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TWO
SAINT
INITIATION
DEVOTION
Sophomore year at Barrington University
I’m leaning up against a concrete wall in the basement under the courtyard at Carnage. I was instructed to be here, and when I arrived, they immediately ushered me down here. I think that was yesterday, though I’m not 100 percent sure. There is no window in here. Just concrete walls and a door with a slot where I was fed water and a piece of bread hours ago.
I have no clue what my initiation consists of—we never do. We just show up and do what must be done.
I was left fully dressed and allowed to keep my combat boots on, which threw up more red flags than anything else. I’ve seen my father and the others strip men naked, brand them, and throw them in a cell. If they expect me to go crazy and kill myself with the use of my clothes or shoestrings, they’ll be disappointed. I’m not suicidal.
The door opens, and my father enters with another Lord, whose identity is disguised. Nothing new. The Lords love their masks and cloaks. It makes them feel superior. As if running the world isn’t enough.
“Give me a second with my son,” my father tells him.
The man in the mask nods and steps out, closing the door.
I cross my arms over my chest as he runs his hand through his dark hair. Lords are intended to breed after graduation, so the fact that they have kids at a young age is common.
“Do I get conjugal visits?” I ask, my mind going to a specific woman who is brunette with blue eyes. She’s the twin sister of Adam—another Spade brother—and everything I want. And one day, I’ll get her.
His eyes narrow on me. “This is serious, Saint.” He huffs. “This test…” He pauses, rethinking what he was about to say. “I’ll see you afterward.” With that, he turns, knocking on the door, and it opens, allowing him to exit.
I stay where I’m at, and this time, three Lords enter the confined space, making my heart race as I look over their cloaks and masks. One holds out what looks like a cap to a two liter of some sort. It’s full of clear liquid.
Taking in a deep breath, I take the offered cap and hold it up. “Bottoms up,” I say and toss it into my mouth, knowing it’s going to fuck me up. But it’s not like I can say no.
It drops to the floor before I even have the chance to blink and stumble back. My legs no longer hold me up, and I fall into the back concrete wall. My eyes grow heavy, and I watch the three blurry figures walk toward me as my eyes fall closed and blackness takes over.
* * *
I groan,a throbbing in the back of my head hitting like a drum. I go to roll over onto my side but can’t. “Fuuucckk,” I slur, trying to get my bearings straight. Where the fuck am I? How long have I been out?
Opening my heavy eyes, I see blurry figures right in front of my face. Lines run down the length of my body, and I realize I’m lying on my back. I fist my hands, trying to get feeling into them. They’re cold and numb. Lifting my head, I hit it on something and curse myself.
Fuck, Saint!Now the front hurts as much as the back. I lie still and close my eyes, taking in a few deep breaths to let myself adjust to wherever the fuck I am before I hurt myself.
Once I can move my fingers, I realize my arms are down by my sides, and I’m still dressed because I feel the roughness of my jeans on the palms of my hands. I go to touch my face, but my arms don’t make it far because they come to a stop when my elbows hit something hard.
Opening my eyes, they adjust to see the blurry lines I saw initially are metal bars. My breathing picks up when I realize exactly where I am—the pits.
The best way to describe them is that they resemble shallow graves in the center of the concrete floor. I’ve watched my father place men in here and then they lock them in with bars across the top. There’s not much room for movement, let alone escape.
I turn my head from side to side to see both concrete sides only inches from my face. The tight space smashes my shoulders and arms down to my sides. My pulse races, and I move my hands to rest on my belt and try to move them up my stomach and chest to see how far I can go. But they can’t go any higher than my belt because when I go to bend my elbows, the concrete sides stop them.
I try to calm my erratic breathing. “Don’t panic,” I tell myself. They don’t want to kill me. That won’t benefit them.
I feel around the best I can down by my sides, trying to see if there is a key anywhere underneath or beside me. But I’ve seen how the pits work. The key goes in from the top where the feet go. There’s no way I’d be able to reach that. I have no clue what the point to this is. Am I supposed to free myself? Or is it to see how long I can last in a concrete box?
A ticking sound gets my attention, and I look around the ceiling the best I can through the five bars. Lifting my head, I allow my forehead to press against the bar in the center and see a timer hanging on the wall outside the pit. It’s large in size and has big red numbers. It’s counting down from what I’m guessing is five minutes because it’s currently at four and a half and dropping.
“What the fuck happens once it stops?” I ask myself. I’ve never seen that before with previous men put in here. They have to serve time, but it’s way more than five minutes.
“It comes in waves.” A voice speaks.
