THE INITIATION: Secret Society Dark Romance (4Horsemen Series Book 1)

by Elena Monroe

  “Does this look real, Grimm?” I could tell she wanted to be sexy in a way I could appreciate. I could tell she was still nervously overthinking what a guy like me would find sexy, when she bit the inside of her cheek, waiting for me to reply.

  Biting the outside of her lip was too obvious for my girl.

  Pushing her hair back off her neck and shoulder, I leaned down, biting the muscle between her neck and shoulder, hard but not hard enough to scare her. With another lick to sooth the burn, I whispered into her, “You always look real when I imagine you. I just need to be sure.”

  Her moan radiated on my skin, crawling everywhere leading to my crotch. We were both on fire and choking on the fumes.

  “Grimm…” Her strained voice begged for more. I was shocked she’d beg at all.

  My hand slipped inside her panties once more. It was the safe bet. It was boundaries and transparency mixing together.

  She palmed my crotch, pawing at my raging hard on caged up in my boxer briefs that were still on. Her delicate touch felt feather light, but at the time I could feel her fingers tracing my length with some pressure. It wasn’t enough to provide any real relief. That didn’t matter when her pussy was this slick and sensitive to my touch.

  Still covered in blood, with my mirror shattered behind her, my fingers rubbed exactly where I knew wouldn’t take long to make her shake with an orgasm.

  Leaning back into the counter, I watched Abigail give me more access to her when two fingers slipped inside her. Everything tensed and paused. I took notice, making her my focus.

  Guiding her hips, I spun her around keeping her ass against my crotch, our bodies tight and flush against each other. My teeth dragged against her muscles, and my hand moved inside her panties. All I cared about was the self-torture of making her come on my fingers and tasting them after.

  No real relief.

  I wasn’t going to let myself enjoy her… yet. I still didn’t deserve her.

  She only had a piece of the truth, and when she got the rest, she would come to her senses. Those senses would keep her running until she hit safety far, far away from the Clave.

  Her ass grinding into me had a grunt get caught in my own throat red handed, as I bit down on her while she rocked on my fingers. Abigail was the definition of control and neatness; seeing her undone and messy made me want to lose control even though I knew better.

  Losing control was too dangerous for me.

  “Grimm… I’m…” Her satin voice was hoarse from all the captive moans she held back.

  Whispering into her ear, I playfully pinched her clit, making sure nothing I did was too hard. She was clearly vanilla, and I was clearly not a flavor of ice cream.

  With her ass pushing into my crotch and her hips tensing, I felt her body vibrate, legs shaking, with her mouth open like the orgasm took over her whole body. Abigail came with every part of her, and I had a front row seat to watch every feature and limb get involved.

  It made me wonder if her heart also participated.

  That’s when my playing with Abigail stopped—when I realized Abigail didn’t do anything half-assed. Everything was full body and full of heart, whether you liked it or not.

  Transparent or not, I needed her heart to have boundaries, like not thinking that me getting her off made me her boyfriend.

  Pulling my hand out of her panties and bringing my fingers up to my own lips, I tasted Abigail, trying to memorize it, because this was the closest I was going to get to having her. Her heart was a loaded fucking gun pointed right at me, after probably giving her the best orgasm of her life.

  She leaned into me, back against my chest. “Return the favor?”

  Pulling away, she almost tumbled backwards when I twisted the shower on and expelled my boxer briefs from pushing against my still hard dick. Mentions of her heart weren’t enough to get rid of the ache. “I’m good.” I pulled my fingers from my mouth and stepped into the shower.

  “Seriously?” Her voice had to have been three octaves higher when I could feel her eyes burn through the thick layer of glass and steam between us.

  With the shower door closed, it was hard to hear her above the water rushing, so she opened the door to the shower, demanding answers. Abigail was one-hundred percent transparent or absolute boundaries; there were no in-betweens.

  I expected her to give up, but she was proving to be more stubborn than I actually anticipated. A storm chaser, begging to get dirtied with the truth—a truth she wouldn’t see coming. I was the truth she wouldn’t see coming.

