Don’t You Pucking Dare (The Blackridge Reapers #2)

Chapter 1

The blindfold comes off, and I bite back a laugh. These fuckers really went all out with the theatrics—black hoods, blood-red masks twisted into something out of a nightmare. The Reapers, in all their self-important glory, forming a perfect circle around us like we're about to perform some satanic ritual.

Welcome to ivy league secret society bullshit. Except this isn't your typical rich boy circle. The Reapers don't just run the college underground— they own it. Every dirty secret, every backroom deal, every career made or broken. And after a year of being their errand boy, doing the kind of shit that would make my skin crawl, I'm finally getting my shot at real power. To be one of them in red if I succeed in what I’m about to offer, but for now my mask will remain black.

My pulse quickens, but not from fear. It's anticipation. Pure, raw hunger for what's coming. I straighten my shoulders, towering over the sophomore next to me in line. Poor bastard's trembling. He won't last a month with real responsibility. But me? I was made for this.

Images of my brother flash through my mind—before and after. Him standing tall on the ice, then crumpled in that hospital bed, eyes vacant from morphine. "You're different," he'd told me that day, voice slurred. "Harder." The memory burns like acid, fueling the darkness I've cultivated since. I won't fail like he did. I can't.

The Elders stand before us like judges, their masks more elaborate, more grotesque. These are the men who can hand me everything I've ever wanted on a silver fucking platter— my spot as starting center on the hockey team is just the beginning. They can turn me into a legend, both on and off the ice. Being a fucking goalie is fun and all, but I want more.

All I have to do is prove I'm willing to get my hands dirty. Really dirty.

Lucky for them, there's nothing I won't do to get what I want.

When my turn comes, I drop to one knee. Not out of respect— fuck that— but because it's what they expect. These ancient rules, this theatrical bullshit, it's all just a game. And I play to win. These men are a bunch of sick bastards, hiring college kids to do dirty work, but everything they do is for a greater cause.

"Brody Skylar Black." The name rolls off some hidden tongue like a death sentence. I stay silent, still, letting them think they have power over me. Another voice emerges. "Do you have a proposal for us?"

My lips curl into a smile I don't bother hiding.

Oh, do I ever.

"Rise and present how you will show your loyalty to us."

I stand with deliberate slowness, meeting each masked gaze. My rehearsed words taste like victory on my tongue. The three Reapers I've already got wrapped around my finger are going to eat this up, and the rest? They won't know what hit them.

"Someone in my life was wronged by an enemy of the Reapers." I let my voice drop, rough with promise. "Rick Kemper. I have a plan to destroy him— to prove that anyone who crosses the Reapers deserves nothing less than complete annihilation."

The masks don't move, but I feel their interest spark like electricity in the air. Then... nothing. Silence stretches between us like a blade against skin. For the first time in my life, doubt creeps in, unwelcome and sharp. Me, the guy who's never questioned a damn thing, suddenly wondering if I've miscalculated the situation with Rick Kemper. He wronged the Reapers by attacking my brother. My older brother who’s now in a fucking wheelchair for life because he was once an errand boy just like me, except he was used as leverage. And this is my chance to equal the score and benefit from it.

A year of watching, learning their secrets while they tested mine. Proving I could be trusted with the kind of power that corrupts lesser men. Each task darker than the last, each success feeding something hungry inside me that I used to pretend didn't exist.

Anger rises in my chest, hot and familiar. These fuckers think they can make me sweat? I'm a Black. My brother may have failed the cause, but I’m more than willing to take the fucking risk. I’m different than him, harder. The urge to tell them that burns on my tongue, but I swallow it down. Not yet. Not when I'm so close to getting everything I want.

"Rick Kemper is your enemy as much as mine." The words escape before I can stop them, dripping with dark promise. "This revenge will be our victory."

"Did I say you could fucking talk?" The roar slams against the walls, but I don't flinch. These men might be legendary for their cruelty— hell, the bodies they've buried could fill a graveyard— but I refuse to cower.

Instead, I draw myself to my full height, shoulders back, chin up. Let them see exactly who they're dealing with. Fear is for the weak, and I'm anything but. If they want cold and calculating, I'll give them a fucking glacier.

"I misinterpreted your silence," I say, my voice arctic. "I assumed you required elaboration."

One of them takes a step toward me meeting my gaze. One Elder raises his hand, and the guard retreats like the good little puppet he is. Pathetic.

"You think highly of yourself." The Elder's voice slithers through the air. "While we admire confidence when dealing with others, we don't tolerate it from our subordinates. Watch yourself, or your future here might be remarkably brief."

My nails bite into my palms, but I force a nod. Every muscle in my body screams to put these masked bastards in their place. But I wait, letting their precious silence stretch until they decide to grace me with their response.

"It's been tried before. More than once."

