Chapter 38
EVELINA
Three days later, I’m back at Blackbriar Hall, standing in the same ballroom with the glass ceiling as the night of the first initiation.
The night he chased me through the graveyard and fucked me for the first time.
I was so nervous that night. I’m nervous tonight, too, but it’s not the same.
I’m not the same.
I don’t just mean because of the changes to my sex life—i.e., going from not having one to participating eagerly in things that verge on insanity.
I’ve changed. I’ve found strength and a spine I didn’t realize I had. I’ve found a power in me that I hid from before.
Vaughn might be the catalyst. But a lot of these changes are because of me.
I’m proud of that.
I turn to glance at the figure standing next to me in the dim, candlelit hall, my eyes shadowed by the mask covering the top half of my face. She grins nervously, her own green eyes glinting as she looks at me, shivering nervously.
Gabriella and I are way overdue for a catch-up. And even though it’s supposed to be a secret, I’m sure that her Adept is Carson King. I have questions, for sure…
But now isn’t the time.
Tonight, the dais at the head of the room has seven black padded tables on it, each with a small table full of bottles and instruments next to it.
Tattoo stations.
I swallow nervously.
This is really happening.
A bell chimes, and the room goes still. A door to the side of the dais opens, and that same man in red robes and a Bauta mask steps out, staff in hand.
“Congratulations to you all,” the man announces quietly. “You have proven yourselves willing to give yourselves over to this ancient brotherhood and been deemed worthy. From tonight, you will wear that worth on your skin.”
Vaughn’s already explained to me that there’s going to be a celebration later. But this moment, where each Acolyte takes that final step and pledges fealty to the Syndicate with proof of that pledge inked on their body, is a somber one.
I swallow and glance up at the shadowy second-floor landing that rings the hall. I can’t see him, but I know Vaughn is up there.
I can feel him looking back at me, and it sparks a strength inside me.
“We will begin,” the man intones solemnly. “Hamza Zayd. Approach the dais and summon your Acolyte to lifelong service.”
I watch transfixed as the first Adept, a tall, built guy with deeply bronzed Middle Eastern skin, steps onto the dais and calls his Acolyte by name.
The equally tall Acolyte—Liam—shakes his Adept’s hand firmly and then removes his shirt, revealing a wall of muscle.
He sits on the edge of the first tattooing table, and Hamza applies the stencil to Liam’s chest. The tattoo gun buzzes to life, and Liam grits his teeth as Hamza begins to ink the dagger into his skin.
An Italian-looking guy named Gio who’s already covered in tattoos is next, rolling his sleeve up to the shoulder to get his mark on a blank spot on his triceps. The third Acolyte, an all-American blond quarterback type, gets his ink on his thigh. The fourth and fifth both get them on their arms.
“Carson King,” the man in the red robes murmurs.
Carson steps onto the dais, a somewhat manic grin on his face. “Gabriella De Luca,” he murmurs darkly. “It’s that time.”
Gabriella swallows thickly. She glances my way with a small smile before she slowly makes her way to the dais. She visibly shivers when Carson slides his hand over her hip as she brushes past him.
Oh, I do have questions…
I watch as she lies face-down on the padded table and nods at something Carson says that I can’t hear. He unzips the back of her top and peels it away, exposing her bare shoulders and back. He lays the stencil on the back of her left shoulder blade, then turns on the tattoo gun.
The nerves I was expecting finally hit me all at once as I watch her face crumple a little, her teeth biting down on her lip as a halting whimper echoes from her throat.
Carson takes his time, hovering over her and slowly tracing each line of the stencil in smooth, unhurried strokes, until the whole thing is laid down.
Gabby is shaking when she sits up, holding her top to her chest as Carson bandages her new ink and then whispers in her ear again, making her shudder.
So many questions…
They leave the dais.
Silence bathes the dark ballroom, now empty except for me.
“Marquis,” the man in red growls through his mask. “Please call your Acolyte.”
Electricity ripples over me as Vaughn slowly comes down from the second-floor balcony in his black Bauta mask with green filigree and steps onto the dais.
“Evelina Nikitin,” he murmurs.
Our eyes meet as I walk toward him. He takes my hand as I step up, guiding me to the last padded table.
“I’ll be right here,” he growls against my shoulder.
There’s no last-minute “are you sure about this”. I love that.
I lie on my back and lift my shirt up to just under my left breast. He already knows that my mark is going to go high on my ribs. I know it’s really going to fucking hurt, especially as it's my first tattoo.
That's okay. I want it to hurt.
I want it to matter.
Vaughn places the stencil, making my skin prickle. The mechanical whine of the gun hums through the room as he leans over me, his eyes locked with mine.
“I’m right here,” he says again. Then his eyes drop to the stencil as he brings the gun to my skin.
Holy fuck.
It fucking kills. Tears well in my eyes, and every nerve in my body screams for mercy as Vaughn’s hand steadily drags the tattoo gun over my ribs.
But I don’t look away. I stare right into his eyes as he inks the mark of the Syndicate into my skin.
