I know her but have never spoken to her. No reason to. Like I said, she doesn’t belong to me. Releasing a sigh at his silence, I pick it back up. She stands in the middle of a parking lot next to her white Audi R8. Staring down at her cell, she’s oblivious that someone is watching her, taking pictures of her. She wears a pair of low-cut jeans and a white T-shirt. Her dark hair is down, the wind blowing it in her face.
“This has to be wrong,” I urge, shaking my head. “She is …”
“Are you denying a direct order?” he asks, tilting his head to the side.
I grind my teeth. “No. It’s just …”
“Good.” He stands, ripping the picture from my hands. “Do what must be done and make it happen.”
Nodding my head, I stand as well. “Yes, sir.” Then I turn and exit his office, knowing that I’ll do whatever must be done.
Blakely Anderson will be mine!
BLAKELY
I’M PRACTICALLY RUNNINGdown the hallway trying to find my first class. Books in one hand, my schedule in the other. My bag has fallen off my shoulder and sits in the crook of my arm. Coming to where I think I’m supposed to be, I stop at the door, and my shoulders fall.
Room 125
I’m supposed to go to room 152. “Ugh.” I throw my head back. “Son of a bitch.”
This is my junior year at Barrington University, so you would think I’d know the college by now, but I don’t. This place is the size of a large city, spanning over three thousand acres. Over twenty buildings hold the classes, plus apartments and houses because they don’t have dorms here. That’s not acceptable for the rich.
I spin around to head in a different direction but hit a brick wall. The impact throws me back onto my ass. The books go flying along with my paper and bag.
“Watch where you’re fucking going!”
I look up from the floor to see a man standing in front of me. Emerald eyes so dark they’re almost frighteningly glare down at me. His dark brown hair is trimmed shorter on the sides, and the longer pieces on top are unkempt, giving it that messy, “I just rolled out of bed” look. He’s got a straight nose, and there’s a tic in his chiseled, smooth jaw. He’s dressed in dark denim jeans that hug his thighs, a black T-shirt shows off his broad shoulders and muscular arms, and tennis shoes. Ryat Archer stands there looking every bit pissed off as he does every second of every day.
“Sorry,” I mutter, pushing my glasses back on my nose. I was running too late this morning to take the time to screw with my contacts. They hate me.
Reaching out my hand, I wait for him to grab it and help me up.
He uncrosses his arms and shoves his hands into the front pockets of his jeans, letting me know I’m on my own. His eyes drop to my chest, and he tilts his head to the side as they continue down over my stomach and bare legs. Slowly, he takes in my T-shirt and jean shorts. My breathing picks up, and fear creeps along my spine like a spider crawling on my skin. He looks at me like I’m a problem he needs to take care of. Something in his way to conquering the world.