“Welcome, brothers,” Lincoln calls out from behind me. “This is the beginning of your journey. Your first assignment, gentlemen. If you do not complete it, you will not receive another.”
Translation—if we don’t kill our target, we’re out. And you don’t want to be stripped of your Lord title. They won’t kill you, but you’ll always be looking over your shoulder with the possibility.
The point of being a Lord is to do their dirty work for them. There are millions of us throughout the world. You become a Lord after three years of initiation, and if you go against your oath, you’re killed.
A man is shoved into the room with his hands tied behind his back and a hood over his head. His dirty clothes are covered in blood and filth.
“Gentlemen.” Lincoln comes up behind him. “Who would like to show us how it’s done?” he asks.
“I’ll do it,” I say without thought. This is not the time to be afraid. It’s the chance to show what you’re made of. You can’t rule the world and be afraid to sacrifice others.
Linc walks over to me and nods. “Go ahead, Sin.” He calls me by my nickname. “Pick your poison.”
I stand on shaky legs, my mind still sluggish, but I can do this. I walk over to a table where there’s a rope, gun, and pocketknife.
Pick your poison.
I grab the knife and turn back to the man kneeling in the center of the room. He’s shaking his head, but the hood prevents us from seeing his true identity. Doesn’t matter. If I don’t kill him, someone else here will. I can tell by his muffled screams that he’s gagged.
Before I can reach him, he falls facedown and tries to wiggle his way across the floor. If I were levelheaded, I’d laugh. I kick him in the side, knocking him to his back. Straddling his bare chest, I see the Lords’ crest on it—a circle with three horizontal lines running through it. It’s not old by any means but also not new. Probably a couple of years.
I feel all eyes on me. I take in a deep breath and crouch down, opening the pocketknife and shoving the blade into his neck. Yanking it out, I watch the blood squirt all over both of us. His body now convulsing before movement ceases completely.
Standing to my feet, I hold out the knife to Lincoln and he smiles at me. “You keep it.”
CHAPTER TWO
INITIATION
SIN
DEVOTION
SOPHOMORE YEAR AT BARRINGTON UNIVERSITY
I’M STRADDLING MY motorcycle, my earbuds blaring “Sick” by Adelitas Way when the song pauses, alerting me of an incoming message. Unzipping the pocket of my leather jacket, I remove my cell and read the text.
UNKNOWN: You have thirty minutes.
I put it away and pull my leather gloves on, followed by my helmet, fastening the buckle under my chin. Starting up my blacked-out R1, I feel the engine rev between my legs and kick it into gear. I tear out of the parking lot, squealing the back tire. Taking the back way, I lean into the curves, practically dragging my knee as I wind up the hill on the Pennsylvanian road.
As I ascend, my headlights shine on the two lanes. There is no shoulder here. It goes from road to tree line. One wrong move and I’d be in the hospital or dead. No one is on this road at this time of night, so if I were to crash and it didn’t kill me, who knows how long I’d lie there before I got help. Neither one sounds appealing tonight.
Approaching my destination, I slow down and take the last curve before stopping at the top of the hill. Placing both of my feet on either side of the blacktop to hold up the bike, I look over the house, now in full view.
Nothing but a glass four-story front. The lights are so bright that if I wasn’t wearing the darkened face shield on my helmet, my eyes would hurt.
I’ve been here before. A lot of times, actually, over my twenty years of existence. This will be my first time for business.
Cars line the cobblestone circle drive. He’s having a party. I’m not surprised. A man of his stature must keep up appearances for all intents and purposes. He’s a respected Lord. But he’s done something they don’t agree with.
Usually, I wouldn’t give a fuck what a man has done—Lord or not. An order is an order. But him? This house? Why? I’ve obviously missed something right in front of my face all these years. Maybe I’ve been too blinded with big tits and bleach-blond hair to pay much attention to anything else that lives inside the mansion.
Picking up my foot, I put the bike in gear once again and take off, making my way down the hill via the hidden road. None of his guests would use this way to access the house, so I’m able to remain unseen.
Coming to the bottom of the hill, I continue past the house before bringing my bike to a stop on the side of the road. I push it right into the tree line to hide it in the darkness. I remove my helmet, leather gloves, backpack off my shoulders, and jacket to have better mobility with my arms. I yank the earbuds out of my ears and shove them into my jeans pocket. Then I place my backpack on the seat and unzip it. I grab what I need and screw the suppressor onto the end of the barrel. I shove the gun into the back of my jeans, securing it for the time being. Then I remove the hoodie, pulling it over my head, along with the mask, before I place the backpack on my back, just in case, and make my way across the street toward the house.
My combat boots crush the leaves and branches under the soles once I hit the other side. The house lights up the woods in the middle of the night. As if any partygoer could miss the twenty-million-dollar mansion.