Chapter 2
Levi
Twenty-Four Years Old
INITIATION: TEST ONE.
I've always been good with money. Lucas liked to spend it, and I knew how to save for a rainy day. It's the only reason we've managed to stay afloat this long without needing to rely on our parents for help.
Rent wasn’t cheap, and after starting our new jobs at Temptations, we suffered a severe drop in income, as we no longer received the tips we had been earning at Levitation. I noticed that we were getting close to hitting a major snag in our plan for independence pretty quickly.
“Hey, so get this—” Lucas whispered after rushing up behind me just as I’d finished loading the laundry from my locker into my gym bag. “—so you know how everyone else has sports cars and fucking name-brand everything?”
“Yeah? Your point?” I arched my brow at him, slightly annoyed at his timing.
It always bothered me how much Lucas cared about labels and brand names. He made basic survival difficult, wanting more than we could afford, driven by his desire to keep up with the Joneses.
“You’re the one in charge of our finances; you know we don’t make nearly enough to afford the kind of shit the other dancers have. Didn’t you ever wonder why? Or even how they managed to make that kind of money?”
“A side hustle? Pornstars? Actual strippers? