Madness: A Dark Revenge Romance

INITIATION

Loyalty

Freshman year at Barrington University

“Don’t embarrass me.” My father’s words echo in the back of my mind. Like a song stuck on repeat that can’t be changed.

“Yes, Father,” I told him just before being thrown into a cell.

I’ll become a Spade brother—a member of a secret society that is fucked up, for a lack of a better word. Centuries ago, some bored rich men came up with a game.

The story is, they got drunk, branded one another, and then fought each other to see who got to fuck whose wife. Apparently, it got messy—doesn’t it always when pussy is involved—and the Lords were invented. Marriage no longer meant what it was supposed to be. Love was a weakness that a man couldn’t afford. It became kill or be killed. But like anything else, you have the bad apples. The ones who want more than they are given. They betray their oath and must be made an example of.This text is © NôvelDrama/.Org.

That’s where the Spade brothers came along. A Spade brother runs their hell. As if any aspect of the society is heaven. We’re the minority. There are four of us, and today is my day to begin my journey to becoming a member. My father has reminded me what he expects of me every day of my life. The only reason I bother to show up is to stay alive. I couldn’t care less about the Lords. But most don’t. The Lords try to make you think you’re special. Most of us know the truth and see it for what it is—a curse.

They’ll tell you who you can fuck, who you will marry, and what you’ll do for a living.

Carnage is my future. I will learn to accept the fight and crave the blood.

“Haidyn Jamison Reeves.” My name is called out, and I look up from the spot where I kneel in the center of the arena. I was dragged in here after I spent forty-eight hours in a blacked-out concrete cell. Minimal food and water. They want you to be at your weakest when they test you. “You have been called to serve. Do you wish to proceed?”

Why the fuck would I say no? I don’t have a death wish. “Yes, sir.”

He nods and takes a step back from the platform. “He’s all yours.” Turning, he walks out of the arena and disappears through a side door.

“Hands behind your back,” a man orders from behind me.

Doing as instructed, I feel the cold metal placed around each wrist as I’m handcuffed. A rope wraps around my neck, and I arch it to try and loosen the pressure, but it does no good.

I tell myself to slow my breathing and not fight the inevitable. I know how this goes, and this is just to get me ready for the show. All the Lords dressed in cloaks and masks fill the seats surrounding the arena’s second story to see if I prove myself and pass.

A man comes to stand in front of me and orders, “Open wide.”

He shoves a ball gag into my mouth. My breathing accelerates through my nose, knowing what’s coming next. He takes the syringe and fills it with the clear liquid before stabbing it into my chest. Adrenaline.

My teeth sink into the rubber as pain explodes throughout my body—it feels like hot lava covers my skin.

“He’s ready,” he calls out and steps back.

My wrists are released from the cuffs, and the rope is removed from my neck as I spit out the gag. I bow my head and close my eyes. My heart pounds in my chest, and my pulse races. I can feel the blood pumping through my veins. My fingers tingle, and I fist my hands.

Fuck! I feel invincible. It’s an illusion. They want you to think you’re God so they can remind you that you’re their fucking servant.

“A well-fed devil is more loyal than a starving saint” has never been a truer statement than when it comes to the Lords.

A door opening and closing has me looking up, and I see a man enter the arena. He’s dressed in a bulletproof vest, jeans, and combat boots. All I wear is jeans and my boots.

I slowly get to my feet, taking inventory of my body and liking the way it hums with excitement. As if I was just jump-started—conditioned to fucking destroy whoever comes my way.

He has a chain in his right hand and a knife in the other. They want it to be an unfair match. Just how far are we willing to go to survive?

“Let’s see what you’ve got, big boy.” The man laughs just as another man enters and comes to stand next to him. He, too, is dressed the same while holding identical weapons.

In a world of shouting men, be the one who remains silent, my mother used to say all the time. If they cannot hear you, they won’t see you.

I’ve always preferred silence to mindless chitchat. Not because I wanted to go unnoticed but because they’re just words that mean nothing. No one cares how you feel or what you think. It’s about following rules and actions. A servant does as he’s told.

I step off the platform, ready to get this shit over with. The room is brighter, the air warmer, and I can feel the sweat running down my back.

The one on the left holds up his right hand and twirls the chain around. Whoosh…whoosh…

My ears pick up the sound as if it’s right by my head when he’s several feet away. Without thought, I go for his legs. To bring a giant down, you’ve got to take him out at the knees.

Rushing him, I bend down and wrap my arms around his knees, picking him up off the floor. He screams out as I carry him backward until we both hit the ground, knocking the wind out of him for just a second. I bet they’re both on adrenaline too, so I’ve got to make this quick before we all pass the fuck out.

The other one takes the opportunity and slams his knife into my side. Although I don’t feel it right now, I know I will very soon.

I get off the one on the floor and turn to face the other one. His eyes drop to his knife in my side and he smiles. He goes to lift the chain, and I remove the knife, throwing it at his face. It lands in his right eye, and he drops to his knees as the blood begins to drip from the knife.

I took the knife in order to use it as a weapon. They want us to be defenseless. Sometimes you’ve got to choose to be the sacrifice.

It’s a short victory because the other guy has the chain wrapped around my neck from behind, pulling me backward. Reaching up, I grip the links in my hands—forcing my fingers between the chain and my throat—and bend over, yanking the man over my back and slamming him onto the floor.

He rolls over, and I make my way to the dead guy as the other bounces to his feet. I yank the knife from his face and fling it at the one now standing. He moves at the last minute, and it lands in his vest.

Well, fuck. Now he’s got two knives and a chain.

The blood rushes in my ears, and I shake my head, trying to quiet the noise so I can think. Everything is moving so fast. My mind is racing like my heart. Everything goes in and out of sight, and I’m having trouble focusing on one thing for more than a second.

I grab the chain from the dead guy and bend down, whipping the chain to wrap around the other guy’s ankles and yank, knocking him to his back once again. I drag him toward me, and he flings one of the knives, barely missing my head. The second lands in my thigh, and I grind my teeth at the sting. The adrenaline is starting to wear off, and the pain is setting in.

He twists onto his stomach and calls out like a little bitch as if anyone is going to help him. I remove the knife from my leg and slam it into the back of his neck, killing the second piece of shit.

Falling to my knees, I place my bloody hands on my blood-covered jeans. Fuck, I’m fading fast.

The door to my right opens, and I look over to see my father heading toward me with several other Lords. He doesn’t look proud or happy that I passed. He’s just glad I didn’t embarrass him. The bastard knows I didn’t do it for him.