Chapter 8
Brax
Valentina trembles against me, our breaths still tangled, her pulse beating wild under my palms. Every small aftershock that ripples through her travels straight into me, turning my muscles to liquid and concrete at the same time.
Spasms fade further, but I don't let her go, keeping her pressed against my chest like my body alone is enough to shield her from whatever the hell this place decides to do next.
She lifts her damp lashes and pins her hazed gaze on me.
I've never come that hard in my life.
Not in a bed.
Not in a bar bathroom.
Not in the backseat of a car or in a locker room or anywhere else.
Our sweat and her perfume dance between us. It's just as intoxicating as the look she gives me.
I kiss her again, addicted to the way her tongue sweeps mine. She kisses me back, and it's just her and me.
Then a deep gong explodes through the chamber.
The vibration slams through my chest and rattles my teeth, yanking us out of whatever world we just created and slamming us back into this sadistic one in front of us.
Valentina flinches, fingernails digging into my shoulders. Her body tenses, and her expression changes. She shutters back behind a neutral, hardened wall.
The crowd erupts. Their voices meld into something that doesn't sound like any language I know. It rolls through the chamber like a living force.
"Korr-velash…korr-velash…korr-velash…"
The chant grows louder with every repetition. The floor under my feet vibrates in a slow, steady thrum that climbs my legs, then my spine. It settles inside my rib cage.
Torches shake on the walls. The air thickens with tension.
"Korr-velash…korr-velash…"
Valentina's breath hitches. Her haunted eyes grow wider through the edges of her mask. Then her gaze dims, replaced with a cold, sharp composure that makes my skin crawl and my dick twitch at the same time.
I don't loosen my grip. I keep her flush against me, her twitching thighs still wrapped around my hips, my arms banded around her waist. I'm staking a claim I don't understand and probably don't have the right to, and it's not smart. She's still an Abruzzo and I'm an O'Malley.
The thought slams into me over and over again as the chant grows more frenzied.
What the hell did they just make us do?
What did they make her do?
I've had sex more times than I can count.
I've had the pleasure of women out of anger, recklessness, boredom.
The things I've done would be considered scandalous to most. But this…
this wasn't crossing a line. This was obliterating it.
There's no world where I'm supposed to be buried inside Valentina Abruzzo while standing on a pedestal, with hundreds of masked lunatics chanting for our souls.
Yet my body is still clinging to hers like it never wants to leave. And I'm still restrained, or I'd find a way to get her out of here.
The judges bang their gavels. The sharp cracks slice through the chant. The echoes dissolve into an eerie quiet.
"Release her," one of the silver skulls orders.
My eyes snap to the table. My fingers grip her hips harder.
The three blood-masked men step toward us. They circle Valentina like she's theirs to take.
"Don't touch her," I growl.
My voice doesn't carry as well as the judge's, but it's enough. They hesitate for a breath, shifting their attention to me.
"It's fine," Valentina says quickly, her hand pressing my chest to release my grasp over her.
One of the men reaches for her.
I tug her back into me and push my shoulder forward.
Valentina firmly states, "Brax. Let me go."
I glance at the men, then her.
"It's okay," she reiterates.
I cave, release her, and they unlock the cuffs around her ankles. They lift her out of the swing. She takes a minute to find her balance, then stands tall.
The white-blonde woman steps in front of her and smooths out the leather scarlet V.
Shame shadows Valentina's face.
It pisses me off further.
A man releases my cuffs, and I jump off the pedestal and tug Valentina to my side. I turn toward the judges and hold up my hand.
The crowd quiets.
I announce, "It's been fun. Thanks for the laughs. We're leaving now."
A low rumble erupts behind us.
I turn my head.
The floor at the far edge of the stage splits open, stone grinding against stone.
Harsh, dry heat washes over the stage. A small circular table you'd find at a bar to stand at, along with a red-hot cauldron, rises from the depths with two metal rods.
Flames lick the sides, hungry and wild, casting an angry glow across the dark room.
Inside the cauldron, I see them.
"What the fuck?" I blurt.
Valentina's body stiffens against mine, but she doesn't pull away. She murmurs, "You made it."
I glance down at her. "Great. Let's get out of here."
Her eyes meet mine for half a second, tangled full of relief, grief, and guilt.
The center judge rises to his feet. "Initiate Brax O'Malley."
Every gaze in the room swivels toward me.
I freeze.
"Profess your loyalty to The Underworld," the judge orders.
