by Stella Hart
“This man is a traitor,” said the council member who’d stepped forward. He was only a yard or so away now, but he was wearing a bronze mask, so I still had no clue who he was, other than that he had a strong square jawline and a thick neck. “We entrusted him with many of our secrets, and he recently attempted to betray us.”
“No! Please, this is a mistake. I didn’t do anything!” Matthew shouted, struggling in the tight grip of the guards.
“The penalty for your betrayal of Crown and Dagger is death. Elias, take the dagger.”
One of the guards held out a large silver dagger. I reached forward and took it.
“Prove your worth. Prove your loyalty to the society,” said the masked council member. “Execute this traitor for us.”
“Please!” Matthew screamed. His gray hair was dripping with sweat. “Elias, you know me! I taught you how to ride a bike when you were six! Remember? You can’t kill me. Please!”
I didn’t think twice. I lifted the knife and aimed it at Matthew’s chest, and then I plunged it downward. Hard. Fast.
There was no scream. No blood. Just as I expected, it was a trick knife, similar to the one they always used in the second-level initiation ceremony shows with the fake virgin sacrifice.
“That never gets old,” Matthew said, laughing as he rubbed his chest in the spot I’d jabbed him with the trick knife.
“Good job, Towne,” the masked council member said, clapping him on the back. “You can go back to the festival now.”
He and the guards left the room, chuckling with amusement. I held onto the dagger and stayed where I was, waiting with bated breath.
“Elias,” the council member said, turning his gaze back to me. “You performed well. The last three second-level members we had under consideration failed miserably. The first two outright refused to stab him, and the third waited too long. But you… you didn’t hesitate. You immediately did as we asked of you. No questions. No bargaining.”
“So I passed?”
“You passed this test, yes. You demonstrated that you trust us beyond a shadow of doubt, no matter what we ask of you, and you also proved that we can trust you. You proved you would commit murder for us if the need arose.”
How admirable.
“But you aren’t quite there yet,” he went on. The other council members rose and stepped over as he spoke. “We must discuss this privately for a moment. Please wait here.”
The burning torches were snuffed out, and the council filed out of the chamber, through the entrance on the other side. If my memory served me correctly, there was another large chamber through that door, one with a polished granite table and stone benches.
I waited patiently in the dim room, entertaining myself with thoughts of Tatum. Her lips. Her body. Her eyes. Her hair. When she stepped into a room, something in the atmosphere changed. Everyone turned to stare, every single time. She was beautiful but she didn’t know it.
She should know it. She should be told how gorgeous she was every fucking day.
It wasn’t just her looks that drew me in, either. It was her mind. I loved her stubborn nature, her rebellious streak. Loved her determination and her strength. Even when she was at her lowest point all those weeks ago, right on the verge of breaking forever, she turned it around and refused to let herself be destroyed.
It was fascinating to me, because I hadn’t faced much hardship in my life. At least not compared to the majority of people.
I wondered just how strong I’d be if I didn’t have the richest family in the world behind me, handing me everything I could possibly want or need. I wondered how I would’ve acted if I’d been forced to claw my way out of poverty instead, always knowing there was no one to catch me if I fell.
Would I be as strong as Tatum? Or would I crumble under the pressure?
I guess I’d find out soon, when I got her out of here and went against my family and Crown and Dagger. Only then would I know my true strength. My true nature.
Right now, all I knew was that Tatum made me want to be a better person.
The council members returned a moment later, shuffling in slowly, murmuring softly amongst themselves. They didn’t light the torches again. Did that mean something, or was I just overthinking things?
There was a long, tense silence. My impatience was quickly replaced with worry. What if I didn’t make it? I might’ve passed today’s trial, but the council had never said a word to me about how my other trials and interviews went. I simply assumed I performed satisfactorily. Typical King hubris.
Another minute passed. Not a word. I couldn’t wait any longer.
I cleared my throat and raised my head high, steeling my jaw. “So,” I said. Clear, loud. “Am I in or out?”
20
Elias
There was a grim silence for another few seconds. Then the council charged forward. Two of them went behind me and grabbed my arms. Another forced a dark hood over my face.
“Hey! What the fuck?” I tried to shout but my voice was mostly muffled by the hood.
They dragged me forward. I kicked and struggled, but there were at least five of them holding me now. One guy was no match for that amount of strength.
There was a sudden flush of coldness at my core. This could only mean one thing. I failed. I would never make it to the third level and discover everything I needed to know to take them all down. Worse, the way they were treating me now suggested they knew what I was up to. They knew I was onto them.
The men stopped pulling me. Someone yanked the hood off my head. I rubbed my eyes, still trying to process what the fuck just happened. I was in a different chamber now; the room with the granite table and benches. It was dark, but one of the council members was in the process of lighting candles everywhere, sending brilliant arcs of gold over the black walls.
When he was done and the chamber was alive with flickering light, he took off his mask. So did the others. They were all smiling, including my father.
“Congratulations, Elias,” he said. He leaned down and picked something up, then held it out to me. A set of black robes. “I’m so proud of you.”
