That fucker. To convince Loni to sleep with him, knowing what it could cost her, then deny it when he got called out on it… there are quite a few people on my shit list these days, but right there at the top? It’s Adrian Heller.
I swear, if looks could kill, he’d be incinerated on the spot. Instead, he’s standing there across from me on the other side of the bonfire, smirking that goddamn smirk of his, the flickering flames reflecting in his soft green eyes. He’s wearing a suit like all the other Owed being inducted into the Order, though it seems to fit him better than most. Just to be even cheekier of a bastard, he pulls a gold cigarette case out of his jacket, selecting one of the smokes inside before stepping out of line to use the bonfire to light the tip of the cigarette.
Catch the sleeve… burn his ass…
Nope. He lifts his cigarette to his lips, puffs enough for the fire to catch, and grins around the filter.
Prick.
He’s not alone, either. Proving that the newer generation of Owed is as corrupt as the old guard, Adrian is flanked on both sides by all four Heirs: Sebastien Reynolds and Dallas Collins to one side, Connor Heyward and Desmond St. James on the other. You’d think that Desmond would want to distance himself from Adrian after accusing him of deflowering Loni, but nope. Just like I thought. Loni had to run to escape Harmony Heights while Adrian got off scot-free. Even Desmond didn’t turn on him, the little worm.
God, I hate those guys.
It stinks here. It’s too humid, the air too still to do anything to help erase the reek of burned skin as each of the new Owed accepts the Order’s brand. It’s exactly what it sounds like, too. Jack instructs Oliver to press the red-hot branding iron with the Order’s mark against the right palm of each prospective Owed.So long as they make the pledge and take the pain, they’re fully inducted members of the society.
Kyle Adams is the last one to be branded. I drown out his hiss of pain, breathing through my slightly parted lips so that I don’t get slammed with another round of burnt skin.
And then, as though I can’t stop myself from doing it again, I peer through the flames and find Connor.
Was he already watching me? Or did he catch me staring? I’m not sure, but as our eyes meet, he grins. The smug bastard grins just enough to let me know that he saw me looking at him, and he’s glad that he did.
It’s been two months since the graduation party at the Reynoldses. Despite his flippant goodbye, telling me that he’d see me later, our paths have only crossed two or three times after that night. One was our actual graduation, when I had to resist the urge to boo when Adrian Heller was announced as valedictorian, while another was in passing when I saw him driving his cherry red Corvette past my house as I was going out to grab the mail before our housekeeper did.
I was hoping Loni would at least write me a letter, something to explain where she was. I totally understood that she’d want to get as far away from the Order of the Owed as possible, but I’m her best friend; or, at least, Iwas. I’d do anything for her, and I wanted her to know that. Unfortunately, I still haven’t heard from her, and I only hope that, if she’s still in contact with her dad, Peter Dougherty will pass my messages along to her.
When I saw Connor idling at my curb, I slammed the mailbox shut, then stormed over to him, looking for an outlet to take my frustrations on. Connor would’ve been perfect, but as though he could tell I was fuming, he blew a kiss at me and disappeared before I got too close.
I’m still not that close. There’s a fire blazing between us, but when his eyes seem to darken as he looks at me, I realize that I’m even hotter than before.
I lift my perfectly curled hair, swiping away a slick of sweat from the back of my neck. His grin kicks up a little higher, his blistered hand held carefully in front of him.
It’s his right hand. Beneath the other sleeve of his jacket, he’s gotta have the scar from the night he turned his knife on himself. I take a moment to wonder what it healed like before thinking that Connor must be grateful that the Order brands the right palm. Otherwise, it’d be a long, long time before lefty Connor would be able to use his pocketknife like usual.
Nine boys approached the fire, prepared to accept the brand. Nine men… nineOwed… will walk away from it, ready to serve the society and get all of the benefits that come from being a member.
But the ceremony isn’t done. The branding is only the beginning, and now that the society has taken on more members, it’s time for them—and any other Owed between the ages of eighteen and twenty-nine who rank high enough for the privilege—to step forward and Claim the Offering they want for their own.
Jack Collins lifts his hand, drawing attention his way. Like his son, Dallas, the King of the Order has pale green eyes and thick sandy brown hair. Jack’s hair doesn’t have the hint of curl that Dallas’s does, and despite being twenty-five years older than his son, Jack’s had enough work done that he could pass for Dallas’s older brother instead of his father. He’s a good-looking man, I have to admit. He’s just a monstrous asshole as the same time.
“As dictated in the Order of the Owed’s charter, each high-ranking member of the Order is Owed an Offering to stand at his side, keep his home, and bear his children. Tonight, we giveour unmarried members—new and old—the chance to Claim the Offering of their choice. When your name is called, step forward and make your Claim. Offerings, you will go to your Owed with the understanding that this is an unbreakable engagement unless you have justifiable cause to reject the Claim. You must be formally wed by the Owed’s thirtieth birthday or risk losing your membership—for both of you.”
I wouldn’t be so worried about that if I didn’t know that no one is allowed to leave the Order once they’re in it. To do so is a death sentence. Loni’s only saving grace is that she got out before the ceremony, and if she comes back? Jack will either insist she accept an Owed or she’ll have an ‘accident’.
Too many good women in Harmony Heights have had ‘accidents’, and I like how Jack says ‘justifiable reason’ to reject an Owed. As far as I know, incest is the only one—and even that doesn’t count in some cases of cousins so long as they’re notfirstcousins.
In a town where they mean it when they say‘til death do you part, there’s no such thing as divorce, either. If I get Claimed and I accept it—which I basically have no choice but to do—then that’s it. I’ll be stuck with the Owed who picks me for the rest of my life.
My hands are trembling. I feel like I’m about to hurl. I’m only eighteen. I don’t want to get married. I sure as hell don’t want to pop out babies anytime soon. If I had my choice, I’d continue in my education, maybe spend more time volunteering at the animal shelter. I don’t want to be awife.
But it doesn’t matter whatIwant. It only matters what the thirty or so Owed men on the other side of the fire want.
There are approximately twenty of us Offering. There’s obviously more men in need of a wife. This is the first Claiming ceremony I’ve ever attended, and I expect that each of us will be Claimed by the time this is done.
I couldn’t be more wrong.
For every Owed who picks a worried woman in white out of the line-up, at least two more refuse when it’s their turn. Logically, that makes sense. Most of the Owed would prefer getting to know an Offering before pledging forever, and as long as they make up their mind before they hit thirty, they’re fine. There’s no rush, and they can be free to fuck around if that’s what they want.
Of course, there are a couple of situations like mine. In the upper echelons of Harmony Heights society, true arranged marriages are still a thing. We’ve always known that Kyle Adams would Claim Maryann Fawkes during their first ceremony, and Francis Harris would Claim Robyn Baker. Then there’s David Jameson and Priscilla Devers; they’ve been going steady since freshman year and made no secret that they’d be engaged regardless after graduation even if the Order didn’t demand it.
