I look up from my desk at the blonde standing in our office—Saint, Kashton, and I have been running this place for almost four years now. After our fathers passed, it was handed over to us. Well, I guess handed isn’t the correct word. We had to undergo "training" to do what we were born to have. The Lords felt we weren’t ready to take over this prison. It was a way to punish us. See just how far they could push us. The Lords are notorious for trying to break you.
Her brown eyes tell me everything I need to know. She’s been standing there for quite some time, and she’s irritated that I chose to ignore her.
She glances at her watch. “We were supposed to start thirty minutes ago.”
“I’m busy.”
She looks over at Kashton as he sits at his desk across from mine, and he shrugs. What does she expect him to do? He’s not my fucking keeper.
“Haidyn—”
“I told you last time you were here and the time before that. You’re fired, Lana.” I stand from my desk, and she takes a step back, her hand going to her chest as if I’m going to pounce on her. Fuck her or kill her—I’m not sure which one would scare her more.
“The Lords?—”
“Tell the Lords that I said they can fuck themselves,” I say with a smile.
She gasps, and Kashton rolls his eyes. Lana would never hurt a fly. The woman is in her early fifties and hates her life as a Lady. She’s done something to piss the Lords off, and they’ve put her here for me to fuck with her. Sucks to be her.
The diamond on her left hand tells me she’s married to a Lord at the bottom of the totem pole—not a very powerful one but a Lord, nonetheless. So here she is doing her part for the society, and I’m making it difficult. I truly don’t give a fuck.
“I’m here to do my job.” She speaks softly as if I’m going to yell at her.
I’m not in the mood for that shit today. I just want to be left alone. Meeting her stare, I add, “You have five seconds to get the fuck out of my sight.”
She doesn’t need to be told twice. She spins around, exits the office, and slams the door behind her.
Kashton shakes his head, chuckling. “You know they’ll send someone else.”
I tune him out like usual. Life didn’t go how it was supposed to. Things went to hell years ago. It only took one woman to fuck everything up. Well, it wasn’t her fault. It was mine. But you know what they say—every story worth telling starts with a girl.
Ashtyn Lane Price was the one who changed our paths.
I have secrets that I vowed to take to my grave. I never thought I’d deceive mybrothers, but it was my only option. Plus,Saint kept a big one from us that I’m sure Kashton doesn’t know about.
The door opens, and Saint rushes in. Going over to his desk, he plops down and starts typing on his computer. I exit the office, wanting to be alone. I’ve always liked my space, which is hard to get as a Lord. You live at the house of Lords for four years while attending Barrington University. After graduation, Lords get to go their separate ways except for us. The Spade brothers all live together at Carnage.
This is our prison. We’re chained to this hell. No matter what we do, we’ll die here, and we’ll be buried here. It’s the life the Lords chose for the four of us even though we’re down to three already.
I make my way down to the basement. It’s my church, in a sense, and where I go to pray. Not to God because I don’t believe. But it can be spiritual.
My father thought he had planned my future, but I refused to give him what he wanted.
Senior year at Barrington
We’re closingin on the ritual—the vow ceremony that consists of us finally getting to fuck a woman in front of others to show that we have successfully done our part to become Lords.
It’s a rite of passage, they say. The senior Lords have served three years of celibacy, and the women are ready to give themselves to us.
The brand is so fresh it rubs against my shirt with every move I make walking down the stairs at my parents’ house. I’m going to meet my brothers at a party tonight. I see the door to my father’s office cracked.
“She’s ready,” a male’s voice says from inside the room. I know it well and grew up around it. It belongs to one of my father’s brothers.
“You sure?” my father asks.
“Absolutely.” He scoffs as if second-guessing him is an insult. “Her mother doesn’t think so, but I know the truth. Plus, that therapist of hers is a nutcase.”
“You’re the one who wanted to do business with her.” My father chuckles, and I frown. Who are they talking about?
