It’s a test that he wants to see me fail. He’d rather throw me away because I didn’t pass than tell them I couldn’t be the son he needs.
I have compassion for others, and for a Lord that’s unacceptable. They beat it out of you. “All you have is yourself,” my father once said, but I don’t believe him. I have my brothers. Adam, Saint, and Haidyn are my family. It doesn’t matter that we’re not blood. I’d die for them.
“Eat up, boy,” a distorted male voice calls out. “You’re going to need your strength.”
I raise my head to glare across the cell and see a Lorddressed in a cloak and mask standing outside the door. For a society that thinks they’re invincible, they sure do hide their true identities a lot.
He slides a plate with nothing more than a chocolate chip cookie floating in milk on it. The milk sloshes over the edge of the dish and onto the concrete floor.
The irony isn’t lost on me.
My father is a sick prick. He wants me to break before I even get to prove myself. I’m pretty sure the only reason he had me was because the Lords forced him to do so.
A Lord is required to produce an heir. You have to pay your debt to the society, and to them, there’s nothing better than another body to pledge their loyalty.
“Son?”
I take a deep breath before I see my father now standing in the hallway outside my cell. His hands shoved into the pockets of his dress slacks.
“Eat,” he commands.
I look away from him, and my eyes scan the concrete walls. Tallies cover the surface. More than I can count.
They make my chest ache. Years and years of being caged makes you go insane. I’ve been in here for maybe three days and I already feel my mind slipping.
My father takes a step back from the bars and whistles. A Lord steps forward, unlocks the door, and enters.
There’s no use in fighting. I need to save what little energy I have. He storms over to me, grabs my hair, and yanks me to my feet, only to throw his fist into my face.
The blow knocks me into the wall, and I fall to my knees. The room tilts and I blink rapidly to get my vision to focus.
I refuse to fight back. That’s what they want, and I know this isn’t the main event.
No. It’ll be a big show in front of other Lords. This is just to make me tired, and I won’t give them the very little energy I have left.
“Take care of him,” my father orders before I see his blurry shoes turn and disappear down the hall.
My breath is taken away when a boot kicks me in the side, knocking me to my back.
A sound that has my ears ringing makes me flinch. I groan, lifting my heavy head to see I’m center stage in the arena at Carnage. Two stories, the stadium seating on the upper level lined with Lords.
Knew it.
There’s always a bigger picture with the Lords. The cell was to wear medown. Drain me of my energy. It was a mind game that my father wanted to use to his advantage.
I was beaten until I passed out and relocated. A quick assessment of my body tells me I’m in bad shape.
It’s hard to breathe. Think I’ve got a broken rib. A collapsed lung?
Fuck, maybe I’m just being dramatic, and everything is intensified due to lack of food and dehydration.
I’ve never had that fighter mentality like my brothers. I’d rather just fuck. But no, that’s not allowed. Three fucking years, I can’t get my dick sucked because the Lords want to control every aspect of my life.
Leaning my head back, I look up to my bloody and cuffed wrists. At least I’m no longer naked like I was in the cell. I’m dressed in jeans and boots.
“Kashton Landon Pierce.” A man’s voice rings out through the arena. “You have been called to serve. Do you wish to proceed?”
I groan but manage a nod. “I do, sir.” As if we have a choice. We don’t. They want us to willingly submit—to be their fucking puppets. Nothing about our lives is by chance. Everything is by design. One that they make sure benefits them.
