Total pages in book: 180
Estimated words: 168587 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 843(@200wpm)___ 674(@250wpm)___ 562(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 168587 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 843(@200wpm)___ 674(@250wpm)___ 562(@300wpm)
A fire roars to life where the baptism pool usually is. They’ve drained it, filled it with stacks of wood and lit it on fire. I can feel the heat from where I stand. The sweat rolls down my back and forehead.
The men place the branding irons into the fire to heat them up. I try to pull myself off the wall, but all it does is choke me. Wiggling my arms, I try to relieve the tightness in my shoulders really quick. It’s also useless. They’ve been doing this for years. Each one is different, but the result is the same.
I knew going into this that it would be painful. They push you as far as your body and mind will go just to see how much you can endure. It’s the ultimate test. Every Lord that is present in this room is here because of their last name. The blood in their veins got them this ticket, but we have to prove we deserve it. My freshman class at Barrington started with fifty. We’re down to twenty-two. They’re the lucky ones though. They got to walk away.
Once I’m branded, the only way out is death. And it will come. The question is, will it be because of me or them? Only time will tell.
The lower classes of Lords at Barrington watch from the pews. It’s a way to remind them why they can’t fuck for three years. This is where they want to be. What they’re training for.
The man standing in front of me turns and holds the branding iron by my face. The blazing end heats up my skin, and I pull away the best I can. My body tenses, every muscle already aching. It’s that natural fight or flight kicking in.
“Tyson Crawford, are you ready to be a Lord?” Lincoln asks.
“Yes, sir.” I nod, taking in a deep breath, ignoring my heart pounding so hard I fear it may rip through my chest.
“Silence him,” he orders, snapping his fingers. A man walks down the row, shoving a cloth into my mouth to bite down on. I’ve watched it enough over the last three years to know what’s coming.
Without warning, he shoves the hot iron onto my bare chest—a reminder that I will now live and die for them.
FIVE
TYSON
THE CHOSEN ONE
UNKNOWN: Cathedral 2 a.m.
I check my messages while sitting in my car. I received the text three hours ago while lying in bed. Now I’m back at the Cathedral. I was just here a week ago getting my brand, and it still hurts like a bitch.
Getting out, I walk up the stairs and push the two heavy doors open. Two Lords stand inside the dimly lit entrance. Both have their black cloaks on with white masks. I’m not supposed to know who they are. There are thousands of Lords all over the world, but you aren’t given a list of who everyone is. Especially the founders. They’re kept a secret.
The one on the left pushes open the next set of doors and pauses for me to enter. I step in and come to a stop. My eyes scan the large, open space. I’ve never been here when it wasn’t full of Lords. Usually, they fill the pews, but right now it’s empty. It has a haunting feel to it. Cold and lifeless. It’s not a place where you hang out. It’s for business. They perform all their rituals and confessionals here.
Each Lord behind me grabs an arm and they escort me down the aisle to the front of the room where the altar and the Lords’ table sit. A staircase on either side leads to the second-story loft that overlooks the congregation below, where I was just days ago.
They take me over to the right set of stairs and dig their fingers into my upper arms, pushing me to the top. Then they shove me forward.
I catch my feet before I trip and look at the Lord who’s dressed the exact same. I feel his gaze on me, as hot as the branding iron they used to bind me to them.
“Tyson Riley Crawford.” He states my name, stepping forward.
“Yes, sir.” I do the same.
He nods his head, the mask—white with black lines through it, making it appear cracked—moving up and down slowly, and then I’m grabbed from behind. One of the guys that brought me up the stairs kicks the back of my legs, knocking me to my knees. Then I’m shoved down face-first to the cold floor. My arms are brought behind my back, and I hear the cuffs before I feel them wrap around my wrists. Tightened to the point that I grind my teeth at the pinch of my skin.
My shirt is grabbed, and I’m dragged over to where the baptism pool is that faces the congregation down below. It’s where they perform their vow ceremonies for their chosens.