A flush of adrenaline tingled through my body. I was in.
“Sorry about that little trick,” another man said. “Just a stupid game we like to play with the newbies.”
“The look on your face was perfect,” my father added with a snort of laughter. “Don’t worry, we’d never kill someone in such a messy manner.”
My heart was still racing, but I forced my shoulders to relax as I pasted on a smile. “You got me good.”
I looked around at every council member. There were a lot of men I recognized. Chuck Van der Veer, an old friend of my father who’d become a billionaire with the rise of dot-com stocks twenty-odd years ago. Garrett Davenport, the Roden Dean. A couple of others who worked as CEOs at King-owned companies. A few high-ranking politicians, too.
“Congratulations, Elias,” they said in unison, echoing my father’s earlier words.
“Thanks for accepting me,” I said as I put on my new robes, smoothing the thick fabric down over my shirt and pants.
“You know, you’re actually one of the youngest members we’ve ever had in the third level,” Van der Veer said as he watched.
I nodded. “That’s cool. So I guess I can attend all the third-level-only events now, huh?”
“Not yet.” My father handed me a slip of paper. “Before you’re in all the way, you need to take this oath before us.”
“Right.” I took the paper and read aloud. “I, Elias James King, pledge my allegiance to Crown and Dagger. I swear to protect and keep all secrets, take action against any traitors, and uphold all society values. I bind myself under no less a penalty than that of having my throat slit and my lips sewn shut before sinking into the deep waters of the Catacombs in a coffin, should I ever knowingly or willingly violate this solemn oath and obligation as a third-degree member.”
What a fucking joke.
After th
e oath, all the men shook my hand before taking their places around the large table. I took a seat too.
“In regard to what you were saying before: yes, you are now able to attend all third-level events. Before that, however, we have a lot to discuss. You are allowed to know all Crown and Dagger secrets, and you will learn the basics of them now,” said Davenport. “Firstly, though—introductions. You already know me, but out of sheer formality, I am Garrett Benjamin Davenport, council treasurer.”
They went around in a circle with the introductions. Only my father was left out.
Finally, he looked me in the eye and nodded. “You know who I am, obviously,” he said with a smirk.
Yeah, I do now, I thought to myself. I finally know the real you.
He continued briskly. “You’ll be able to speak with all the other third-level members at a dinner we’ll hold for you in a couple of weeks to celebrate your induction.”
“Cool.”
“Right. Before we begin, do you have any pressing questions?”
“Yeah.” I waved the piece of paper in the air and looked at Davenport. “All this death stuff… you don’t really execute people who betray the third level, right? I mean, I used to be friends with your son, Garrett. Henry. I know he left, and he’s alive.”
Davenport pursed his lips. A couple of the men muttered amongst themselves, their voices too low and soft for me to hear what they were saying.
My father smiled thinly. “You should know that in most cases, we take the oath very seriously. Henry was… different. He wasn’t just any member.”
“Yes, he’s my son,” Davenport said bitterly.
“He wanted to leave, so we reached a deal. Instead of death, we allowed him to go quietly, as long as he agreed to be monitored on a permanent basis to ensure he doesn’t breathe a word of our secrets to anyone else. We have a private security detail following him around at all times. He can’t see them most of the time, but they’re always watching. They listen to his phone calls, monitor his texts and emails, and track all his activity.”
Jesus.
“That sounds like a shitty way to live.”
“I’m sure, but it’s preferable to execution,” my father said crisply. “Henry was lucky he had a relative and ally in such a high place.”
Good old nepotism.
“So you really do kill other traitors, then?”
Van der Veer raised an eyebrow. “Do you remember a man named Jonathan Wilkinson?”
“You mean the guy who ran for President back in 2008?”
“Yes, him. He was a third-level member. He tried to leave. He thought the nature of our society would prove to be a major conflict with his political campaign, if anyone tried to dig deeper into his background. Now, we knew it wasn’t possible for anyone to dig that deep, given the sort of connections we have, but we knew he had to be dealt with anyway, for the mere suggestion that he could leave the order.”
I lifted one brow. “But he died in a plane crash.”
I still remembered all the news articles about it. Wilkinson’s private jet had gone down over a lake in Michigan in the middle of the presidential primaries.
“That unfortunate accident was arranged by us,” my father said.
I frowned. “But he wasn’t the only one who died. His advisors, his wife and kids, the pilots, and the cabin crew all died too.”
“Collateral damage. Our secrets must be protected,” Van der Veer said.
A cold feeling slithered through my guts. Holy shit. I knew these guys were dangerous, but I didn’t realize just how far they were willing to go.
I plastered on a satisfied grin, hoping it masked the turbulent feelings of disgust beneath. “Nice. Brutal as fuck.”
“I’d say ‘efficient’ is the more apt word. But anyway, I’m sure you’re itching to know what else we’re hiding up here on the top level,” Davenport said. His eyes glittered deviously.
