Prologue, part II
TWO MONTHS LATER
HAVEN
Every August, the most important ceremony of the year takes place in a closed-off part of Reynolds Park—oh, sorry. Collins Park.
I remember how, when I was about thirteen, my dad came home from an Order meet and snorted as he told my mom that one of the King’s cronies suggested that we rename the largest wooded area in Harmony Heights after the Collins family.
Dad thought that was ridiculous. It’s been Reynolds Park for decades, but the thin-skinned King wasn’t a fan of how the Fortress—the skyscraper in downtown Harmony Heights where the most powerful members of the Order lord over the rest of the city—is also known as the Samuel E.
Reynolds building. He couldn’t get the old guard to agree to change the name on the front of the Fortress, but the park? That was okay.
During the summer days, plenty of families bring their kids here to feed the ducks along the lake, maybe throw a baseball back and forth, or fly kites.
Kissing couples walk the winding paths together before finding a private bush to do a little more than kissing behind.
Teenagers make out anywhere and everywhere, not caring who sees them.
But that’s during the day. At night, the park is closed—except for the middle of August every year when the Order overtakes the greenery.
It’s not dark out yet. Twilight won’t begin until after nine, though the sun already started on its descent as so many members of the secret society filled the parking lot and made their way to the area where Offerings are segregated from the Owed, plus the young members about to be branded in.
To the west, the sky is a mix of purple and orange, the red rim around the setting sun promising that tomorrow will be another scorcher.
As it is, I’m sweating beneath the pristine white dress my mother bought for just the occasion.
I could blame the fact that it was in the mid-nineties earlier today and, at eight o’clock, it’s barely dipped down to eighty-five.
I could blame the roaring bonfire built in the middle of a nearby clearing just for tonight.
The flames are more than ten feet away from where I’m standing with all available Offerings, but while the heat is stinging my cheeks, it’s not the reason why my pits are damp.
Oh, no, that’s because I’ve been told to stand with twenty other women, waiting to be Claimed…
Some are newly eighteen, like I am. Others are older, hoping they’ll be picked before they hit the dreaded three-oh and their hope of being a kept wife for one of the Owed goes up in as much smoke as that billowing over the flames.
There’s one Offering missing, and an empty space beside me where Loni should be standing.
We’d planned this for years. After the mandatory etiquette lessons and all of the training, we’d talk about the night we would basically be bought and paid for.
Not because we looked forward to it. We never did.
But we accepted that it was inevitable, and if we had to go through it, at least we would go through it together.
And then Jack Collins declared her ruined for having sex with some unnamed Owed before the Claiming ceremony, and rather than accept her fate and become one of the Used, Loni packed her bags and left Harmony Heights.
She left me.
It’s all my fault. That night at Sebastien Reynolds’s party…
I let my run-in with Connor twist me up so badly that I abandoned Loni to the Heirs.
And while most of Harmony Heights suspects that Desmond was the guy she got caught with in the upstairs bedroom, a handful of us know better.
It was Adrian in that room with Loni, and even after Desmond dumped Loni in front of the entire cafeteria, basically calling her a whore while Adrian flat-out denied having anything to do with her, the school sided with Adrian.
Of course he wasn’t fucking the same girl he’s terrorized since grade school.
It had to be Desmond, and he only turned on her after they were caught to save face with the Order.
Not that it would’ve mattered. Guys get slaps on their back if they get laid at all. Us girls? We end up with an Order brand on our neck, the mark of the Used, and that’s if we’re not discarded like trash first.
Loni knew what she was doing. I admit, I was so…
so frustrated that she got caught after almost a year of hiding her affair with Adrian that I let her have it when she came to me for comfort.
I regret that now. If I’d known that was the last time I’d hear from my best friend, I would’ve handled it differently.
As it is, Loni’s vanished off the face of the earth. No one knows where she took off to. Her phone number’s been changed. Any socials, wiped and deleted. She’s gone, and if there’s one small mercy in that I’ve lost her, it’s that Adrian can’t have her, either.
