Lost in Life

Prologue

The sound of the tattoo gun buzzing has always soothed me. It’s one of the few things outside of enacting a kill that calms the raging beast inside.

Perhaps that’s why when Owen approached me with the offer to take over for the old Order’s previous tattoo artist, who met his final end rather suddenly, I jumped at the chance without a second thought.

“Ouch.” The man before me hisses as I press down over his skin again.

Pussy.

I stifle the smirk that tries to break onto my face.

It’s initiate day into Societas Exspiravit and Owen’s daughter, Everly, takes it very seriously. I still don’t know how I feel about the takeover, she’s fierce but still so fresh. Hell, the bitch didn’t even know we existed until shortly before offing her old man and taking his place.

Not that I’d ever voice any of those thoughts out loud. In her short time in the captain’s chair, I’ve watched her execute dozens of seasoned men like myself for daring to defy her.

I, for one, quite enjoy still breathing. If that means I have to act like a dutiful prick, so be it.

I pull the tattoo gun away, wiping the excess ink off him to reveal a small skull at the base of his own. A weathered crown sits haphazardly atop its head. Thorned roses line the empty spaces. Trailing below and around his neck is a frayed rope, the noose we’ve all hung ourselves with by signing away our life, and our death, to a society of the damned.

While the tattoo itself isn’t terrible, I much prefer more of the artistic designs I get to do outside of the ceremony.

Setting the tattoo gun down, I gesture for the initiate to get out of the seat. “Done.” I watch him clamber out of the chair and walk toward Everly, quickly cleaning up my station in preparation for the next.

He stops several paces from her, kneeling onto the ground. “In morte vivimus.” He swears, bowing his head.

In morte vivimus. In death we live.

The calling card of Societas Exspiravit.

We’ve all embraced the freedom death brings to us the moment we join. One of the few similarities Everly kept from her father’s society.

The name, the calling card, the overall mission - all these things may have changed, but not our complete fidelity. If anything, the level of submissiveness required has only elevated since the regime change.

The feel of someone bumping against the chair brings my focus back to the present.

Time for the next one.

I get to work on the tattoo as the smell of burning flesh fills the air. My shoulder burns at the reminder of my own branding, another fun perk of the takeover.

Out with the old, in with the new, in the most literal sense. Once Everly decided to clear house, she made it clear that any connection to Owen would be severed, whether that be by death or disfigurement was up to each individual.

A quick glance over my shoulder shows one of Everly’s men pressing the hot iron against the other man’s skin, burning off the symbol of the old Order.

Shaking my head, I return my focus back to the initiate sitting in my chair, pushing away the uneasy feeling that’s become my constant companion whenever I think too long about our new leadership.

Fucking assholes ruining my work.

I bite my cheek to keep from reacting to the thought. Very few things truly upset me as much as my artwork being marred. Even if the design wasn’t my choice it was still my hand that etched the lines onto the canvas of their skin. My steady work that elevated the simple tombstone design to the beautiful piece it is. Was.

Suppressing a frustrated sigh, I wipe away the excess ink from the initiate’s neck, indicating for her to rise from the seat.

She slips off the chair, throwing me a wink and a finger gun. “Thanks suga’.” Snatching a small compact from her pocket, she angles the mirror to show the back of her neck, running a finger over the tattoo while humming softly to herself.

I push up from my seat to begin cleaning for the next in line when she leans closer and whispers in my ear, “Nice artwork, but you might want to work on the face.” Smirking at my confused expression, she draws a circle over her face with her finger. “Even I can tell something’s up and I’m fresh meat. Careful with you know who. I’ve heard they”re not the forgiving type.” With that she inclines her head toward Everly’s men before spinning on her heels and strutting away.

She’s not wrong.

Killian, Rayth, and Damon are less than forgiving when it comes to their girl. I doubt Everly would have been able to accomplish what she has if it wasn’t for her three musketeers.

Blowing out a heavy breath, I fight against the warring frustration and fear raging inside of me, funneling the added anxious energy into prepping for the next helpless soul joining this damned society.

I need a damn whiskey.

One by one, each new initiate makes their way into my chair before kneeling for Everly. After which they funnel into a large observation room to await further instruction.

My eyes trail up toward the room beside us, landing on a rather squeamish looking boy as he directs the new members. His Adam’s apple moves as he repeatedly swallows, a sheen of sweat visible on his forehead.

I can’t help but chuckle.

Tavish and I have an understanding of sorts, but that doesn’t mean I won’t fuck with him given the opportunity. For every bit that I love my tattoo needle, the kid hates it.

Tavish meets my gaze and I wink at him, lifting my tattoo gun with a smirk. His eyes widen comically and he quickly averts his gaze, focusing on the new recruit in front of him. A shudder runs down his body as he instructs them on what to do next.

Setting the tattoo gun back down, I follow Everly and her men up to join the others in the observation room. Once inside, I snatch up a glass, pouring a heavy dose of whiskey before shooting it back and filling the glass once more.

Walking to an unoccupied space, I lean against the wall, turning to watch as Everly rolls her shoulders and begins her welcome speech. My eyes trail over to them, finding both sets of eyes on me before they quickly avert their gazes.

Fuck.

Everly finishes her speech, calling out, “In morte vivimus!” Her loud exclamation pulls my attention back.

As one, we all shout, “In morte vivimus!” The sound of our voices echo throughout the room. I run my gaze over the new members one last time before turning to leave.

Welcome to hell, boys.