The Bloke (Men Under Revue #1)

2. Colby

Chapter 2

Colby

THREE MONTHS EARLIER.

INITIATION: TEST ONE.

When I moved here, I arrived with nothing but a backpack and a dream to change my life. I knew the change would be a struggle from the very beginning, and because of that, I knew I couldn’t have asked for much—beggars can’t be choosers.

I was lucky to snag this job, dancing on a stage for a showroom filled to the brim with crazed women every night, but the checks alone weren’t cutting it. With Jaxon expecting daily strength training and constant dance rehearsals, there wasn’t enough time left in the day to work a second or third job—not like I would have had the energy to do so, either.

“Colby, you look like shit, mate.” Nick slapped me on my shoulder as he passed behind to reach his locker. He started working in this show over a year ago and took me under his wing when I got hired, like a mentor. “Getting enough sleep?”

Aside from Jaxon, Nick was another favorite in the show. He had shoulder-length blonde hair, which he tied back into a low, tight bun most nights. His ears were gauged, and his body was covered in tattoos. The ladies went fucking nuts for him and his baby blue eyes.

“Not in the least. How the fuck do you afford your penthouse while working here?” I ran a hand through my dark hair, forgetting it was already covered in body oil. Fuck.

I’ve been to Nick’s place a few times for drinks with some of the other blokes. He had a penthouse on the east side with a sweet-ass view of The Strip; it was breathtaking at night.

It was exactly what I wanted when I moved here, and I had no fucking clue how he could afford it if I was just barely surviving in my cheap one-bedroom apartment several miles out on the west side.

Nick sighed at my response and looked over his shoulder to see if anyone else was in the locker room with us. After confirming that we were the only ones here, he turned back to face me and grinned as if he was about to confess to a murder he was proud of dishing out.

“Look… I like you, and I can clearly see you’re struggling.” He paused, dragging his tongue along the back of his perfect, straight white teeth. “If you think you can handle some fucked up shit, meet me at my car after the show tonight. I’ll show you how I can afford everything.” He winked before pulling on his white tank top and stepping around me to exit the locker room.

I frowned as he left me behind to consider his offer.

“Fucked up shit?” I mumbled in curiosity.

I was sure everyone had a different opinion as to what is considered ‘fucked up’ these days, and my version might be very different from his. But whatever it was, I was game if it meant I could finally afford to survive here. With a slam of the locker door, I made my way backstage for the start of tonight’s show.

Leaning against Nick’s car, I waited for over an hour, looking bored as fuck with my arms crossed over my chest, staring at the cement wall of the underground parking lot—the sounds of screeching tires and clicking heels ringing in my ears.

Nick had to stay back for the post-show photo ops and to sign autographs for the women who purchased them. I was not obligated to do this, considering I was still new, but eventually, it would also be part of my show routine.

The lights on his car flashed several times, and Nick approached it from around the corner.

“Get in, we’re gonna be late.” He urged, unlocking the doors and getting into the driver’s seat without looking at me.

I shrugged, dropping into the passenger seat and pulling the seatbelt across my lap.

Nick drove a white Lamborghini Countach LPI 800-4, it was a sweet ride, and yet again, I still had no fucking clue how he could afford it.

“Late for what?” I asked, relaxing into the leather seat as he backed out of his spot and pulled out of the parking garage.

“Your first part of initiation.” He answered vaguely and gave me a wicked smile that radiated trouble. “You want to make the kind of money I do; you gotta earn it, and not the way we do it in that showroom.”

Nick peeled off down Las Vegas Boulevard, and without even asking, I already knew that I was getting myself into something I shouldn’t, but I couldn’t keep living like this, and I sure as fuck didn’t want to go back home.

I better not have to whore myself out for that kind of money, though.

Not fucking happening.

I’ll consider a lot for a decent income, but I will draw the line right fucking there.

Twenty minutes later, we pulled up to a mansion in the middle of nowhere. I open the door and exit Nick’s Lamborghini as my eyes scan our surroundings. There is nothing out here, not even street lights. The only lights were those coming from the mansion itself.