I snort softly, humorless.
Loyalty.
These bastards wouldn't recognize real loyalty if it wrapped itself in chains and bled on their floor.
I've been loyal my entire life. First to myself. Then to Finn, to Sean, to the entire O'Malley clan. I've taken punches and thrown them, kept secrets, stepped into fights I had no business stepping into, all because that's what you do when you belong to a family like ours.
I already pledged my loyalty for life. It's carved into my bones. And it sure as hell isn't to this cult.
I'm about to tell Valentina we're leaving, but when I look at her, a chill runs down my spine. She offers a tight smile and nods.
Her expression tells me the only chance to live is to do what they want.
These people are crazy. I put nothing past them. If I have to play along to get us out of here in one piece, then that's what I'm going to do.
"Step forward," the judge orders.
I reluctantly slide my arm off Valentina, my fingers dragging down her arm until they have to let go. I step toward the cauldron's glow.
Someone presses a piece of wood into my hand.
"It's to bite down on," Valentina says quietly behind me.
I arch my eyebrows.
She adds, "Trust me. Curl your fist, then put it on the table, thumb-side up."
My pulse hammers between my ears.
A man in a red cloak, mask like the one I'm wearing, comes out of nowhere. He wears a thick, red glove that runs to his elbow. He lifts one of the rods out of the cauldron. Sean's father's skull glows hot.
So this is how Sean and Zara got their marks.
"Step forward," the judge orders.
I don't see any way out. I curl my fist and put it on the table.
Two men hold my arm.
"Repeat after me," another judge orders, then begins reciting, "By the power of my blood and the oath of my name, I pledge my loyalty to The Underworld."
I don't want to say it. Every syllable tastes like betrayal.
Sean is somewhere in this madness.
He'll have my back if it comes down to it.
One thing Finn taught me is that life is a chessboard. Sometimes, to win, you move a piece you hate.
I spit the words, "By the power of my blood and the oath of my name, I pledge my loyalty to The Underworld."
Lies.
The judge continues, "From this moment, I stand as brother, soldier, and weapon."
Fuck you. I'll stand next to you and slit your throat someday, brother.
I repeat, "From this moment, I stand as brother, soldier, and weapon."
He continues, "I obey the Omni. I guard the table. I honor the skull."
I repeat it all. Every word. Crafting in my head what I'll do to all these people.
No matter what they burn into me, my loyalty belongs to Sean, to Finn, to the people who raised me and bled with me. These vows are noise. A sick, theatrical ceremony that means nothing.
They think this means they own me?
They don't.
When the last line leaves my mouth, the judge nods. "So it is vowed."
The crowd holds its breath.
Valentina directs, "Bite on the wood."
I put it in my mouth.
The blazing orange-red skull moves toward me, ready to claim my flesh.
My stomach flips. I clamp my teeth on the wood.
Valentina wraps her hand around my forearm, tight and steady.
I stare at her, then feel the heat approach me.
"This mark binds you to your vows. You will carry it until death," the judge declares.
I turn in time to see the skull pressed into my hand. Steam lifts into the air, my skin sizzles, and a burnt flesh odor turns my stomach. My muscles coil, my heart slams, my vision narrows.
Valentina squeezes my arm. "Breathe through your nose."
I drag in one deep breath through my nose. The wood presses so tightly between my teeth that my jaw aches. I lock my gaze on the flames beyond the cauldron as pain detonates up my arm, white-hot and blinding.
The skull gets pressed harder.
My muffled roar bursts past the wood. My knees threaten to buckle. My vision explodes into black-and-red spots. Nothing exists except heat and pressure and the knowledge that a piece of metal is carving a dead man's legacy into my body.
"Good job," Valentina praises, and I realize the pressure lifted.
Cold rushes over the brand a second later as someone smears an ointment or salve across it, trying to temper the damage.
It doesn't help much.
My hand throbs with a deep, pulsing pain that syncs with my heartbeat. Every ache is a reminder.
You're theirs now.
Marked as part of their cult.
There was no choice.
That's a lie.
I spit the wood out of my mouth and bend slightly, sucking in air. Sweat drips down my temples and neck. I force myself to straighten, to look at what they did.
Through the clear, glistening ointment, the skin on the side of my hand is angry, charred, and already blistering. Yet, the skull image is clear.
"Zaii'venar…zaii'venar…zaii'venar…" the crowd chants.
The hair on my arms rises.