"Tried and failed," another adds, voice sharp as a blade. "What makes you so fucking special?"

A smile spreads across my face, slow and cruel. Oh, they have no idea what I'm capable of. My brother’s attempt was juvenile, but he and I are not the same.

My next words come out like velvet-wrapped steel. "I'm not going after Rick Kemper directly." I pause, savoring the moment. "That's what everyone else tried. That's why they failed. I'm going to hit him where it'll break him completely."

The temperature in the room seems to drop as I continue, "He has a daughter he’s kept hidden." I smirk because I found a very deep dark secret of Rick Kemper’s, and this is how I’m going to win. "She's a freshman here this year." My tongue traces my bottom lip. "I won't have to lay a finger on him to destroy him, to get him right where we want him. I’m getting justice for what he did to my brother, and I'll make him watch as his precious little girl falls apart. Piece by piece."

The Elders turn to each other, and something passes between them— a current of dark understanding. They don't need words. They know exactly what kind of monster they're looking at.

A single nod seals the deal.

"Accepted." The words hit me like a shot of pure adrenaline. "Succeed, and we’ll talk, but if you fail..." A low chuckle ripples through the masks. "Well, you’ll end up just like your brother. Step aside."

I move to the wall, feeling their eyes track me like predators. The air is thick with anticipation— or maybe that's just the taste of victory on my tongue. The red masks mark the true inner circle—those who've proved themselves through blood and loyalty. Plain black for the rest of us, whether it’s an errand boy or an initiate. A hierarchy built on violence and power, with tendrils reaching far beyond this ivy-covered facade. College is just where they recruit, finding men young enough to shape but old enough to understand the price of power. At this point, I don’t care if they misjudged me because of my brother. If he failed this initiation, that shame is on him. I’m here, and they’re willing to give me a chance. After all that digging I did on our common enemy, it’s going to pay off.

Some poor bastard takes my place in front of the Elders, but I barely hear him. My mind is already racing ahead, plotting every delicious detail.

Getting the green light is just the beginning. Now comes the fun part— making little Miss Lola Kemper's life a living hell. And I'm going to enjoy every fucking second of it.

Can I pull it off? These masked psychopaths will turn my life into their own personal torture porn if I fail. Even my ego has its limits, though admitting that makes my skin crawl.

Failure means more than just losing my shot at power. It means proving everyone right—that I'm just another Black brother who couldn't cut it, who didn't have what it takes. The thought sits like poison in my gut. I've spent too long building this darkness inside me, feeding it, letting it grow. There's no going back to who I was before.

A thunderous "No!" rips through the chamber. One of the Elders shoots to his feet, his rage filling the space. I assume that’s Noah voice. I confirm by the way he moves into the guy’s face. "You think we would be impressed by something so fucking stupid?"

The red-headed candidate collapses, blubbering like a baby. Pathetic. Whatever weak-ass plan he offered must've really pissed them off. The mix of their fury and his terror creates something toxic in the air, making my nose wrinkle in disgust.

"Get him the fuck out!"

Another Elder lifts his hand, commanding silence. "His father and grandfather's contributions deserve consideration. One more chance." His voice drops to a deadly whisper. "Place him at the end of the line. He has until the final candidates finish to devise something worthy. If not..." The threat hangs in the air like a garrote wire.

Two red masks drag the sobbing mess across the floor, dumping him beside me. The stench rolling off him— fear, sweat, and what smells suspiciously like piss— makes my stomach turn. He's shaking so hard I can hear his teeth chattering, completely fucking useless.

His eyes find mine, desperate, begging for help like a drowning man. As if I'd throw him a lifeline. He's everything I despise— weak, spineless, born into power he doesn't deserve. No hunger, no edge, no darkness. Just another trust fund baby playing at being dangerous.

The faster they throw him out, the better. Some people were made for power. Others? They're made to kneel.

They drag him back before his time's up. He's stammering, begging— a symphony of desperation that makes my lip curl.

"You have brought shame to your family name." The Elder's voice cuts through his pleas like a blade. "Without us, you are nothing. Less than nothing. Now get him the fuck out of here."

His voice echoes down the corridor as they drag him away, then cut off with a sickening finality before the outer door opens. Whatever they just did to him... well, better him than me.

The thought snakes through my mind— what happens if I fail? Will I run, try to build some meaningless life far from here? Or take the coward's way out, another rich boy's suicide in the papers?

The night air hits my face as we're finally released, and I laugh under my breath. No. I'm not going to fail. I'm going to crush Rick Kemper's precious daughter, watch his world burn, and take everything the Reapers can give me.

I already know where she sleeps at night.

And monsters never lose sleep over destroying angels.

The scariest part? Some small voice whispers that doing this might kill whatever's left of my humanity. But maybe that's exactly what being a monster requires.