Filed to story: The LORDS Series Free PDF by Shantel Tessier
The hood is yanked from my head, and I blink at the harsh sunlight. My three brothers and I are in the courtyard of Carnage. Each tied to our posts with a firepit in front of us.
“Lords,” a man calls out, and I swallow against the rope tied around my neck.
He stands on the side of a firepit that has four branding irons in it. They’re to mark us. Remind us for the rest of our lives who we are and where we belong. The Lords will own us as if they already don’t.
“Today is the day that you take your oath. And with that oath comes great responsibility.” He speaks louder than he needs to in order for his voice to carry to the Lords so the ones standing on the balconies can hear him.
They’re not wearing their cloaks and masks today. They get to be seen as they welcome their new members to the society. We’ve earned our place at their table. I’d rather starve.
“As a Spade brother, you will be the ones who must punish those who disobey their oath. You will show them that we do not take our life for granted. You are their jury and executioner. Do you understand?”
“Yes, sir,” the four of us say in unison.
I should be glad I’ve made it this far. “It’s an honor to serve the Lords,” my father told me once, and I couldn’t understand why I didn’t share his enthusiasm.
The Lord nods and steps away from the firepit. The fire rages, and the smoke clouds around us, choking me almost as much as the rope secured around my neck.
My father steps in front of me, and I hate that a part of me has accomplished this much. “Haidyn Jamison Reeves, you have completed all your trials of initiation. Do you wish to proceed?”
Fuck no! But as I stand surrounded by my brothers, I answer, “I do, Father.” I won’t leave them. We’re in this together. I take this oath for them and no one else.
His jaw is tight, and his chest bowed. “A Lord must be willing to go above and beyond for his title. He must show strength and have what it takes. If you fail your position as a Lord, your brother will take what you earned.”
Dying at the hands of one of my brothers would be an honor that I know I won’t deserve.
He turns and walks over to the firepit. I take the time to try and readjust myself in the tight ropes. Fuck, they’re itchy, and the sun has me sweating so bad that it’s making the rope burn.
Picking up a brand from the firepit, he turns back to me. “Gag him.” He orders.
I open my mouth, knowing what’s coming as someone pushes something rubber into my mouth from behind me. I bite down on it, getting ready for the inevitable. There’s no going back after this. Not like that was ever an option.
“Haidyn Jamison Reeves.” The bastard actually smiles as if he’s proud of me. Like I’m a son he wants to claim. “Son…” He nods once. “Welcome to the Lords. For you shall reap the benefits of your sacrifice.” Then, like a man willing to sacrifice his only heir for his own gain, he places the hot brand into my sweaty chest, giving me something that will remain on my skin until I rot in a shallow grave.
FIVE
ANNABELLE
INITIATION
ONE OF THEM
Junior year at Barrington University
They say we live in a man’s world. That if you’re a woman, all you have going for you is what’s between your legs.
I was born into a secret society that isn’t any different. Even more so, really. The women are used and tossed around like we mean nothing. While the men are praised for knowing how to use their dicks.
It’s sickening.
I’m not saying I’m out trying to change the world; I’m just trying to change mine. I want to know that kind of power. I want to have women and men fear me. Is it too much to ask that I get a fair chance to prove I can be useful other than in the bedroom?
The Lords have given me the chance. My mother told me not to waste it because I won’t be given another one. Mistakes aren’t tolerated in our world. If you screw up, you’re dead. Life is too short to second-guess yourself. Know your worth and make others see it.
That’s what I’m doing.
I’m sitting with a hood over my head, trying to calm my heavy breathing. I have to remind myself that if a Lord can do this, so can I.
This is what the Lords do to you-test you. I’m not fucking weak. I’m a woman who can take on anyone or anything, anywhere.
My hands are zip-tied behind my back. I can no longer feel my fingers.
Someone yanks the hood from my head. I try to blow the hair from my face so I can see, but the back of my neck is grabbed. I’m pushed forward, doubled over where I sit, and the zip tie cut. The hand fists my hair, causing me to cry out as I’m yanked to my feet and shoved forward.
