Until death.
More binding than a marriage, and more demanding as well.
His gaze sharpens, the gray like honed steel. “Don’t embarrass me, son.”
I give him a curt nod. The gravity of an unknown situation, weighed down with expectations, wraps around my neck like a noose. The impending danger causes it to tighten, as does my father’s silent warning.
“You’re dismissed,” he says. “But I’ll be watching, Xavier. They all will.”
Ten founding families. Hundreds of years of history. Thousands of members that have gone before me.
And one girl who makes my life worth living.
Chapter 5XAVIER
Freshman Year at South Harbor University
A few weeks later...
Mors solum initium.
Death is only the beginning.
The ancient words resonate in my mind, in both languages. They dig into my psyche like an ax to wood, slowly chipping away at my calm demeanor. I knew this day would come, but it won’t be my last on this earth.
It could be for a weaker man.
Someone rips off the hood covering my head, leaving me to blink away the darkness. My vision is slow to adjust, but my instincts are fired up, ready to push me into action. To kill.
I’d bet my inheritance that’s why the league of assassins brought me here.
I’m quick to scan my surroundings, taking note of the others. My competitors. The men who will either be my brothers-in-arms or the ones who will attack me.
The setting for our initiation is a castle dungeon, a structure that’s probably older than the Obsidian Order itself. The air is thick with the scents of dirt, stone, and fear. A flickering torch along the wall provides light for us to see, but the space is still dark enough to create an ominous atmosphere.
The cold, unforgiving floor underneath me slowly drains my body’s warmth, just as the chains around my wrists and ankles clinking together siphon my patience. The sensation of being bound, of being another’s prisoner has memories clawing my mind, drawing metaphorical blood.
I’m more than ready to draw actual blood, if only to repress the dark images trying to emerge.
I run my gaze over the twelve other men sharing my predicament. All of them are like me, sons from one of the ten founding families. All of us were born for this purpose.
Except one.
The newcomer’s brow is furrowed with the standard “what the fuck” expression. He doesn’t bother to hide his shock or his frustration at being shackled. But he should. Giving anyone insight into your thoughts puts you at a disadvantage.
He’ll learn soon enough… or he’ll die.
A man stands in the middle of the room with his arms crossed, a pile of black hoods resting at his feet. If Mark Barnum could get away with it, he’d have a pile of corpses next to him instead. I don’t know anyone more ruthless than him, someone willing to do whatever it takes to survive.
Except me.
“Listen up, recruits.” Mark’s voice rings out, instantly silencing the mutterings of those around him. I summon my inner fortitude, the one that has kept me alive through a lifetime of torture. Both physical and mental. There’s nothing he can say that I can’t handle.
Mark grins. “You assholes aren’t getting out of here until someone dies.”
This immediately goes from being a dungeon to an arena. Blood will be spilled. It just won’t be mine.
From the corner of my eye, I watch the newcomer’s reaction. The young man runs a hand through his blonde hair, rattling his chains, and bringing everyone’s attention to him. Poor bastard just made himself a target.
The rest of us have been trained for this. Bred for this. Joining the Obsidian Order as an elite assassin is akin to serving our family. It’s an honor.
One that’s not allowed to be refused.
“To make things interesting,” Mark says, drawing out the word, “I’ve provided an incentive.” He removes three knives from the back pocket of his jeans and places them by his feet. “Mors solum initium, motherfuckers.”
The second he walks from the room and locks the cell door behind him, there’s a flurry of activity as everyone rushes to grab one of the weapons. The sound of chains colliding is only superseded by the shouts of profanity.
I keep my focus on the clusterfuck in the middle of the floor while slowly getting to my feet. Adrenaline unfurls inside me, familiar and potent, sweeping through my limbs and preparing me for battle.
I don’t need a blade to kill someone.
A shout of pain echoes in the space as Eric Gage slashes someone with his newly acquired weapon.
Ryan Emerson clutches his stomach, pain etched into his features, a red stain creeping along the expensive material of his shirt. The metallic scent of blood mixes with the smell of dirt as it floats in the air.
“Is that all you’ve got, Eric?” Ryan spits on the ground. “Looks like you’ve spending more time getting high than actually learning to fight. It’s fucked with your brain cells, and you didn’t have many to start with.”
“I’ll show you fucked up.” Eric smirks, but the flash of anger in his eyes undermines his taunt. “And when I’m done, I’ll show your girlfriend too.”
Eric slashes at Ryan in a downward arc, but he dodges the attack easily, using Eric’s momentum to plant a heel behind his knee. Eric falters. He staggers back, nearly avoiding Ryan’s follow-up strike. Even wounded, the heir to the Emerson fortune is a formidable challenger.
From the far end of the cell, I track their movements as well as those around me. The attention of everyone present is centered on the fight. I’m sure most of them hope Ryan will take Eric’s life and save them the risk of dying or the responsibility of having to kill someone.
At least for today.
The time will come for all of them.
When being inducted into an assassin’s guild, murder is par for the course. Our fathers and uncles have all undergone this rite of passage, but with it being a secret society, its operations must remain hidden. That didn’t stop my father from preparing me every day of my life. This isn’t my first time in a cell.
Or being ordered to kill someone.
Out of everyone, Eric has always been the most volatile. Every child born to the founding families attended the same prestigious schools and elite social events, so his behavior isn’t shocking to me. In fact, there are few things in my life that have ever surprised me.
The most memorable one is a girl with green eyes, honey-colored hair, and a knife in her hand. The last time someone pulled a weapon on me, it was her. I smile briefly at the image.
I’m quick to dismiss thoughts of Delilah. It’s not an easy task, but with the threat of death a few feet away, my brain complies. For once. She’s been on my mind since the moment I first saw her.
Eric rights himself, chest heaving and his blonde hair falling across his forehead. Even from across the room, I’m able to pinpoint the exact moment he calculates the odds of winning this fight with Ryan. There’s an infinitesimal widening of his eyes that gives him away.
“At least I have a warm pussy waiting for me,” Ryan says with a grin. He laughs harshly, though sweat dots his forehead and darkens the roots of his hair. “The only thing waiting for you is a syringe. Hard to fuck, but not impossible I guess.”