10. Vogue

I jerk awake,my heart racing. The room is dark except for the sliver of light cutting across the floor from the doorway. I've been asleep for hours and missed all my classes because of this shitshow of a day.

"Get up," a deep growl orders. No please, no explanation. Just two words sharp as knives.

Adam's gigantic form fills the space in the doorway, enormous and silent as a tombstone.

"What the fuck?" I yell, hoping it will bring the guys to me, but they don't. No one comes to my rescue.

"Now." Adam's tone leaves no room for argument, not that I would. Jesus. By all accounts, this monster took on all four of my guys and survived. He must be immortal or something.

"Some privacy?" I snap, not overly scared now. He is clearly here at my dad's behest. I don't think he would do anything against my dad's wishes, especially with regards to me. The ‘cleaning house' comment swims into my mind, and I wonder for a second if Adam got cleaned.

He sneers at me, "You haven't got anything I haven't seen before. Your dad wants you. Get moving. This is the last time I'm asking, princess."

Well, fuck me. That was practically poetic from the man who, up until now, hasn't uttered more than two words in my direction.

Grimly, I throw off the sheets, shivering in the cool air. Adam doesn't move, doesn't turn away as I stand up naked. I grab clothes from the wardrobe, going commando as I pull on a pair of jeans, a bra so the girls don't jiggle and a white tee. My hands shake as I sit to pull on socks and my boots.

"Where are the guys?" I ask, my tone as brutal as his.

Adam watches me rise. His eyes, dark pits in the shadowed room, track my every move with duty in his gaze, cold and unyielding. He remains silent. He doesn't give a flying fuck about my concern for them or my concern for myself. He has orders. That's literally all there is to it. Anything else is superfluous.

"What does my dad want with me?" I ask a question he can't really refuse to answer.

"A meeting."

"Well, no shit, Sherlock," I mutter and earn myself a vicious growl from King Kong.

He strides out of the room, and I follow because what choice do I have?

The penthouse feels empty as we walk through it. Too quiet. The guys wouldn't leave me without a word unless they had no choice. Maybe Adam came for them before he came for me?

Adam doesn't break stride, doesn't even glance back. We reach the elevator, and the doors slide shut with a hush that presses down on me.

"Just tell me if they're okay."

He glares down at me from his, he must be six foot eight or nine inches in height, making me feel like an ant at my five foot, three inches.

"Safe," he says.

It's both everything and nothing. Relief washes over me, quickly chased by a surge of anger for being left in the dark over this cloak-and-dagger shit my dad is pulling.

The elevator dings on the ground floor. The metal doors slide open, and Adam steps out, expecting me to follow.

I do. I've been thrust into a game where the rules keep changing. I'm pissed off, and I want answers.

Adam opens the back door to a black SUV, which seems to be the standard vehicle for mafia cunts.

Guess I'm one of them now.

My thoughts drift back to my mum as Adam climbs in and sets off into the night. I never did get to check on her after killing Leonard.

Leonard.

Maybe that's what this is about. The shame that my father might know about my time as a prostitute floods me, making my cheeks sting with humiliation, but then I shove it down. I did it because of him. He didn't help us when we were at our lowest.

He says he did.

"Fuck off," I growl at my inner thoughts.

Adam snarls at me in the rearview mirror.

"Not you, asshole," I grit out.

He narrows his eyes before flicking them back to the road, his shoulders shaking slightly as he laughs at me.

"Okay, now I'm telling you to fuck off," I snap.

All it does is make him silently laugh harder.

It appears I have a long way to go before I can wield authority like Aaron.

Adam pulls up to a plain-looking building on the outskirts of the city. The night air bites at my skin as we step out of the car. He leads the way into the building, past guards with eyes like cold steel that skim over us as we head deeper in.

Adam leads me into a big room, a meeting hall of sorts that is crowded with people chattering away in groups.

I immediately catch sight of Cal, Quen, Thayer, and Harry standing near the entrance, their faces tight, lines of worry etched deep. Glaring at them, they glare back as furious as I am, which tells me that they were removed from the penthouse in much the same manner as me. What scares me is that I didn't even wake up.

Adam doesn't wait for me; he just keeps on walking, and I shrug and follow him.

Dim bulbs hang from the ceiling, casting more shadows than light, playing tricks on my eyes. Whispers skitter across the walls, hushed but urgent, like they're trading sins. I feel them on my skin, crawling over me with every step.

As the crowd parts, I see that tables are set in a circle for a meeting and guess all these folks are The Crowned Syndicate members. It's as good a guess as any, seeing as no one has told me jack shit about this.

My gut is a tangle of snakes, coiling tighter with every shifty glance from the crowd of Syndicate members. They watch me with eyes that don't blink enough, sizing me up, wondering who I am, or if I'm worthy, or maybe just waiting to see me break.

Adam stops at the centre of the room. I straighten my spine, lift my chin, and prepare to meet whatever comes next head-on.

Aaron stands before me. He's got a look on his face, one that says he's already seen the endgame while we're still moving our pawns.

"Vogue Jameson," he starts, his voice commanding the room like it's second nature, "you stand here at the crossroads of legacy and destiny."

Oh?

I raise an eyebrow at him, and he smiles, slow and sinister, and tells me all I need to know. He's forcing my hand. I'm either in or out, but out means not getting out of here alive.