I groan as my hips hit something hard, and I flip my hair back to see it’s the Lords altar. I clench and unclench my hands as they begin to tingle-the circulation coming back to my fingers.
My heart pounds in my chest as I slowly turn around to see I’m at the Lords cathedral. It’s tucked in the middle of the Pennsylvania woods and serves multiple purposes for the secret society. I’d been here once with my father back when I was younger.
I was sick to my stomach when I left with him because of what I saw. This time will be different.
The old wooden pews are lined with Lords. All dressed in their cloaks and masks-white with black lines throughout making it appear to be cracked with black circles around the eyes and matching lips. My legs begin to shake nervously, my throat closing on me.
Breathe, Annabelle. Lift your chin, push out your tits, and give them a smile. Show your teeth before you rip their throats out.
A noise gets my attention, and I spin around to look up at the second-floor balcony. I take a few steps back to the center of the aisle and stand between the third row of pews to get a better view. Someone sits in a chair, wrists tied to the armrests and ankles secured to the legs. She’s naked and has a hood over her head. By the sound of her muffled screams, I can tell she’s gagged underneath it.
“Annabelle Schults.” A Lord calls out my name, and I see him standing from the first pew. “Do you choose to accept your initiation?”
Squaring my shoulders, I swallow the knot in my throat. “I do, my Lord.”
His mask nods. “Then you know what to do.”
I wait for him to give me further instructions because I have no fucking clue. But instead, I nod and walk over to one of the staircases, making my way to the upper floor. My eyes drop to the baptism pool where the Lords hold their ritual for the vow ceremony, and I see it’s currently drained of all the water.
Seniors who attend Barrington University get to fuck in there to prove they’re men. I think it’s pathetic and barbaric. But it confirms that they made it. So if I have to spread my legs to get ahead in this world dominated by men, then I’ll fucking do it. How hard can it be? It’s just sex.
Coming up to the chair, I walk around the woman, taking everything in. She already has visible bruises on her pale skin. Her wrists are bleeding from how tight the zip ties are. Her hands are blue from lack of circulation. I see a tattoo on her inner thigh, but it’s hard to make out…multiple vertical lines in a row. I’ve never seen one like it before.
I wonder what she did to end up here, but I can’t ask. You follow orders, and that’s it. A small rolling cart sits next to her, and it has items placed on a blue napkin.
Scissors, a knife, and a stapler. A small red jug that can only be filled with gasoline sits on the floor next to the metal chair.
“Find her brand,” someone calls out, and my head snaps up to look down at the pews below. The Lord who spoke before remains standing, but they always have a distorted voice so you don’t recognize them. As if I would know them personally. Thousands of Lords exist around the world, and they’re multiplying like rats every day, considering how much they like to fuck.
My eyes drop back to the woman, and I see it peeking out from underneath the overly large hood that covers her head and parts of her upper back. I lift the heavy fabric just enough to see the Lords brand-a circle with three parallel lines through the center. Weird, why would she have it? Only Lords are given those. Unless she belonged to a Lord, and he branded her. That’s another thing about Lords-they like to mark what’s theirs. Whether they carve it into their women or tattoo it, it’s all the same. You’re his whore for life, even if he chooses to pass you around to his friends. You’ll always be returned to whoever owns you.
Clearing my throat, I call out loudly, “I see it.” I’m already a minority here. If you want to be seen, you have to be heard.
Speak up, darling. No one can hear a whisper. That’s what my father used to tell me.
The mask below nods. “Either cut it off or give yourself one in the same place.”
My eyes widen, and she starts thrashing in the chair.
“You have five minutes.” The Lord takes his seat in the first pew.
My hands instantly start to sweat, and my knees begin to shake. I’m trying to catch my breath and not look so weak in front of all these Lords. If I show any weakness, I’ll be the next one naked and strapped to a chair.