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)
I groan as my hips hit something hard, and I flip my hair back to see it’s the Lords altar. I clench and unclench my hands as they begin to tingle—the circulation coming back to my fingers.
My heart pounds in my chest as I slowly turn around to see I’m at the Lords cathedral. It’s tucked in the middle of the Pennsylvania woods and serves multiple purposes for the secret society. I’d been here once with my father back when I was younger.
I was sick to my stomach when I left with him because of what I saw. This time will be different.
The old wooden pews are lined with Lords. All dressed in their cloaks and masks—white with black lines throughout making it appear to be cracked with black circles around the eyes and matching lips. My legs begin to shake nervously, my throat closing on me.
Breathe, Annabelle. Lift your chin, push out your tits, and give them a smile. Show your teeth before you rip their throats out.
A noise gets my attention, and I spin around to look up at the second-floor balcony. I take a few steps back to the center of the aisle and stand between the third row of pews to get a better view. Someone sits in a chair, wrists tied to the armrests and ankles secured to the legs. She’s naked and has a hood over her head. By the sound of her muffled screams, I can tell she’s gagged underneath it.
“Annabelle Schults.” A Lord calls out my name, and I see him standing from the first pew. “Do you choose to accept your initiation?”
Squaring my shoulders, I swallow the knot in my throat. “I do, my Lord.”
His mask nods. “Then you know what to do.”
I wait for him to give me further instructions because I have no fucking clue. But instead, I nod and walk over to one of the staircases, making my way to the upper floor. My eyes drop to the baptism pool where the Lords hold their ritual for the vow ceremony, and I see it’s currently drained of all the water.
Seniors who attend Barrington University get to fuck in there to prove they’re men. I think it’s pathetic and barbaric. But it confirms that they made it. So if I have to spread my legs to get ahead in this world dominated by men, then I’ll fucking do it. How hard can it be? It’s just sex.
Coming up to the chair, I walk around the woman, taking everything in. She already has visible bruises on her pale skin. Her wrists are bleeding from how tight the zip ties are. Her hands are blue from lack of circulation. I see a tattoo on her inner thigh, but it’s hard to make out…multiple vertical lines in a row. I’ve never seen one like it before.
I wonder what she did to end up here, but I can’t ask. You follow orders, and that’s it. A small rolling cart sits next to her, and it has items placed on a blue napkin.
Scissors, a knife, and a stapler. A small red jug that can only be filled with gasoline sits on the floor next to the metal chair.
“Find her brand,” someone calls out, and my head snaps up to look down at the pews below. The Lord who spoke before remains standing, but they always have a distorted voice so you don’t recognize them. As if I would know them personally. Thousands of Lords exist around the world, and they’re multiplying like rats every day, considering how much they like to fuck.
My eyes drop back to the woman, and I see it peeking out from underneath the overly large hood that covers her head and parts of her upper back. I lift the heavy fabric just enough to see the Lords brand—a circle with three parallel lines through the center. Weird, why would she have it? Only Lords are given those. Unless she belonged to a Lord, and he branded her. That’s another thing about Lords—they like to mark what’s theirs. Whether they carve it into their women or tattoo it, it’s all the same. You’re his whore for life, even if he chooses to pass you around to his friends. You’ll always be returned to whoever owns you.
Clearing my throat, I call out loudly, “I see it.” I’m already a minority here. If you want to be seen, you have to be heard.
Speak up, darling. No one can hear a whisper. That’s what my father used to tell me.
The mask below nods. “Either cut it off or give yourself one in the same place.”
My eyes widen, and she starts thrashing in the chair.
“You have five minutes.” The Lord takes his seat in the first pew.
My hands instantly start to sweat, and my knees begin to shake. I’m trying to catch my breath and not look so weak in front of all these Lords. If I show any weakness, I’ll be the next one naked and strapped to a chair.