  I’m a high ranking cult member.

  I’m a killer for hire.

  I’m a prescription drug addict with a monster living in my head, and hallucinations keep me from knowing if you coming on my fingers is actually real life.

  I’m a fucking mess with a bank account that looks prettier than I do.

  The shower door opened, and I felt the rush of room temperature air fight against the steam. “I don’t get you.”

  “No one probably will…” I spoke into the water pouring from the shower head when I clamped my eyes shut and let it cleanse me.

  “We’ve been toeing the line, and we finally stumble over it, just for you to bolt. What the fuck?”

  Looking over my shoulder, I saw Abigail with her jeans on, shoes kicked off, and white shirt not buttoned, but covering up her breasts. I was sure being vulnerable and naked wasn’t someone she loved being at the same time.

  That’s exactly what I made her feel: uncomfortable.

  “For your own good. You’re too good for this world.” Taking the bar of soap into my palm, I lathered up my chest and let it cascade down me in a poor attempt to keep busy. It didn’t hurt my back was to her the whole time too.

  “What are you talking about?”

  My shower was huge, I could image Khaos having some kind of fucking orgy in here if he hadn’t recently purchased Hugh Heffner’s house. Fucker loved attention, loved girls, and hated being alone. His place was a constant party.

  It was big enough that she had to take a few steps to erase the distance between us to slide between me and the wall. She was fearless and stubborn, which was almost catastrophic when I placed my hands on her hips and squeezed my hands into her hip bones. I wanted it to hurt even if I didn’t mean to. Our bodies and lips hovered, leaving not much safety space as the water dripped from my hair onto her bare chest where the shirt wasn’t buttoned.

  “I’m not fixable, Abigail. There’s so much more at stake than you thinking you can fix whatever is broken with me. I’m a monster because that’s what they made me to be.”

  She looked terrified and turned on all at once as her eyes held mine with such precision I found myself impressed she didn’t sneak a peek at my length between us.

  “This is the part where you believe your friend and run away…” My voice deep and hideous, the monster was talking, and I listened.

  Her eyes welled up, making me wonder if she had ever been rejected at all. She was gorgeous with her exotic features and long legs, making modeling an obvious choice, but that didn’t mean much in LA. Everything hit the brass ring of pretty minus the personality.

  Shoving past me with a hard shoulder, I knew I had given her all the truth she needed: Men are assholes, and sometimes it isn’t something a good woman can fix.

  Nothing about my dick was solid now. I was limp all over.

  I stayed in the shower until I heard the bathroom door slam that I never closed in the first place. Waiting until it was safe, I stepped out grabbing a towel and lazily wiping it over my body covered in droplets distorting my tattoos. My mirror, Abigail’s hope of fingering her meaning something more… both were shattered. My closed fist collided with the solid black marble counter, and I knew letting things get this far meant she could walk away from her job, one I was determined to keep her from leaving. Leaving wasn’t an option when the Clave couldn’t be sure how much you saw or heard. We’d let you think you left, but in reality, we saw everything,
just like the owl in our logo.

  Every employee to be fired or who quit or simply stopped caring to show up all ended up in a body bag—all accidents, with little evidence. Those were the only times my brothers came with me to handle business.

  4 horsemen, not of an apocalypse, but of your demise.

  Patting my bed down, trying to find my phone, I finally did in the plush blankets. I needed to find a solution to her not quitting and forcing me to put her down directly after that bad decision.

  ME: Abigail is going to be on your desk tomorrow.

  KHAOS: Tell that to Brett.

  ME: It’s not optional. Tell him yourself. Paid day off, you’re out of the office, errands - I don’t care. She can’t quit.

  KHAOS: What are you gonna do? Hold her hostage?

  ME: Don’t fucking tempt me.

  Khaos, along with Vic and Bo, were the only ones privy to the fact that there was a cage downstairs where my garage was supposed to be. Instead, I had it sealed off from prying eyes, and I constructed a place after my own heart—fucked up enough to make me feel sane.

