Page 2 of Speak No Claim

I surrendered to it, or I died beneath this dirt. There was no between.

I vaguely overheard what they were chanting in Latin until I fulfilled my end of the bargain, beginning to dig my way out of that grave which was made for only me. Inch by inch, I fought my way out. Feeling the dirt pack beneath my nails until they split open and bled. Every breath tasted like soil and decay while my lungs burned as the earth collapsed against my chest.

Panic never took over. I didn’t know what that said about me, but I was kind of enjoying this. The thrill of playing with death was a friend I fucked with often.

Or maybe, I was just built for this type of shit.

My fingers were the first thing that broke through the dirt while the chanting above me grew louder and louder.

“Loquere Nullam Fidem,” they recited in perfect dialect and unison. “Audi Nullas Promissiones” followed, their voices deepening and growing more powerful. Next, they chanted, “Vide Nullam Temptationem,” before they started over in what I assumed to be their sacred oath.

Over and over again, they repeated, “Speak No Claim, Hear No Promises, See No Temptation.”

Now I understood why Latin was forced into me before I could even understand a word of it. Those words were everywhere. I’d seen them scattered through our estates. They were carved into heirlooms passed down through generations. Engraved into watches worth more than most homes. Stitched into clothing designed exclusively for my bloodline. They were even painted across the walls of our estates, older than most countries.

This wasn’t a tradition. It was an inheritance. Where the only invitation the Brotherhood accepted was your DNA. This wasn’t a choice. It was a birthright. A destiny that couldn’t be ignored. There was no running from it, there was no hiding from it either.

Not when it was the only path you were ever meant to follow.

* * *

STAGE THREE: THE ASCENT

* * *

By the time the cold Connecticut air hit my face, my chest was caving in on me. I dragged myself out of that grave, finally accepting my fate and why this was considered a rebirth.

Once I was lying flat on my back, staring up at the full moon, gasping for my next frigid breath, I felt them surrounding me long before I actually saw any of them.

As their chanting grew closer, so did my realization of what they’d accomplished. They wanted you physically filthy and psychologically broken. It was how they rebuilt you again.

Their entire purpose was to mold you into whatever the Brotherhood needed. I may have lain there for hours, or it could’ve been seconds. Time just seemed to stand still.

When all of a sudden, it wasn’t just voices I heard. It was applauding. Then, in the blink of an eye, black masks were staring into my soul, hovering above me. I tried swallowing the huge lump in my throat.

This was the moment it was all over me. I had no choice. I plead my alliance to the devil, praying like Hell Satan would welcome me.

* * *

The Blood Oath Brotherhood was now my home.

Chapter

One

Hennessy: Welcome to the United States

Present

* * *

From the second I stepped foot off the plane, the frustration building inside me erupted. This was the last place I wanted to be, and it didn’t matter to anyone but me. Despite it being my life, I had no say in it or in the future that awaited me.

Mamá and her older, estranged brother, Tío Luis, whom I barely knew, chose for me.

“Es para mejorar tu vida.”

“To better my life,” she berated into my head since I was a baby.