The grounds were out of place but beautiful. Several stone fountains lined the circle drive, with a massive one stationed right in the center, and the grass was all artificial turf. With how dark it was, I couldn’t tell if the plants were too, but it wouldn’t have surprised me. To keep a garden this lush, green, and vibrant would cost a small fortune out here in the desert.

“Before you say anything, no, you won’t find this place on any map or GPS.” Nick chuckled as he shut his door, slipping his hands into his pockets as he strolled towards the main entrance steps.

I pressed my lips into a hard line as I followed him, remembering that I was the one who agreed to this in the first place. Where the fuck were we? Why was a massive mansion sitting here in the middle of nowhere?

As we stepped into the entryway, a butler greeted us while holding out a silver tray on top of which two masks rested. Apparently, they were expecting us; why?

Both masks were solid black, with tubing resembling glow sticks accenting the eye holes and mouth in neon red.

Nick took one of the masks and placed it over his face, and without being told to or asking what the fuck this was about, I picked up the second and pulled it on the same way. Either Nick was fucking with me as a sick joke, or I was getting myself into some serious shit tonight.

“You may proceed to the lower level when ready. They are waiting for you," The butler instructed, gesturing to the descending staircase before exiting the foyer.

Without a word, Nick headed towards the stairs, and I gripped his arm just as he took hold of the rail.

“Nick. What the fu—”

“Relax, Colby. I wouldn’t have brought you here if I didn’t think you could survive it.” He assured me. What the actual fuck?

“Survive? You're not doing a great job of helping me relax, Nick. What is this?” I pressed as I released his arm and stepped back, ready to make a beeline for the exit.

Nick sighed before lifting his mask to show me his face. “There is more to The Strip than you currently understand.” He paused, searching for the right words. “There is a secret society that operates the entirety of it, and those of us who are proven worthy of joining are well taken care of.”

“And how am I going to prove myself worthy ?” I questioned, roughly pulling my mask off and gesturing to the staircase with it. “A mask? It’s not fucking Halloween, Nick.” I couldn’t help but scoff at the ridiculousness of it all. Nick was fucking around with me, I was sure of it, and I bet he had half the blokes from the show here waiting for me like an episode of Punk’d.

“Look, I’m going to break this down for you, short and sweet, and then we are going down there…” Nick sighed long, pinching the bridge of his nose in annoyance. “To join, you must first be employed by one of the three male revue shows—which you already are. Secondly, you must pass three tests as part of your initiation to prove your loyalty and contribution to the MUR.”

“MUR?” I arched a brow in question and crossed my arms over my chest, still holding on to my mask.

“Men Under Revue. That’s what we are called, and soon you will be too.” He answered, “The tests aren’t easy, and most, if not all, require blood to be spilled, but after three months of knowing you, I believe you can handle it.”

“And if I can’t?” I added, not wanting to know the answer.

“We’re not going to talk about that because you will. Now put your mask back on, and let’s go before you lose your chance; you get one shot, that’s it.” He gestured his chin to my mask before pulling his back down over his face. Fuck it, here goes nothing.

When we entered the lower level of the mansion, I followed Nick down a dark hall and around a corner until we reached a vast open space the size of a grand ballroom.

Four men stood at the far end of the room, just in front of what appeared to be a stage. Each wore a mask similar to Nick’s and mine, except one set was green and the other blue.

“The other two revues. We initiate together.” Nick explained as he leaned towards me and mumbled under his breath loud enough so that only I could hear him.

I gave him a silent nod of understanding as we approached the others, lining up beside them with Nick standing behind me. Without warning, the three of us in the front were dropped to our knees.

Nick gripped my shoulder before kicking my knees in, preventing me from falling forward. I twisted my head to glare over my shoulder and growl at him, and he hissed a “Shh.” Knowing that I had a few choice words for him.

