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You see, there are rumors of Calavera Society, whispers of a brutal and twisted fraternity on campus, and while they’re close to the truth–well, they couldn’t be further from it. We don’t have applications for novices, we don’t have parties and a Greek inspired name. We are old money from old times. We are powerful but secretive.
We are Latino men and women and everything in between. We hold our traditions close to our shadows, never letting in outsiders and never trusting new money.
“Ah, here is my son now.” Roberto says as I come to a stop near his desk.
Mateo’s father, Cain, sits beside him as the parents of potential members sit across from them. Everyone but Cain turns to me. I keep a straight face as I nod my head.
“This year, my son will be a senior member in line with three others for the chance of taking my place as President of this Society. It is imperative that the bloodlines of this brotherhood stay as pure as possible. Leaving outsiders exactly where they belong.Outside.”
I want to grind my jaw. I want to grab the golden pair of scissors sitting on his desk and jam them through his throat…but I don’t. I simply stand there and take his words–words I know were directed at me.
I’m not from one of the founding families like Mateo is…hell, even Rina has more blood standing than I do.
Unfortunately for him, he wants the world to think I belong to him. That it was his loins who gave me life.
“That’s correct,father. No pure blood makes such foul and impulsive decisions behind the Society’s laws. We must keep the pool pure.”
Roberto’s trained eyes slide over to me, his mask firmly in place as the husband and wife before us nod in total agreement with my statement. Basically, they just unknowingly agreed that their current president is a foolish man, unfit to lead and his pollutedsonis the prime example.
Roberto stands from his seat, buttoning his suit before slapping my shoulder with his hand, his fingers squeezing hard.
“And this is exactly why my son will most likely be chosen to lead. No offense, Cain. Mateo is a smart boy, but it’s my son I believe the Society will choose.”
The pain in my shoulder sears through my system, daring me to speak without being spoken to first, but Roberto doesn’t know pain only turns me on. Physical pain does one of three things to me, hype me up for a fight, silence me into a plan, or fuck the brains out of someone. In this case, it’s planning.
He lets me go and continues his meeting with the parents, letting them bargain for his favor on their son. It’s typical for members whose child will be entering the first round of initiation, to come in, strutting their feathers and trying to bargain with the devil of our society.
They want his favor on their son. The father should know better. As once a novice himself, he ought to know that there are no favors nor favorites in the pool of initiates. I myself was spared no grievance, and I’m believed to be the son of the president. But that won’t stop Roberto from accepting the bribes–he just won’t fulfill his end of the bargain.
Once his bullshit meeting is over with and the room is empty except for Cain, Roberto and myself, my stepfather turns and backhands me. My head snaps to the side, but that is the only movement on my part. I continue to stand in place, my hands behind my back, my fingers wrapped tightly around my forearm to keep myself in control. I feel warm liquid slipping down my chin, his insignia ring having split my lip open with the blow. I make no move to wipe the blood now dripping off my chin and onto the marble floors.
Cain sneers at me, his pupils dilating at the blood dripping from my mouth. I give him a wide grin. I wish that motherfucker would try and get away with that shit. Roberto is only standing because his ending is not due for quite a while. I have his downfall planned beautifully and I won’t let something as trivial as his bitch slap get in the way of those plans.
“You do not ever speak unless you’re directly spoken to,” Roberto growls, stepping into my space, “even then, boy, you better speak the correct words, or it’ll be your tongue I cut out next.”
Cain opens his mouth, showing me his severed tongue as though it's something to be proud of.
My eyes slide back over to Roberto, my head slightly tipping so he knows I heard him. I’ll let him believe heput me in my placebecause it truly means nothing to me to stay silent. You see, people tend to believe that in order to be confident in yourself or your capabilities, you must make everyone around you see and hear it. And maybe that’s how it really is, I have no clue, but for me? I don’t need someone’s respect to have respect for myself. I don’t need to peacock around showing everyone how powerful I am. As long as I know it, everyone else can believe what they want. In the end, they’ll all know the power I have.
Satisfied with my cooperation, Roberto retakes his seat, “Now, son, what was it you wanted?”
I ignore his endearment; we both know its bullshit.
“Just to let you know that Valeria is on campus and seems to be finding her footing well enough. She chose Criminal Law as her major and I have her class schedule right here.”
I pull out the papers I have rolled up in my back pocket and hand it to him, ignoring his grumble about how I shouldn’t fold documents.
I move toward the wet bar set up against the wall and pour myself a glass of tequila. I use the back of my hand to wipe my mouth when I taste my blood. Fuck what I wouldn’t give to break this glass on Roberto’s face, but that’ll have to wait. I remember wanting him to love me as I was growing up. I thought he truly was my father. He never showed me any affection unless I was doing something morally wrong, like blackmailing a kid in class to do my homework for me.
I was a smart kid and got my own straight A’s, but Roberto taught me to never waste an opportunity. Looking back now, I hate who I was. I hate the stance Roberto takes. Using whoever he can for his own agenda. Though it may seem so to everyone else, I’m not a hypocrite. I have an agenda, yes, but unlike the younger version of me who wanted a father in Roberto, I now pick and choose who I target with careful thinking.
I don’t randomly pick a weak person to bend for my own gain, no, I go after those with just a little too much power for my tastes.
I reach into my pocket and pull a small baggie out, pinching my fingers against the zipper lock seal to open it. I pour out the contents of the white powder into my drink, swirling and mixing the coke and tequila before shooting it back.
The burn of the tequila and the sting of the cut on my lip are quickly subdued by the numbing drug.
I never knew what drugs were, not until that fateful day years ago when I learned two very important things.
