Filed to story: The LORDS Series Free PDF by Shantel Tessier
What the fuck does denied mean for Lady? Does that mean that the Lords have denied him a wife, or he denied her? I’ve never heard of that before. Every Lord has to take a Lady as far as I’m concerned. They have to reproduce. If they don’t give back, then they’re useless.
Scrolling to the bottom of the email, I click on the attachment. It’s a slideshow of pictures. The first one is of a guy on a blacked-out motorcycle. You can’t see his face because he’s wearing a helmet. But he’s got a black T-shirt on with the sleeves cut off, ripped jeans, and combat boots. He’s sitting at a stoplight, glove-covered hands resting on his thighs and both boots on the ground, waiting for the light to turn green. He looks tall even sitting on the bike. His arms are ripped as the sun beats down on them, showing off his veins.
The next is of the same man leaning up against a car. This time, there’s snow on the ground. Too much for him to even be driving the white McLaren Sabre if you ask me. He’s wearing a black leather jacket over a white T-shirt, denim jeans, and combat boots. A black pair of Aviators cover his eyes, but you can get a better look at his face. Sharp jaw, clean-shaven, dark hair spiked on top and shaved on the sides.
The next picture is the same with him and his car, but he’s now standing with his back to the camera as he opens the passenger door for a woman. She’s dressed in a glittery silver miniskirt and six-inch heels. Her black top has a deep V cut, showing off a large, fake chest.
She’s a prostitute. It’s the only thing that makes sense due to how she’s dressed in the middle of the day with an inch of snow on the ground. He’s parked on a corner in what looks to be an abandoned area, and two other women stand farther down in the photo dressed just like her.
The next is of him and three other guys with a girl. She stands in the middle with a bottle of vodka in one hand and a cell in the other. One guy stands behind her with his hand around her neck as she looks down at the camera. Haidyn stands to her left.
I scoot forward, enlarging the picture of him. It’s the first one that has a clear shot of his face. His eyes are a pretty blue-like the ocean. It’s also the first one that he’s smiling in. Straight white teeth and a perfectly lined nose. He’s clean-shaven and has a cigarette tucked behind his right ear. He’s wearing a long-sleeved T-shirt with the sleeves bunched up around his elbows and a pair of jeans. He’s the tallest one out of them all. If I passed him on the street, I’d definitely turn around to watch him walk away.
The next has me blinking. It’s him, but it has to be the most recent because he’s now covered in tats. And blood. He’s got a knife in one hand. Blood drips down it and onto his ripped jeans. His black combat boots stand in a puddle of it as well. His tatted knuckles grip the handle of the knife. Ink covers both arms and chest. He’s got a nose ring, and he’s shirtless, showcasing his defined bloody abs and deep V.
“Fuck me,” I whisper.
What the fuck do they expect me to do with him? Especially a Spade brother? From what I know, they’re the devils of hell. The rumors are that Carnage is where the Lords send those who betray their oaths.
Now, from what I grew up believing-Lords who betrayed their oath-was that they were taken to the cathedral and put through what the Lords call confessional. They’re tied down to the Lords altar and tortured until they confess what they did wrong, then they’re blessed with a bullet in their heads. But as I got older, I overheard my mom and stepdad talking about the Spade brothers. My stepdad had a friend who betrayed his oath and was sent there back when they attended Barrington. My mother assures him that his best friend must be dead by now, but my stepdad doesn’t agree. He said Lords don’t go there to die. They go to pay for what they did wrong, which means more torture. Typical Lord. Always wanting to make you bleed for the littlest things.
Blood, blood, and more blood until you have nothing else to give them. They enjoy sucking the life out of you. That’s why I plan on giving them whatever I must. These Lords want you to go above and beyond and show them what you’re worth. The Lords don’t give you more than they want you to have. That way, they can hold it over your head or take it away when they decide you no longer need it.
Those who have power were born at the top. And the rest are left to feed off the bottom.
I go on to the next, and it’s of a luxurious black house sitting secluded back in the middle of the woods. It reminds me of a modern church. High peak rooftops that look like steeples and a lot of glass windows. Three stories tall and a wraparound porch. Even the outside furniture is black with white pillows. It’s gorgeous. The same white McLaren Sabre in the first photo with Haidyn sits in the driveway, but no one is around.
Is this his home? He’s supposed to live at Carnage. Maybe it was his childhood home. It did say his parents are dead. He could have kept the house. Or maybe it’s a weekend getaway? I guess he could be renting it, and this picture was taken while he was inside with the prostitute in the picture.
I wonder why a man like him needs to pay for sex. The women in our world fall at the Lords feet on any given day. Most want to become a Lady. The girls who attended Barrington do anyway. They want a lavish life with endless shopping sprees. Who cares if their husbands cheat on them? It just means they don’t have to put out as much. Plus, higher-ranking Lords are placed with higher-ranking Ladies, so it’s not like they’re marrying down. We are raised and groomed from an early age to accept what our future holds. It’s like anything else in this world-it’s all we know.