“Protégés,” A strong voice echoed over the room, and I shifted my attention to see a man approaching us in a deep red suit with a black shirt and crimson silk tie. “Tonight, you start your first of three tests. Pass all three without any complications, and you will reap the rewards of being a member of our secret society for the rest of your life.” This sounds like something you could put on a Hallmark card.

Three tests, easy enough; I mean, if Nick believed I could do it, then why couldn’t I? How hard could spilling blood be as long as the person deserved it? I can’t believe I am attempting to justify murder right now.

“Bring him in.” The man ordered as another was dragged into the room, struggling with a dark hood over his head.

He was dropped into a chair, his hands tied behind his back. Two additional men in black suits secure his legs to those of the chair before stepping back. I could hear muffled noises coming from under the hood, which left me to believe that the man was either gagged or had something covering his mouth preventing him from speaking—or screaming.

“William Klein—” The man continued once William was fully secured to the chair. “Owes us a pretty penny. William here took out several loans two years ago as an investment and hasn’t been able to pay a single dime back to us.” Removing the hood, he dropped it to the floor beside William, and my eyes met his watery ones—they were pleading to be released, and I shifted my gaze away from him, avoiding further eye contact.

His mouth had a dirty strip of thick fabric across it, secured to the back of his head, his drool soaking into it. It was tight enough to prevent him from any form of communication aside from simple mumbles and grunts.

“In his agreement for the generous loans he’s received from us, half of the investment was to be returned to us within the first year, followed by the second half plus interest a year after that.” He slowly paced behind William as he spoke. “What do you have to say for yourself, Mr Klein?” The man asked, taking a knife from one of the black suits and sliding it against William’s cheek to push the fabric down, cutting into his skin in the process. He already knew the answer; this was turning into a game now.

William’s eyes squeezed shut at the pain as blood began to trail down the side of his neck, soaking into the collar of his white button-up, the strip of fabric dropping to his collarbone.

“I—I can get you the—the money.” William stuttered through the pain. “T—tomorrow.” He added, blinking his eyes open and looking up to where the man now towered over him.

“Tomorrow is a year and a day too late.” He replied coolly, almost bored with this man’s pleading, before facing us and holding the knife out by the blade. “Which of you thinks they are ready to join the Men Under Revue tonight?” He arched a brow in question.

Without hesitation, I stood from my kneeling position and took the knife in my right hand. I’d rather have looked too eager to kill than not enough.

If this secret society thrived on spilling blood when necessary, I would show them I could do it without batting an eye. Sticking a human with a knife shouldn’t be any more complicated than slaughtering a pig, and I remember doing that often back on my parents’ farm.

William was nothing more than a pig as far as I was concerned.

I approached William, the man in red stepping aside to let me in closer.

“N—no. P—please, I swear I can get you the money.” William's cry fell on deaf ears as I gripped the back of his head and pulled it back, exposing his neck to me.

He was squirming in my grasp, trying to loosen my hold on him. His screams rang out in the empty ballroom, bouncing off the walls.

I was planning on taking my time with him, giving this man next to us and everyone else here a good show of just how fucked up I could be when asked, but his cries were giving me a headache, and I wanted them to stop.

I bit down on my cheek as I lined the blade of the knife against the side of his neck, and with one long, precise drag, I slit his throat.

Blood poured from his neck like a waterfall as his screams became wet and strained, his body eventually sagging in the chair as his breathing stopped altogether.

Releasing his head, I cleaned the knife on William’s slacks before returning it to the man in the red suit.

I didn’t question my actions or regret what I had just done; I wasn’t going to win any favor by showing him pity or mercy.

Rolling my neck and shoulders, I stepped back over to where I had previously been kneeling by Nick. Only this time, I remained standing; I earned that right after what I had just shown them.

“Well done, Protégé.” He snapped his fingers, and the two men in black suits dragged away the bloody and limp body of William. “From this moment on, you three are under initiation. Three tasks. Three chances to prove your worth. Your sponsors will be responsible for you until the ceremony.” He took a step towards us, sliding his hands into his pockets. “And as far as formalities go, you can call me Dustin Slate. Welcome to the underground.”