Rolling his eyes, Mr. Smiley slides on a latex glove, and I swear, just like in the pornos, he snaps it on, filling the room with the ominous sound. His movements are quick and detached, just like it was any other physical. The only difference is that everyone else here is watching it. In all my physicals, when I got older, I’ve never before had an audience.
He pulls back and writes some more in his book and goes back to staring at my body. Luckily for me, Ryker never did anything with my legs. They were the money-makers, the trophy gatherers. They were the one thing he was proud of.
After a few more notes, Mr. Smiley stands back up and speaks to the dean. “He’s in good health. We can continue.”
“I could have told you that, asshole,” I mutter under my breath, refusing to acknowledge his small smile.
Once he steps down, the dean steps forward and raises his arms. I swear it’s just as stupid and hokey as some weird-ass movie. It’s like he’s summoning something, and any minute now, I’ll be surrounded by a flash of smoke.
“Luke Arlo Lannister, newcomer to our midst. Do you wish to join our ranks as a Dominant of The Society?”
As he asks his question, the others pull on their masks, hiding who they are, but I still know. I’ve memorized their body language, their outline, and the way their capes drape over their bodies. They cannot hide from me. Unless this is all just another layer of pomp and circumstance.
Mr. Smiley, aka the doc, is over to the right, with his robe still over his shoulders like a cape. Shrinky Dink has the smallest set of shoulders, but he comes up about an inch above Mr. Smiley. Over on the opposite side is Mr. Douche Weasel with a face that I just want to punch.
I have no idea who or what he is, seeing as he just keeps to himself. Even with the mask, his lean frame is noticeably different from the hulking figure next to him. Based on the few times I’ve heard his voice, I’d put my money on him being Russian, but that could be just a wrong assumption.
He waltzed into the compound Nikolai had me in like he owned it. Only the Bratva would be so bold. On top of that, he looks like someone that will fuck you up just for looking at him wrong. He barely spoke two words to me when the trade was made, but that was just fine.
There was nothing we needed to talk about. Of all the people here, he’s the only one that actually makes me nervous. He’s got at least six inches on me and is taller than anyone else there. His hands stay clenched as his eyes watch me, as if my actions alone are paramount to him.
No doubt, he’s worried about that bitch he came for. Now that I’m no longer in Florida, nothing I do should jeopardize him or either of the girls. And if it did, so what. They’re no concern of mine.
Next to him is the cunt that assumed I’d bottom to her. Looking out over the few who are in here, she’s the only woman. No mask can hide those breasts or the outfit she sashays around in. Not only that but the perfume that hugs her body is embedded into my brain, tying her to me in a way that I never even wanted. I can find her by scent alone.
The only one not wearing a mask is the dean. Perhaps since he leads this rag-tag posse, he feels safe being out in the open. Either way, even if he did mask up, his shoes would be what gives him away. All the others are wearing simple loafers with no discernable detail, but the dean is wearing those idiotic old man shoes with the tassels in the front.
What even is the point of all of this? Whatever it is, it’s stupid. They should have just come in with the masks if they wanted to hide their identity. Whatever, as dumb as it is, I have to go through with it. It almost rankles me that they’re using such mystic parlor tricks, as if this is one big game.
It’s not a game to the Ravens. They play for keeps. Theirs are deadly. In comparison, this is almost like a soiree. If Micha and I didn’t want to kill each other so desperately, I’d peace out of this charade and go pledge with them. At least by being a Raven, it meant something.
“I do,” I finally grind out, a huff leaving my lips.
The one good thing is that they probably don’t even know how to draw blood from someone. They’re soft, every one of them. This initiation will be a breeze.
“Let us begin.”
The doors to the back open, and people of all shapes, sizes, and gender pour in, each of them with their own masks. The majority are solid white with very few features. Once they come in, they place cushions on the floor and kneel while the others in more ornate masks file in behind.
A figure stands out from the crowd, his broad shoulders far too familiar. Fucking Louis. Why in the hell is he here? It’s not a Raven’s initiation. There’s nothing he can do here except fuck with me.
Gritting my teeth, I lean once more against the wood and level a glare at him. To his credit, he never flinches. His dark eyes are stark against the golden mask, almost as if they are disappearing into it, but I can still see them. I still see him. If he wants to watch this humiliation, then he can be my guest. I’ll let it be one more layer he can feel guilty for.
That is if the bastard can even feel. Everything he’s shown me points toward the negative. Pulling air into my lungs, I force my gaze away. No doubt he counts that as a win, but it’s not. I’m making the choice to look somewhere else.
The sea of white masks is a bit eerie. All of them stare up at me with sightless holes; the only color breaking up the white are different eye colors. Most are bland with endless shades of browns and greens, but one catches my attention and arrests my breath.
It’s a unique shade, one that I’ve only seen in one place. Malum. They belonged to the girl I wanted and craved, but it was never meant to be. There’s no way it can be her. It must be a fever dream because the moment I blink, she’s gone, and in her place is another set of eyes, ones that are more mundane than the others.
Once everyone settles into place, the dean stands up and raises his hands once more. The man is closer to Moses than anything with the way he keeps lifting his arms up. I half expect a long ass beard and a staff, but no such luck.
A hush goes over the mass of people, and everyone stops in anticipated silence. Goosebumps erupt over my skin as they sit there, unmoving, as if a spell is cast over all of them.
God, Luke, get your fucking head in the game.