Page 61 of The Bargain

My body bursts into motion, taking charge. I thrash in the water, kicking. At the same time, I yank the hood up off my head. The sudden freedom of my face no longer being covered is treacherous: I open my mouth on instinct to gasp for breath, and gulp in a mouthful of water that seems to rush straight into my lungs.

Shit—calm down, Lennox. Think. Breathing’s not an option. You gotta swim up first. I kick harder, thrusting myself up, arms pushing hard against water. I break through the surface with a yell so loud it sounds ripped straight out of my vocal cords.

I gasp and thrash. The water is disorienting, so is the cold, but the air is a hard icy shock in my lungs, ringing all the way through me like I’m a gong the world has just struck with all its might.

I splutter out a mouthful of water, right myself, catch another breath. Around me, I start making out trees, grey outlines of distant starlight. Swaying sedges, rippling eddies. A narrow wooden dock.

The lake.

I’m in the Spearcrest fucking lake. The realisation sends a beam of clarity through my mind. I’m okay. I just got thrown into the lake. What the fuck.

I slash into the water, swimming swiftly to the dock, where I hoist myself up with a huge effort. I come crashing down onto the frost-slicked wood, landing hard on my belly and chest. For a second, I just catch my breath, letting the shock of the situation ebb slowly away.

The cold is kicking in by now. All I’m wearing are my boxers, sopping wet. My hair dangles over my eyes. I shove myself upright, and as I do, my hand brushes past something cold and sharp. I glance down.

A knife.

I grab it and lurch upright, staring around. Everything here is moving: the water, the bushes, the tree branches. But then my eyes catch on something. Light, right there. I leave the dock, careful not to slip, and plunge into the trees, ignoring the brutal cold, the wind, my own nudity. My fingers are wrapped tight around the knife.

The light grows more distinct as I make my way through the woods—until I finally reach it, and realise it’s coming out of a window. An old, crumbling building, half-covered in thick tangles of ivy and bramble.

“What the fuck…”

My voice comes out in a broken rasp, steam wreathing from my lips. I recognise the building—the disused hunting lodge. Stalking to the door, I slam it open, knife still clenched at my side.

Inside: old chairs, lamps, a boxing bag, a huge mounted antler’s head. The lamps are on, and there’s a lit storm lamp propped in the empty fireplace. Sitting around the room, grinning smugly, are familiar faces.

Blaise Blackwood, reclined, amused.

Mikhail Rurik, marble-like and unconcerned.

Jamie Vale, holding a cold bottle of beer against his latest black eye, looking mildly surprised.

Benjamin Montgomery, the self-proclaimed future prime minister, legs crossed lazily at the ankles.

And finally, Dimitri Kavinski, sitting hunched, eyes dark, feral amusement leaking out from between bared white teeth.

The Blood Brotherhood.

“You guys are real fucking weird, you know that?” I say to Dimitri.

He shrugs. “Gotta weed out the weak somehow.”

“That’s the best thing you could think of?”

“Not quite.” Dimitri gestures with his chin towards my hand—which is still holding the knife. “Blood in, Lennox. Only way into the Brotherhood.”

I glance down at the knife in my hand, thinking quickly. Then I glance back up.

“I have to spill blood to get in?”

Dimitri’s grin widens. “Simple as that.”

I meet his eyes. “Whose blood?”

Surprise flickers in his expression.

“Yours, presumably,” Benjamin Montgomery interjects with an amused snicker.