  It’s not like I hadn’t considered putting Abigail there if shit went sideways, I have… and I would, if she couldn’t get over the idea of me being hers.

  BOWEN

  There was no easy way to say this… but someone messed up. Grimm was running on empty, slowly draining every last drop in his tank, just like a true famine would.

  I had the twisted mind to invite death in, invite it to sit and stare into its eyes, while I saw myself reflected back in the black irises.

  Grimm wasn’t devoid of emotion, of humanity, or whatever they thought was missing to make him death.

  I was.

  Grimm was just insufficiently destitute.

  After his odd behavior lately, I stepped up and offered to go to Seattle in his place to check out what was happening with the Cloth. I needed an escape hatch to my own life. In a few short years, I was going to have to figure out how to throw away the hard on death gave me and become destitute like I should be.

  We balance each other perfectly, but two deaths? That’s a lot of blood.

  I knew I was going to be the one to do whatever Zeus wanted. Anything that pushed Grimm’s boundaries meant he was going to pull the tantrum card. Sulking silently until someone saved him from the paramount guilt we all knew he was growing.

  Grimm needed to grow some balls, not fucking guilt.

  Tossing the cigarette out my cracked window as I crossed the line marking California into Washington state, everything instantly seemed more green, closer to nature, and less conceited.

  If death comes in threes, then famine is a state of being. Twisting the cap off my Hennessy nip, I guided the car one handed, while I moved from one sin to the next seamlessly.

  All day sinning... I collected sins, and being a cult member really wasn’t forcing any kind of healthy changes.

  No one was lighting a candle for me.

  I liked the dark. Don’t waste the match.

  Finally getting a forwarded text with the information I needed at the last minute, I read over it as I entered Seattle in a car that I realized now wasn’t going to blend the same way it did in LA. Here I was sticking out like a sore thumb in my all black Aston Martin One-77.

  The text didn’t have a last name, only a first: Caellum. A handful of addresses and the least helpful information ever. I couldn’t even tell what this guy did to deserve our attention from a state over.

  Clicking the link in the text, I saw his Instagram profile, so this mission wasn’t a complete fail.

  Leaving California wasn’t ideal for me when Lil Wayne, Drake, and Chris Brown blared through the speakers. I wasn’t designed to survive anywhere else. Vegas couldn’t be Sin City, because LA is the city care forgot, which was worse.

  Seattle was probably the worst of all three. It was a city, and I still couldn’t see it through the wide roads, less people, lack of excitement. Pulling up the first address, I let my head hit the headrest hard, and I groaned out loud. Grimm was the only person able to avoid his job this well.

  The numbers matched the text, an unassuming brownstone with no outside activity.

  I was the best at being a ghost. I could be in the room standing next to you, and you’d forget I was even there.

  Everyone knew this shit was personal for Zeus. I could be way off base; he could just like a different age group. When you have that much power, you could golden shower a girl, slit her throat, and bathe in the blood with very little consequences.

  The Cloth was stationed in Washington state; that much I put together without the text from Grimm. Rumor had it that Zeus used it as his own personal task force to find his daughters, who went missing a long-ass time ago.

  Snickering to no one, I couldn’t fathom that kind of dedication. I didn’t humor routine, never mind waking up every day with a kind of dedication you can’t shake.

  After sitting in my car for the whole day, going on 10 hours of driving, there was finally the blonde I was looking for. Granted I hadn’t really tried.

  If you seem dead enough, the world takes pity on you, and shit seems to fall into your lap. Being famine, I was always on empty, riding death’s coat tails.

  The blonde I was looking for jogged down the stairs and headed for a truck parked further down the road. My car silently idling, I could feel the engine purring ready for this trip to get interesting.

  My phone buzzed in the cup holder against the hard plastic when I pulled off the curb, giving him enough time ahead of me. My mom wasn’t a helicopter parent, but she was just as equally as controlling as all our moms. When you raise monsters, you tend to take ownership.

