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)
That’s it. They didn’t give me a birthdate or age. He has to be at least twenty-two because he’s an active Lord. That means he finished all three years of initiation while attending Barrington—he wears the Lord’s brand. But that also means he could be fifty for all I know.
I don’t know much about Carnage, though. I’ve heard of it, but the Lords keep it under wraps for the most part.
What the fuck does denied mean for Lady? Does that mean that the Lords have denied him a wife, or he denied her? I’ve never heard of that before. Every Lord has to take a Lady as far as I’m concerned. They have to reproduce. If they don’t give back, then they’re useless.
Scrolling to the bottom of the email, I click on the attachment. It’s a slideshow of pictures. The first one is of a guy on a blacked-out motorcycle. You can’t see his face because he’s wearing a helmet. But he’s got a black T-shirt on with the sleeves cut off, ripped jeans, and combat boots. He’s sitting at a stoplight, glove-covered hands resting on his thighs and both boots on the ground, waiting for the light to turn green. He looks tall even sitting on the bike. His arms are ripped as the sun beats down on them, showing off his veins.
The next is of the same man leaning up against a car. This time, there’s snow on the ground. Too much for him to even be driving the white McLaren Sabre if you ask me. He’s wearing a black leather jacket over a white T-shirt, denim jeans, and combat boots. A black pair of Aviators cover his eyes, but you can get a better look at his face. Sharp jaw, clean-shaven, dark hair spiked on top and shaved on the sides.
The next picture is the same with him and his car, but he’s now standing with his back to the camera as he opens the passenger door for a woman. She’s dressed in a glittery silver miniskirt and six-inch heels. Her black top has a deep V cut, showing off a large, fake chest.
She’s a prostitute. It’s the only thing that makes sense due to how she’s dressed in the middle of the day with an inch of snow on the ground. He’s parked on a corner in what looks to be an abandoned area, and two other women stand farther down in the photo dressed just like her.
The next is of him and three other guys with a girl. She stands in the middle with a bottle of vodka in one hand and a cell in the other. One guy stands behind her with his hand around her neck as she looks down at the camera. Haidyn stands to her left.
I scoot forward, enlarging the picture of him. It’s the first one that has a clear shot of his face. His eyes are a pretty blue—like the ocean. It’s also the first one that he’s smiling in. Straight white teeth and a perfectly lined nose. He’s clean-shaven and has a cigarette tucked behind his right ear. He’s wearing a long-sleeved T-shirt with the sleeves bunched up around his elbows and a pair of jeans. He’s the tallest one out of them all. If I passed him on the street, I’d definitely turn around to watch him walk away.
The next has me blinking. It’s him, but it has to be the most recent because he’s now covered in tats. And blood. He’s got a knife in one hand. Blood drips down it and onto his ripped jeans. His black combat boots stand in a puddle of it as well. His tatted knuckles grip the handle of the knife. Ink covers both arms and chest. He’s got a nose ring, and he’s shirtless, showcasing his defined bloody abs and deep V.
“Fuck me,” I whisper.
What the fuck do they expect me to do with him? Especially a Spade brother? From what I know, they’re the devils of hell. The rumors are that Carnage is where the Lords send those who betray their oaths.
Now, from what I grew up believing—Lords who betrayed their oath—was that they were taken to the cathedral and put through what the Lords call confessional. They’re tied down to the Lords altar and tortured until they confess what they did wrong, then they’re blessed with a bullet in their heads. But as I got older, I overheard my mom and stepdad talking about the Spade brothers. My stepdad had a friend who betrayed his oath and was sent there back when they attended Barrington. My mother assures him that his best friend must be dead by now, but my stepdad doesn’t agree. He said Lords don’t go there to die. They go to pay for what they did wrong, which means more torture. Typical Lord. Always wanting to make you bleed for the littlest things.