A new email pops up, and I exit out of the one I’m in to open it. It’s of me. A picture that was taken today while I was on my UNKNOWN call standing outside of the restaurant. Then below is outlined like Haidyn’s was.
I read over it again, wondering what the fuck I’m going to do. A therapist? I know nothing about that shit. And Charlotte? I sound like an elementary school teacher. I’ve always hated the name Annabelle. I asked my mother why she named me after a doll that haunts and kills people. She told me it was after her and her best friend…but Charlotte isn’t much better if you ask me.
Closing the laptop, I sit back and slump in the chair, trying to wrap my brain around what to do now. I have three months to make a new life, find new friends, and get a boyfriend-who doesn’t want to fuck me. This is going to be harder than I thought. Can’t I just kill someone instead?
Opening it back up, I type out a response.
And press send. Chewing on my nails, I stare at the screen, waiting for a reply. Maybe it’s just a cover, and I’m not actually his therapist. That would make more sense, but still…
I have a response and open it.
I send the reply. My new phone rings a moment later.
“Hello?” I answer the UNKNOWN call.
“Carnage,” the altered voice growls in greeting.
“Carnage?” I ask.
“He’s a Spade brother,” he barks at me as if I haven’t read the emails he sent. “Look…you either take the assignment or walk away. That’s your choice.”
“Yes, of course.” I sit up straighter before he can hang up on me. “I…just-am I not allowed to have questions?” I need a little more information than what he’s given me, and I don’t think I’m asking for the impossible.
“No,” he replies. “You have three months to change your life. If you don’t get it done, then we’ll decide for you.”
Click.
HAIDYN
Senior year at Barrington
The vow ceremony is quickly approaching, and my father is on my ass. He’s mad because I refused to choose my best friend’s girl.
No amount of money or power will make me betray Saint like that.
I pull up to my father’s house and make my way inside. He spends most of his time at Carnage, so I’m surprised he’s here. I already know he’s in his office. His doors are closed, but I enter without knocking. He’s expecting me.
Entering, I see him sitting behind his desk, a glass of brandy in one hand and a pen in the other, as if he’s just signed a deal. “Son.” He gets to his feet, motioning me to come have a seat.
I cross my arms over my chest and say nothing.
He gestures to a man who sits on the couch to the left. I immediately know he’s a Lord by the way he’s dressed and sits there like he fucking owns the world. We’re all conditioned to have that mentality.
“I have a proposition for you.” The man stands and buttons his suit jacket.
“I’m not interested,” I say, stopping him before he goes too far. If my dad is involved, then I want nothing to do with it. Turning, I give them both my back and go to walk out.
“Haidyn,” my father growls. “You’re lucky I was able to find another one.”
I spin back around to face them. “Another what?” I demand, but of course the bastard ignores me and looks at the other Lord. Women are a dime a dozen in our world, so I’m not sure why he’s acting like they’re limited.
“Let me introduce myself.” The guy steps toward me with his right hand out. “I’m…”
“I’m not interested,” I repeat, stopping him. I’m not dumb. This man has made some kind of deal with my father, and they both think they can fuck me over. It’s not going to happen.
I’ve done things ordered by the Lords, and until they tell me I have to take this bullshit deal my father is trying to lock me into, it’s not going to happen.
Once you get an order, you don’t negotiate with them. One day, my time will be up, and the Lords will call for my death, and it will be granted.
I wouldn’t say I have a death wish, but I’m not afraid to die.
“Haidyn,” my father snaps, slamming his hand down on his desk.
“Sorry you wasted your time,” I say, giving the Lord my back. I walk out of the house, not caring if I just pissed off my father or what it cost him.
It’s been three months since I fired Lana. And I’ve been assigned a new therapist. The Lords have ordered me to talk to someone. They act like words fucking matter. They don’t. Not in our world. Actions are what make a Lord. You show up, and you do what you’re told.
So I sit here in a room at Carnage on the seventh floor, watching the rainfall from the floor-to-ceiling windows. It’s been this way for days. I like it, though.
Saint and Kashton are somewhere around, probably down in the basement. Saint lost his mind the day he woke up from Ashtyn shooting him. Kashton tries to hide everything with sarcasm and a knife. Me? I just don’t give a fuck. Life is boring. It’s the same ole thing every day. Torture and kill. Then repeat. There’s no thrill like there used to be.
Where’s the challenge? We don’t have assignments like other Lords. We run Carnage. Lords are brought in; we initiate them and then place them in a cell to play with later.
My life is missing something, and I’m not sure what it is. But I know it’s something that I’ve never had before. I’m itching to find it.