I can barely stand when it’s over. But he’s right there, just as he promised, steadying me as he gently bandages the fresh tattoo and then carefully pulls my shirt back down over it. His hand takes mine, and the other one cups my face.
Then he leans in and crushes his mouth to mine, kissing me fiercely.
“No going back now, princess.”
“Seriously, how fucking much did that hurt?! I mean, fuck!”
Gabby is drunk. I mean, I’m buzzed, too. But that’s kind of the point.
Two nights after the ceremony at Blackbriar Hall, we’re all at a party in the private room of a midtown club. The place is packed with Syndicate members and all the recent initiates, who are proudly showing off their new ink and knocking back drinks with their Syndicate brothers and sisters.
“So fucking much,” I groan. “It still hurts.”
She giggles. “Girl, ribs were a choice. I’ve heard that’s the most painful place, aside from like your nips or your pussy.”
I make a face. “Why would anyone in their right mind get tattoos there??”
She snorts. “You tell me, Queen of Pain.” She grins salaciously me as she gulps her vodka soda. “Is ‘property of the Marquis’ in curly script right above your vag next on the list?”
I roll my eyes as she cracks up.
“So.” I look at her sharply as the party throbs around us. “We going to talk about your Adept now?”
Her cheeks turn pink. “Nope.”
I snort. “Any particular reason?”
“Several,” she says primly.
“You two seem…” I glance at the ceiling. “Close?”
“I’m sure I have no idea what you’re talking about,” she says, shrugging. “Carson is a psychopath and a fucking sadist. Yes, he was my Adept. But now that part's done, and I don’t ever need to cross paths with his crazy ass again.”
My gaze slides past her shoulder to where Carson is sitting by the bar, a dark, slightly malicious look etched on his face as he stares at the back of her head.
“You, uh, sure about that?” I murmur, pulling my gaze back to hers.
“Yep,” she mutters.
A shadow falls over us. I glance up and my heart skips when I see Vaughn standing there, his ice-blue eyes almost glowing in the dark club light.
“Ms. De Luca,” he growls, inclining his head toward Gabby.
“Mr. Marquis,” she grins back.
He turns to me. “I need you. Now.”
Heat sparks within me. Gabby snickers, mouthing “have fun” at me before Vaughn takes my hand, helps me up, and then escorts me across the room.
“What’s up?” I ask as he sits in a chair up on a small stage, like a king or Roman emperor watching a debauched bacchanalian feast.
I gasp as he tugs me into his lap, my ass hitting his thighs as he wraps a large arm possessively around my waist.
“Nothing,” he murmurs. “I just wanted you right here. How’s the tattoo?”
“It hurts,” I admit. “But not too badly.”
“Maybe you just have a high pain tolerance.”
I smirk at him. “Gee, I wonder who I can blame for that?”
He grins. “Blame? I think you mean thank.” He leans closer, his lips brushing my earlobe. “On your knees, ideally.”
I flush, my core liquefying when I feel his hot, hard erection against my ass.
“You're happy with the placement?” he murmurs, tracing a finger up my arm.
I nod. “I mean, I was thinking about getting it on my throat, like someone else I know, but alas,” I sigh, “it would ruin my whole princess in a tower aesthetic.”
He cups my face and forces my gaze to meet his.
“You were never a princess in a tower,” he growls. “You were a Queen waiting for her throne.”
Then he kisses me, and I’m pretty sure my feet leave the ground.
An hour later, the party is still going strong, but Vaughn pulls me into his arms, whispering that he has to go take care of something.
After he promises to “fill my slutty cunt with his cum later and then fuck my ass until it leaks down my thighs”—that's a direct quote—and kisses me, he leaves to deal with his whatever, and I go back to dancing with Gabby.
…Who is one hundred percent either getting eye-fucked or eye-murdered by Carson from across the room.
Eventually, my energy is depleted.
“I have to go,” I groan as I hug her.
“Same,” she sighs. “Shall we bounce?”
I nod.
We collect our things and leave the club, waiting at the curb for our Ubers. Gabby’s comes first.
“Love ya,” she blurts, clearly feeling her drinks as she hugs me tightly and then kisses my cheek. “Get home safe!”
I scrutinize her Uber driver. The woman assures me she’ll make sure Gabby gets inside her place safely before taking off.
My phone dings, letting me know my own car is waiting around the corner.
I exhale, taking off at a brisk pace. All I want is to get into bed. I mean, at least until Vaughn comes home and makes me scream.
I spot my Uber and wave at the elderly driver. He waves back as I start to jog over to the waiting SUV.
I don’t make it.
Something heavy slams into my head. I scream a shocked, choked cry as lights cascade through my vision and pain explodes in my skull. Another wave of agony slashes through my knees as they hit the pavement before another blow to the head sends me sprawling face-first across the sidewalk.
Cold, sharp metal presses to my neck and cuts into my skin..
“You’re ruining everything.”
Pure fear ripples over my skin as the rasping male voice snarls into my ear, pressing the knife to my throat.
“Stay the fuck away from Vaughn and stay the fuck away from the Syndicate.”
Another blow to my head sends fireworks through my senses before I hear footsteps rushing off. My vision swims as I see my Uber driver running over.
Then I black out.