Filed to story: The LORDS Series Free PDF by Shantel Tessier
Falling into the driver’s seat, I smile, knowing I just finished my last initiation. The Lords have decided who they want to sit in as a senator, and my task was to make sure he wins. No matter the cost. It worked just as I planned. No man can pass up pussy.
I remove my cell and pull up the video, emailing it with the subject DONE. Throwing my car in gear, I squeal the tires and pull away from the curb.
FOUR
TYSON
INITIATION
One of them
Senior year at Barrington University
I kneel with my arms cuffed behind my back, a metal collar is around my neck and attached to the wall behind me. It allows us no wiggle room. We are secured for a reason, so we can’t fight them. It signifies our trust. We must willingly give them our bodies to mark. It’s a privilege we’ve made it this far.
“Lords,” Lincoln calls out to our audience that is dressed in their cloaks and masks. “These men have completed every task we’ve asked of them. Tonight is the night that we celebrate them and their loyalty to us.” He turns to face me and the other men who are secured to the wall inside of the Cathedral on the second-floor balcony.
A fire roars to life where the baptism pool usually is. They’ve drained it, filled it with stacks of wood and lit it on fire. I can feel the heat from where I stand. The sweat rolls down my back and forehead.
The men place the branding irons into the fire to heat them up. I try to pull myself off the wall, but all it does is choke me. Wiggling my arms, I try to relieve the tightness in my shoulders really quick. It’s also useless. They’ve been doing this for years. Each one is different, but the result is the same.
I knew going into this that it would be painful. They push you as far as your body and mind will go just to see how much you can endure. It’s the ultimate test. Every Lord that is present in this room is here because of their last name. The blood in their veins got them this ticket, but we have to prove we deserve it. My freshman class at Barrington started with fifty. We’re down to twenty-two. They’re the lucky ones though. They got to walk away.
Once I’m branded, the only way out is death. And it will come. The question is, will it be because of me or them? Only time will tell.
The lower classes of Lords at Barrington watch from the pews. It’s a way to remind them why they can’t fuck for three years. This is where they want to be. What they’re training for.
The man standing in front of me turns and holds the branding iron by my face. The blazing end heats up my skin, and I pull away the best I can. My body tenses, every muscle already aching. It’s that natural fight or flight kicking in.
“Tyson Crawford, are you ready to be a Lord?” Lincoln asks.
“Yes, sir.” I nod, taking in a deep breath, ignoring my heart pounding so hard I fear it may rip through my chest.
“Silence him,” he orders, snapping his fingers. A man walks down the row, shoving a cloth into my mouth to bite down on. I’ve watched it enough over the last three years to know what’s coming.
Without warning, he shoves the hot iron onto my bare chest-a reminder that I will now live and die for them.
FIVE
TYSON
THE CHOSEN ONE
UNKNOWN: Cathedral 2 a.m.
I check my messages while sitting in my car. I received the text three hours ago while lying in bed. Now I’m back at the Cathedral. I was just here a week ago getting my brand, and it still hurts like a bitch.
Getting out, I walk up the stairs and push the two heavy doors open. Two Lords stand inside the dimly lit entrance. Both have their black cloaks on with white masks. I’m not supposed to know who they are. There are thousands of Lords all over the world, but you aren’t given a list of who everyone is. Especially the founders. They’re kept a secret.
The one on the left pushes open the next set of doors and pauses for me to enter. I step in and come to a stop. My eyes scan the large, open space. I’ve never been here when it wasn’t full of Lords. Usually, they fill the pews, but right now it’s empty. It has a haunting feel to it. Cold and lifeless. It’s not a place where you hang out. It’s for business. They perform all their rituals and confessionals here.
Each Lord behind me grabs an arm and they escort me down the aisle to the front of the room where the altar and the Lords’ table sit. A staircase on either side leads to the second-story loft that overlooks the congregation below, where I was just days ago.
They take me over to the right set of stairs and dig their fingers into my upper arms, pushing me to the top. Then they shove me forward.
I catch my feet before I trip and look at the Lord who’s dressed the exact same. I feel his gaze on me, as hot as the branding iron they used to bind me to them.
“Tyson Riley Crawford.” He states my name, stepping forward.
“Yes, sir.” I do the same.
He nods his head, the mask-white with black lines through it, making it appear cracked-moving up and down slowly, and then I’m grabbed from behind. One of the guys that brought me up the stairs kicks the back of my legs, knocking me to my knees. Then I’m shoved down face-first to the cold floor. My arms are brought behind my back, and I hear the cuffs before I feel them wrap around my wrists. Tightened to the point that I grind my teeth at the pinch of my skin.
My shirt is grabbed, and I’m dragged over to where the baptism pool is that faces the congregation down below. It’s where they perform their vow ceremonies for their chosens.
I’m brought to a stop with my head hanging off the edge. The water is filled to the brim. My heavy breathing making it splash up on my face. The smell of chlorine fills my nose.
Someone sits on my back, straddling my cuffed wrists, and my teeth clench.
“You do what they say,” my father told me. “You were born to serve. No matter what they ask of you, you do it.”
“You’ve got promise, Son,” he goes on, now standing behind me.
My heart races while looking over the pool. Three stairs are on either side for entrance and exit. I look down at the glass front that shows the congregation down below what’s in the water. It’s so they can see their fellow Lords get pussy. So they can see us being rewarded for our devotion.
“Then why do I feel like you called me here to kill me?” I grind out, struggling, but the guy on top of me has me pinned down into the uncomfortable floor, making it hard to breathe with his heavy weight. The fresh brand on my chest burns from the pull of my skin and the pressure.
“Only those who disobey their oath are terminated. Do you intend on doing that?”
“Not today,” I joke.
The silence that follows proves they don’t find it funny.
“Tell me, Son, have you picked your chosen?”
Why the fuck would that matter? A chosen is a daughter of a Lord. It doesn’t matter if you’re female or male because we’re all born to serve. But a chosen has to be gifted to a Lord. The Lords believe we should be rewarded our senior year at Barrington University for our devotion and hard work, so we are given a list of women. We are to choose which one we want. A Lord can take on as many as he desires and can share her with whoever he wants, but she is devoted to her Lord and cannot step outside of who he shares her with. “No.”
“That’s good to hear.”
I let out a sigh, watching the water ripple from my breath. If I stick my tongue out, I could drink it as if I’m a cat and the pool is my water bowl.
“We have a chosen for you.”
“So you’re going to tell me who I can fuck?” I snort, the water splashing my face some more. Why not? They dictate every other aspect of our lives.
“Well…” He pauses. “She has a sister. You can have them both if you like?”
Isn’t that kind of them. When I realize he won’t offer up any additional information, I ask, “Who is it?”
“Whitney…” Another pause. “Whitney Minson.”
Fuck! My teeth grind. “Her father will never allow it.”
“If she chooses you as her Lord, then his opinion will not matter.”
“And Whitney? How the fuck am I supposed to make that happen?” I know her. She goes to Barrington. Am I close with her? No. Not to mention her father hates my guts.