  Letting my knees guide the steering wheel, I read the message she sent while trying to keep a small amount of focus on Caellum’s truck gliding through the narrow streets with cars parked along the curbs like savages.

  MOM: Eve is going to visit in the summer to meet you during the Bohemian Grove.

  Finally I stopped at what looked like a mess of old architecture, high arches, and molding that seemed impossible for two hands to create. I couldn’t imagine how this felt from inside; the vastness was something I was friends with. I swam in the emptiness that I held, vast and cold. Nothing about me knew how to fill up that space.

  ME: The princess was let out from her castle?

  MOM: Don’t be rude. She’s your betrothed. You’ll skip the Grove. It’s one year, Bowen.

  I didn’t like being told what to do, let alone being told to skip something I had been forced to attend since I was sixteen. The Grove and the Hunt were the only events I wanted to go to—the only places my mask could slip right off and I could wear the emptiness on the outside.

  We were becoming the age where we were being courted, shown off to fellow immaculate bloodlines, and all playing musical chairs until marriages fit. Well, everyone else was. I had been promised to Eve since we were toddlers, before she moved to Denmark to be the princess she was born to be.

  Meanwhile, I was in Seattle, looking for some Clave enemies, all because Grimm was too busy making unstained women his next victims.

  He was a fan of some weird-ass shit. Not judging or anything, but Abigail? Nothing but vanilla. Eve was the same kind of boring. She was immaculate, and I was going to starve her until she begged to be dirty.

  The Suzzallo Library Reading Room was some gothic vibe converted into scaring you into silence. I could hear a pin drop if I cared enough to—silent and eerie with the tall ceilings and dark woods with the moldings crawling up the walls.

  Following this kid wasn’t hard. I don't know how smart he could be. I had been following him this whole time, and he hadn’t noticed once.

  Dumbass.

  Keeping my distance, I dragged a book down from the shelf and pretended to read it, not like he was on to me or anything, as I watched him sit down at a table with another blonde. A girl. One that catches your eye for all the wrong reasons. Drama, trouble, and dramatics are stron
g. No one's real type. Maybe for a night she could be.

  He played his hand by making this so public. Now I knew exactly how to hurt him.

  Snapping a photo of the two from behind my book I wasn’t reading, I sent it off to Grimm so he could not give a shit and probably not do anything about it.

  Lost cause.

  Everyone was... including me.

  ABIGAIL

  Grimm was the kind of guy who wanted to be wanted and not had. I was the kind of girl who was kept and praised. If that was an order you couldn’t fill, I moved on. Just ask Oscar; he only made one mistake before I pulled the plug, granted it was a grave mistake.

  Waking up in my own bed, feeling like I had slept a thousand years, was clearly his handy work. Fingering someone isn’t hard, but it requires a sense of direction, rhythm, tolerance for foreplay, and selflessness most people don’t have.

  Cutting my losses didn’t seem like an option; instead, I felt challenged. He didn’t want to be had, but he was certainly okay with me admiring his body. He didn’t want me to catch feelings, but he was willing to ruin me for other men the minute he gave me the best orgasm I had ever had.

  Why are the hot ones the most confusing to read and understand?

  Sitting down in front of my multipurpose space, I switched the mirror on, letting it light up as I took out my foundation. Grimm was challenging me, and I wasn’t going to hand him a win. I was going to go into work looking better than ever, and he was going to regret pushing me away. Assistant or not, we agreed to transparency, and I was still in the dark.

  I finished my look with a flick of my eyeliner over the gold shadow until I felt satisfied. Nothing about this look was my regular. Normally, I didn’t wear much makeup except bronzer and concealer, but I guess motivation was truly a force to be reckoned with.

  Only stopping for my smoothie, like I always did, I walked into the office taller, wearing my patent leather loafers and tweed skirt with the matching jacket that I knew would drive him crazy trying to not look at my legs, as a satisfied woman.