Prologue

Present Day - Age25

The smell and sizzle of burning flesh and the buzz of a tattoo gun fill the air, echoing off the concrete walls and overwhelming my senses. It's initiation night—the night when new members drop their human identities and become ghosts.

Societas Exspiravit.

In morte vivimus.

In death, we live.

The motto by which the Society lives. Our mission is simple: destroy the Order of Death—all its members, all who support it and what it stands for. Oh, and rescue the victims.

New members line up against the wall, waiting their turn. Some come to us from the old system. The Order of Death. They chose to join the Society instead of meeting a bloody fate, and some are brand new. They all will die. Either literally or figuratively. I've already witnessed the literal today, so I'm hoping there's no more of that.

I barely kept from tossing my cookies the first time.

I have shit to do, but I can't keep from watching the line of new recruits.

He's here.

I ran across him accidentally while working for the Order. He's scary as fuck. Diamonds have the four Cs, but he has the four Bs—big, broad, bearded, and blond. Add in the tattoos and the axes on his back, and he's a walking wet dream. Especially when I know what he can do with those axes.

His beard is trimmed but still full. His hair is long on top and in Viking braids hanging down his back. The sides and back of his head are shaved, and there are some small tattoos on either side. The blond hair and beard have a hint of red in them, giving them depth when the light catches them just right, and his Scottish heritage shows through.

His face and body show no emotion. A statue of Viking perfection with some Highland Warrior mixed in. I found him a while ago. I've stalked him virtually, helping him when I could.

Now, I can watch him in person. He's focused on the initiation process for those ahead of him. There's no trace of a reaction to what the people in front of him are being put through. Luckily for him, he doesn't have to go through both lines and endure all the others do.

I'd been part of the old Order, like some of those poor saps standing in line. Before a new initiate can be marked and welcomed by the Society, they must remove the tattoo they got from the Order. I can't help but be glad I didn't have to go through that process publicly like those standing across the room.

Zayn did my removal and inking a couple of weeks ago. He was also part of the old Order. Owen Black had been the leader of the Order of Death. I wouldn't call Zayn Owen's right-hand man, but Zayn had stood in for Owen whenever Owen tagged him in.

Me? Well, I was the guy with the info. I dished out information and jobs for him as I did for all the Order members. Zayn, though, was my dealer.

Not in anything nefarious. No, when he needed info or a job on the quick, I supplied him with what he needed. And he, in turn, gave me what I needed; candy, soda, energy drinks, and salty, thick-cut potato chips.

Our symbiotic relationship worked well for us when we were in the Order, so when Everly took over and created the Society, Zayn and I worked out a deal. Thank fucking God, because I'd have embarrassed the shit out of myself if we hadn't.

Even now, sitting here, I gag slightly. Bile rises, burning my throat, and a cold sweat breaks out over my body as my vision dims a little. I pop some sour, gummy candies in my mouth to keep my shit together. The initial shock of the sour sweetness bursts across my tastebuds, smothering the burn of sickness rising in my throat and distracting me.

But the distractions are fleeting.

Once it fades, the grunts, groans, and screams echo throughout the chamber, reminding me of what's happening around me. Zayn is probably chuckling and calling them all pussies. He would've called me one, too, if he hadn't needed something from me. Being the fixer, the finder, and the keeper of secrets comes in extremely handy at times.

Between staring at him, watching a few more of the new people sit for their branding and ink, and then watching them swear fealty to Everly, Damon, Killian, and Rayth, I welcome the new initiates to the Society. Most are still minding their p's and q's after Damon's little demonstration upstairs.

As the next guy steps up to me, I'm distracted by Zayn winking and shaking his tattoo gun at me.

Asshole.

I turn back to the guy in front of me. He's looking down his nose at me. He's not the first, nor will he be the last person to underestimate me.

The guy's creepy as hell, but he doesn't scare me. At least not as much as the girl behind him does. Sure, this guy will rip your heart out while it's still beating, but he's the type you can see coming a mile away. The girl waiting behind him for her turn with me and my gadgets seems psychotic. She's bubblegum cute, but you can see the crazy lurking just beneath the surface, always ready to spew out into the world.

"I need your fingerprints," I say to creepy guy.

He scowls at me. You can see his disdain for me and the disbelief of my position in the Society on his face.

I sigh. I'm so fucking tired of this. Yes, I'm tiny and boyish, and while I'm not violent or aggressive normally, I'll do what's necessary to protect myself and those I deem worthy. I don't have to be violent or aggressive or built. I know ways to kill people that don't require me to even leave my techy sanctuary just down the hallway.

Plus, I want all this over so I can spend more time with him.

I lean back in my chair and fold my arms over my chest. I stare at creepy guy before glancing at Everly and her men. Damon is watching me. As uneasy as I am around them at times still, I know they have my back. Damon dips his head. That one tiny bit of reassurance is all I need. I turn back to the asshat in front of me.

"Seriously? I know everything there is to know about you. It's not as if I can't pull them from your record. So unless you'd like to have another conversation with Damon, put your finger on the scanner like a good little boy."

I point toward Everly and her men, and creepy guy's gaze follows my finger. Damon stares at the man in front of me, and I fucking chuckle as creepy guy's eyes widen when he realizes who Damon is.

Creepy turns back at me and puts his finger on the scanner, going through the process with no further complaints.

I continue to dole out communication devices and catalog DNA, fingerprints, and retina scans. Half of these idiots will lose the device almost as soon as they leave the room. The other half will probably need a dummy manual or training wheels to use them.

My job is information and security. Information is what I did for the Order. They were too stupid to let me implement security protocols. Owen and the others who've died learned their lesson on stupidity too late.

Everly is a different story. She and her men are smart enough to know better. They wanted to know every security measure I could devise, and then they wanted it implemented.

Now I do for the Society what Owen Black should've had me do for the Order. Not that I would've done for them what I'm doing for the Society. I wasn't with those fuckers willingly. I did what I had to do to keep my fucking head and not get sold into slavery.

Everly changed all that, with my help, of course, but now she and I and all the others in this room were going to break the code. We will hunt down every last member of the Order methodically. We won't rest until we've ferreted out every last one of those perverted, abusive assholes.

Then the Order will pay, and looking at the people in these rooms, it will be a bloody, painful debt to honor.