It almost felt like I was in some sort of junior school club with silly so-called secrets like ‘all girls have cooties’ and ‘I hate my teachers and my mom’, along with a ‘no girls allowed!’ sign hanging over the pillow fort entrance. Unfortunately, after hearing how Jon Wilkinson was murdered along with several totally innocent people, I knew it was all deadly serious.
“Of course,” I replied.
“First you must understand our process,” he said. “The first level is for members we consider to be… not serious. Those who could never align themselves with our values. We are happy to have their money and connections and share ours in return, but that’s as far as it goes.”
I nodded. I already knew that.
“A select few each year are chosen for the second level. These are men who have shown promise and potential in terms of sharing our worldview. We allow them to discover and explore their darker tastes and desires at this level. Many stay at this level forever. But for some of them, like yourself, it’s eventually no longer enough.” He paused for a second. “It’s not real enough. Not the sort of darkness they are truly interested in. So that’s what the third level is for.”
I feigned confusion. “What are you saying?”
He exchanged glances with my father and the others. “Before we tell you anything else, we must apologize to you. When a member is still at the second level, we lie and mislead them out of sheer necessity. We had a feeling you would suspect things, as all lower-level members tend to do from time to time, so we falsified so-called evidence, made up convenient stories, and so on.”
“About what?” I asked, cocking my head to the side as if I didn’t already know.
There was a long, dramatic pause. Every council member exchanged a glance, their brows drawn and foreheads creased. Was it just me, or were they nervous?
They fucking should be.
“This may come as quite a shock to you, Elias, but…” Davenport left another theatrical pause before speaking again. “The women we keep at the Finishing School and the Lodge are not exactly willing.”
“Huh?” I widened my eyes just the right amount to simulate pure shock. “You mean they’re captives?”
His lips curled upward. “Yes. All of them.”
My stomach lurched. I already knew this, and yet it still hit me like a ton of bricks when they confirmed it for me this casually, as if they were simply handing out a coffee order.
“Including my slave?”
“Yes. Every single sex slave in the history of our organization has been an unwilling hostage.” Davenport narrowed his eyes. “You made it clear during your trials that you shared our vision. I hope we weren’t mistaken.”
I forced a smirk. “Hell no. You have no fucking idea how happy it makes me to hear that.” I paused and held my hands out wide, palms facing them. “Knowing it’s actually real, not just some hooker putting on a performance for me… fuck. It’s amazing. It’s exactly what I always wanted.”
Even saying the words hollowed me out, made bile rise in my throat.
“See?” My father smiled. “I knew he was one of us.” He looked right at me, pride glimmering in his eyes. “You’re just like me, son.”
I leaned back and rubbed my chin, pasting on an expression of casual interest. “Can I ask how exactly we get away with it? What’s stopping a rogue third-level member from telling everyone what’s happening here before you can get to him and kill him?”
Van der Veer smiled. “Think about it. Once you’re in, you can’t really tell anyone, can you? Why do you think we let all the second-level members have access to the Finishing School and the Lodge? It’s so they automatically become complicit before they even make it to third.”
“I see.” Clever.
“You could never try to tell anyone, because then you’d have to admit you fucked a girl—or many girls—against her will,” he went on. “No one would ever believe you if you said ‘I didn’t know, I thought they were just prostitutes’. So you become one of us, sharing our many secrets. You can never reveal them, because you are just as gu
ilty as the rest of us. If you ever tried to go public, you would be branded as a torturer and a rapist the same as everyone else. Even in death, that is how you would be remembered.”
“So why kill or heavily monitor the ones who want to leave, if they’d be too ashamed or scared to admit it anyway?”
“Just in case. Who knows? Maybe one of them wouldn’t care what people thought of him, and he’d just want to get the information out there despite the stain it would leave on his name.”
“Ah. Makes sense.”
“It’s very rare we get anyone like that, though. We pick the third-level members very carefully.”
“Of course.” I leaned forward, intertwining my fingers. “So how are the girls selected?”
“You’ll get to know the more intricate details as we go along, but basically, most are from poorer families who are given compensation in return for giving up their daughters. They can’t tell anyone either, if they change their minds, because then they’d be seen as ‘that family’ who sold their own child. Shame is a wonderful tool to keep people complicit.”
“You said most. So not all?”
“Not all,” my father confirmed. “Sometimes, one of us will spot a girl they want, but her family aren’t the sort who would give her up. So instead of purchasing her, we will arrange for her to be abducted for him. A cover story will usually be put in place. Rumors will be spread that the girl was a drug addict, for example. Or that she was mentally unstable and planning on running away.”
“And my slave?” I raised my brows.
“Her parents sold her to us. I approached them myself to broker the deal,” Dad said with a smug grin. “I wanted her for you as soon as she came onto my radar, with the Ben Wellington case.”
I gritted my teeth. “I see.”
He mistook my expression for annoyance. “I really am sorry that I had to lie to you, son. I couldn’t let you in on the truth before you made it to the third level.”
I waved a hand, arranging my features into a neutral expression again. “I understand. You did exactly what I’d do in that situation.” I paused for a few seconds. “Anyway, what happens with the slaves once they are no longer wanted by anyone?”
