Total pages in book: 266
Estimated words: 250787 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1254(@200wpm)___ 1003(@250wpm)___ 836(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 250787 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1254(@200wpm)___ 1003(@250wpm)___ 836(@300wpm)
My mother suggested these to me when I showed up at our monthly brunch a couple of years back, looking like I had just closed down the club. I had. Although that’s not the point, she reminded me I needed to take care of myself. She set me up an appointment with her favorite salon and spa—I’ve been addicted ever since.
The IVs really do help you feel better. Like a new person. Plus, the man who digs his fingers deep into my muscles takes me to another level of ecstasy that no drug ever has.
My personal cell ringing has me removing the towel from my eyes. I dig it out of my purse, which sits on the small round table next to my chair, then hit answer. “Hello?”
“Hey, honey,” my mother says in greeting.
“Hi, Mom.” I place the cloth back over my face and lie back, holding the phone to my ear.
“Are you at the spa?” she inquires, already knowing my schedule.
“Yeah.” I sigh, getting more comfortable in the seat. The IV takes about an hour, and I feel like I’ve slept all night afterward.
“I won’t keep you. Just wanted to remind you about our brunch tomorrow.”
“I’ll be there,” I assure her.
“Perfect, dear. Enjoy your day, and I’ll see you in the morning. Love you.”
She hangs up before I can say my goodbyes. Removing the towel from my eyes, I place the cell back in my purse, covering up my face once more and relaxing.
Two hours later, I’m getting into my SUV when I turn both of my phones on ring. After my mother had called, I turned it on silent so no one would disturb me. My body feels like Jell-O, and my hair looks greasy from the oils. But it was amazing.
I see I have an email on my work cell from UNKNOWN. Opening it up, it’s got a video attached.
It’s of a room…looks like a basement—concrete walls and matching floor. A man lies in the center on his back, looking up at the ceiling. He’s wearing a Lord's mask and a pair of jeans with a black T-shirt. His arms are fanned out to the sides, palms up, and a pool of blood has gathered below them.
The room is eerily silent. I sit up straighter, looking over the man who appears to be dead. My eyes focus on his chest, and I don’t see any movement to show he’s breathing. Then I look at his bloody hands to see if his fingers twitch—still nothing.
A door squeaking makes me jump as a man rushes into the room.
I’ve seen him before…from the pictures the Lords sent me. He was in the picture of the four guys and girl that looked like it had been taken quite a while back.
“What the fuck?” he barks, running over to the dead guy. He drops to his knees next to him and rips off the mask.
I inhale sharply when I see it’s Haidyn. I can tell it’s an older video because he doesn’t have any tattoos. His eyes are closed, and his color looks ashen.
“HAIDYN?” the man shouts, shaking his shoulders. “Haidyn! What the fuck did you do?” He checks for his pulse and lets out a long breath. “Come on, man. Goddammit, Haidyn. Why did you…” He pulls on Haidyn’s eyelids, forcing them open.
Haidyn groans in response.
“Wake the fuck up, man! Jesus Christ…Saint?” he screams. “SAINT?”
A man runs in who I’m assuming is Saint—I’ve also seen him in the group picture. He was the one with his hand wrapped around the girl’s throat while he stood behind her.
He pulls out his cell and makes a call while the other continues to look for the source of the bleeding.
It’s his wrists. Both have been cut, and once the guy figures it out, he removes his shirt, rips it down the middle, and ties them both around Haidyn’s wrists to try to stop the bleeding.
The video comes to an abrupt end, and I see that’s all they sent me. What in the fuck was that for? Why send that to me if they’re not going to explain it? I mean, the video was self-explanatory, but there was no other direction on what to do next. It leaves me confused more than anything else.
HAIDYN
Senior year at Barrington
I’ve been out riding all night, needing some fresh air. The vow ceremony is getting closer, and I’m on edge. My father is pissed at me, of course. That’s nothing new. He’s on the hunt for my new chosen. As if I care who he wants me to fuck.
It’s all about what you can get in our world. I guess that’s anyone in any type of situation. But you don’t see dads out there pimping their daughters out left and right like you do within the Lords. It’s sick really. If I have any say, I won’t marry or reproduce. The thought of having to watch my theoretical daughter be fucked for the first time in front of an audience makes me want to vomit.