That fucker. To convince Loni to sleep with him, knowing what it could cost her, then deny it when he got called out on it… there are quite a few people on my shit list these days, but right there at the top? It’s Adrian Heller.
I swear, if looks could kill, he’d be incinerated on the spot.
Instead, he’s standing there across from me on the other side of the bonfire, smirking that goddamn smirk of his, the flickering flames reflecting in his soft green eyes.
He’s wearing a suit like all the other Owed being inducted into the Order, though it seems to fit him better than most. Just to be even cheekier of a bastard, he pulls a gold cigarette case out of his jacket, selecting one of the smokes inside before stepping out of line to use the bonfire to light the tip of the cigarette.
Catch the sleeve… burn his ass…
Nope. He lifts his cigarette to his lips, puffs enough for the fire to catch, and grins around the filter.
Prick.
He’s not alone, either. Proving that the newer generation of Owed is as corrupt as the old guard, Adrian is flanked on both sides by all four Heirs: Sebastien Reynolds and Dallas Collins to one side, Connor Heyward and Desmond St. James on the other.
You’d think that Desmond would want to distance himself from Adrian after accusing him of deflowering Loni, but nope.
Just like I thought. Loni had to run to escape Harmony Heights while Adrian got off scot-free.
Even Desmond didn’t turn on him, the little worm.
God, I hate those guys.
It stinks here. It’s too humid, the air too still to do anything to help erase the reek of burned skin as each of the new Owed accepts the Order’s brand.
It’s exactly what it sounds like, too. Jack instructs Oliver to press the red-hot branding iron with the Order’s mark against the right palm of each prospective Owed.
So long as they make the pledge and take the pain, they’re fully inducted members of the society.
Kyle Adams is the last one to be branded. I drown out his hiss of pain, breathing through my slightly parted lips so that I don’t get slammed with another round of burnt skin.
And then, as though I can’t stop myself from doing it again, I peer through the flames and find Connor.
Was he already watching me? Or did he catch me staring? I’m not sure, but as our eyes meet, he grins. The smug bastard grins just enough to let me know that he saw me looking at him, and he’s glad that he did.
It’s been two months since the graduation party at the Reynoldses.
Despite his flippant goodbye, telling me that he’d see me later, our paths have only crossed two or three times after that night.
One was our actual graduation, when I had to resist the urge to boo when Adrian Heller was announced as valedictorian, while another was in passing when I saw him driving his cherry red Corvette past my house as I was going out to grab the mail before our housekeeper did.
I was hoping Loni would at least write me a letter, something to explain where she was.
I totally understood that she’d want to get as far away from the Order of the Owed as possible, but I’m her best friend; or, at least, I was.
I’d do anything for her, and I wanted her to know that.
Unfortunately, I still haven’t heard from her, and I only hope that, if she’s still in contact with her dad, Peter Dougherty will pass my messages along to her.
When I saw Connor idling at my curb, I slammed the mailbox shut, then stormed over to him, looking for an outlet to take my frustrations on. Connor would’ve been perfect, but as though he could tell I was fuming, he blew a kiss at me and disappeared before I got too close.
I’m still not that close. There’s a fire blazing between us, but when his eyes seem to darken as he looks at me, I realize that I’m even hotter than before.
I lift my perfectly curled hair, swiping away a slick of sweat from the back of my neck. His grin kicks up a little higher, his blistered hand held carefully in front of him.
It’s his right hand. Beneath the other sleeve of his jacket, he’s gotta have the scar from the night he turned his knife on himself.
I take a moment to wonder what it healed like before thinking that Connor must be grateful that the Order brands the right palm.
Otherwise, it’d be a long, long time before lefty Connor would be able to use his pocketknife like usual.
Nine boys approached the fire, prepared to accept the brand. Nine men… nine Owed… will walk away from it, ready to serve the society and get all of the benefits that come from being a member.
But the ceremony isn’t done. The branding is only the beginning, and now that the society has taken on more members, it’s time for them—and any other Owed between the ages of eighteen and twenty-nine who rank high enough for the privilege—to step forward and Claim the Offering they want for their own.