ONE OF THEM
SENIOR YEAR AT BARRINGTON UNIVERSITY
T HE 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.