I swallow hard, taking in the gravity of his words and the weight they carry. The air is thick with expectation, every pair of eyes fixed on me, dissecting my every move.

"Tonight, you will partake in the rite that has bound our bloodline to The Crowned Syndicate's cause since its inception." His gaze never wavers from mine when he sees me not making a run for it.

I nod. My voice is somewhere lost between my racing heart and the tightness in my throat.

"Understand, this is not merely a tradition," he continues, circling around the unspoken truth like a shark. "It's a covenant that will mark you as my true successor. But it comes at a cost, one that will demand the surrender of comforts you might hold dear."

A bitter laugh threatens to escape me. Comforts? As if I've been cradled in silk all my life. But I bite it back, keeping my face a mask.

"Your role will require sacrifices, Vogue. Are you prepared to accept them?" His eyes search mine for a conviction I'm scrambling to muster.

"Prepared?" It's a question more than an answer. I want what he's offering, the power, the control. But I didn't expect to be thrust onto this path without a chance to breathe, to choose.

"Life doesn't wait for us to be ready," he says, almost gentle now. "It takes us by the throat, and we follow where it leads."

Those words close around me, leaving no room for doubt or debate. This is happening, whether I'm ready or not.

"Let's begin," he announces without me saying a word.

The room shrinks as I step forward, the circle of Syndicate members tightens like a noose.

"Vogue McGowan," my father's voice echoes through the hall, "approach."

McGowan now. Not even Jameson McGowan, just dropped my mother's name altogether.

I move, each step deliberate, feeling the weight of dozens of eyes tracking my every motion. There's a makeshift altar at the front, adorned with symbols I don't understand, but the meaning is clear enough—it's about power, legacy, blood.

"Place your hand upon the crest," Aaron commands, gesturing to the cold metal emblem placed on the wood.

My fingers graze over intricate patterns, the sharp edges biting into my palm, pressing down harder until I feel the sting of broken skin. A drop of blood wells up, crimson against the silver.

"Your blood," Aaron says, "seals the bond between you and the Syndicate. As it mingles with the crest, so too will your life become entwined with our cause."

A shudder runs through me, but my face remains impassive. The cut on my hand throbs, a small sacrifice compared to the ones I'm sure will follow.

"Repeat after me," he instructs, voice steady as a drumbeat, "I, Vogue McGowan, do solemnly swear my allegiance to The Crowned Syndicate."

"I, Vogue McGowan, do solemnly swear my allegiance to The Crowned Syndicate," I echo. My voice doesn't waver.

"From this day until my last," Aaron continues, locking his gaze with mine as if he could force the truth out of me.

"From this day until my last," I repeat. A silent promise to myself that I'll play this game, but on my terms.

"To uphold our laws and secrets," he says.

"To uphold our laws and secrets."

"And to lead with strength and honour."

"And to lead with strength and honour."

"The only way out is death,"

My eyes fix on his. "The only way out is death."

He nods once. "With your blood now bound to The Crowned Syndicate's heart, you are one of us, Vogue McGowan, heir to our legacy."

As much as I hate to admit it, part of me swells with perverse pride at this clusterfuck. Power is an intoxicant no one warns you about.

Looking out at the faces before me, the Syndicate members watch with a mix of respect and scrutiny. I meet their gazes one by one, letting them see that I'm not about to shy away from the path I've been forced onto. I was going to do it anyway, but I wanted to do it my way.

However, I can't deny the relief that washes over me. It's official, and anyone who fucks with me fucks with all of us. With it comes trepidation, the knowledge that every choice from here on out bears the weight of consequences I can only begin to imagine.

"Your new life starts now. You understand the weight of it?" He doesn't ask as much as state it, the expectation clear in his tone.

"I do."

Aaron's eyes pierce me for a moment longer, as if searching my soul for the strength he hopes resides there. Then, with a curt nod that seems to echo off the walls, he turns away, signalling the end of the ceremony. The room erupts into murmurs and movement, the Syndicate members shuffling around, their whispers turning louder.

I feel their eyes on me, weighing my worthiness for the mantle I now carry. But it's not just their scrutiny that prickles the back of my neck, or the chip still embedded in there – it's also their barely concealed excitement at having something new to sink their teeth into. The sharks have tasted blood.

The sting of my bloodied palm is a reminder of what's transpired – a binding contract written in pain and sealed with violence. It's not just the sharp bite of metal that's left its mark; it's the realisation that there's no turning back. Aaron may have forced this on me tonight, but I'll be damned if I let him or anyone else dictate how I wear this haphazard crown.

Adam catches my eye and nods once, approvingly, before the guys move forward, and I turn to them accusingly.

"Did you know about this?" I bark.

Callum steps closer, his broad frame blocking out the others for a moment. "It's how things are done here, Vogue. Timing's never our choice."

"Yeah, I'm starting to get that. Did you find… that thing?"

He frowns and then remembers our conversation in the bathroom. "Yeah, battery died. What that means… well, I guess we'll find out."

"What the fuck does that mean?" I hiss. "Am I going to get caught or not?"

"Doesn't matter even if you do. You're untouchable now."

"Great," I mutter, panic rising again. "Fucking great."