Chapter 19

You’re doing this for Bree.

You’re doing this for Bree.

I keep repeating those words in my head, trying to focus on my breathing. I’m calm–thanks to whatever they gave me—but the urge to get up and run is still strong.

A member steps forward, and it’s a girl, thank God, I can tell by her shape. She’s holding a large feather and brings it down on my breasts.

“This feather represents our forbearers, looking down on us, guiding us in the way of the order…” She brushes the feather gently over my skin, teasing my nipples, then flicking it over my ribs, stomach, and thighs. I resist the urge to laugh because it tickles.

Okay, if this is the worst of it, then pffft, this thing will be a breeze. Maybe the ritual is a secret because they don’t want people to know how easy it is. Everyone would want to join.

When the girl is done, she steps back, and the person next to her steps forward. A guy. He’s carrying a paddle, and then it occurs to me that every member—and there are about a dozen in this room—is each carrying some kind of implement. An implement they intend to use on me.

Oh, shit. It’s then that I’m truly afraid for the first time, and I frantically glance around the room to try and discern what the other implements are, but they’re holding them at their sides, so they’re obscured by the layers of their cloaks. I do see a rope, though.

Oh, fuck. Oh, fuck.

I suck in a breath as the guy approaches the table, slapping the wooden paddle in his palm. I gulp, remembering Tyler’s tribunal. It was brutal, and he only made it through two whacks before I scrambled away in agony.

Fuck.

Can I do this?

The girl by my head—who I’m beginning to suspect is my attendant—lifts me up, removes my robe entirely, then guides me to flip over, so I’m on the table, crouched in a fetal position with my ass exposed.

“This paddle represents the adversity you will endure in defense of the society.”

Without any official warning, the paddle comes down on my naked ass with a thwak that I feel all the way to my bones. I cry out before I can even think about holding it in, the sharp sting snatching the breath right out of my lungs. Then another thwak, this one harder, and another quickly follow, the force of it vibrating through my entire body.

My God, I don’t know how much of this I can take.

Thankfully, I see the guy retreat in my periphery, and I push out a long, shaky breath as silent tears roll down my cheeks. That shit was hard, but I have a feeling it was just a fraction of the force Roman used on Tyler. Now I understand why two whacks were all he could take.

I squeeze my eyes shut, and rest my forehead on the leather cushion when I hear someone else approach.

You’re doing this for Bree.

My head is still down, and I hear someone else approach. I don’t dare look up, for fear that people will see the tears streaming down my face. I don’t know why it’s so important that these faceless people think I’m strong, but it is. Or maybe I just don’t want to show them weakness. Either way, I stifle my sniffs, and keep my face hidden in my arms.

The stranger stops beside the table.

Please be a feather.

It’s a guy’s voice. Jackson, maybe. The voice is muffled by the mask, so it’s hard to hear clearly. “This whip represents the adversaries that will attempt to pry our secrets from you.”

Whip?

Oh, fuck.

I stiffen, curling into myself as tightly as I can when the whip comes down with a crisp crack. It feels like white-hot flames licking my skin, from my shoulder diagonally to my left side. I scream out, and the sound is so animalistic that I wonder if it actually came from me.

Another sharp crack. Another searing ribbon of pain is carved into my back. Then another, and another. It hurts so bad, I unfurl my body, and try to leap off the table. I’m not even thinking, I’m just trying to get away from the pain.

My bare feet hit the tiles, and the leader holds his hand out to my assailant. The guy with the whip allows his hand to fall to his side as he waits for the leader’s verdict.

Have I broken the rules by leaving the table? I don’t know, but I also don’t give a fuck. This shit is twisted.

The leader—Lucas—addresses me calmly. “Do you wish to forfeit?”

Do I hear a hint of hope in his voice? The fucking bastard. He thinks they’ve bested me, that I’m going to give up and save them the trouble of welcoming me into their ranks.

Fuck. Them.

You can do this, Lux.

It’s Bree’s voice, encouraging me, giving me strength.

I lift my chin. “No.”

He nods once, slowly. “Very well. Let’s continue. Turn around.”

It’s amazing how quickly these random college dudes transform into the Knights Templar or whatever the fuck this is. This whole thing is stiff and formal, well scripted. It reeks of a cult, but I keep those thoughts to myself, because the truth is, I need these twisted fucks. For a few weeks, at least. Until I get the answers I need, and then they can suck my dick.

I turn toward the table, as instructed, lowering my head, awaiting the next blow. There’s a long pause, though, and I turn my head to see what’s happening—at the same time, the whip cracks, and the tip licks my left cheek on its way down my shoulder, and back.

“Shit,” the guy says under his breath.

Pain explodes in my face, and I fall to my knees, and on instinct, my hand flies to my cheek. Holy fuck, that hurts.

The attendant rushes over to me. “Are you okay?” she whispers.

I just nod and grit my teeth through the pain. After a couple of minutes, the worst of it subsides. It still feels hot and painful, like I’ve been burned, but I just nod and straighten. “I’m okay.”

I’m not okay, actually. But I just want to get this over with.

The attendant moves away, and I suck in a deep breath. “I’m ready.”

Another crack. Another ribbon of searing pain. I squeeze my eyes shut this time, and swallow the sob that bubbles up from my throat, nearly choking on it.

There’s a long silence, and then, “Turn around.”

When I turn, I see the guy with the whip has stepped back to rejoin the circle, thank God. I swallow, praying that was the worst of it. Tears stream down my face, and I itch to brush them away, but that would bring even more attention to them, so I don’t. I keep my hands plastered to my sides and wait for the next horrible thing.

Lucas steps forward. “On your knees.”

I clench my teeth and do as instructed, wincing as my bare knees hit the cold, hard tiles. Lucas closes the distance between us, stopping right in front of me. Pulling his robe back, he exposes his slacks and reaches for his zipper.

Oh. My. God.

I swallow as I realize what’s about to happen. He’s going to tell me to suck him off in front of everyone.

“This act,” he says, then pauses, like even he is second-guessing all this. “...consummates your forever bond to the society.”

As I listen, on my knees, I can’t believe this is happening. I can’t believe what’s being asked of me. Granted, I was told in the beginning that I could walk away at any point, but if I do that, I’ll never be welcomed back. All doors to the society will be closed to me, and I’ll be even more in the dark than I was before.

I open my eyes and lift my chin, determined to suck it up and get this all over with. But thoughts of Roman fill my mind—the betrayal of doing this—not just the act of being initiated, but having some other guy”s dick in my mouth.

I love Bree, more than anything, and I’m desperate for answers, but I don’t know if I’m willing to get those answers at Roman’s expense. I can’t betray him like this.

As Lucas slowly unzips his slacks, I open my mouth to call this all off, but before any sound can pass my lips, the door bursts open. The heavy wood ricochets off the wall, hitting the wainscotting with such violence that the door bounces back. A strong hand catches the edge of the door before it collides with the man filling the doorway.

Roman.

Oh, shit.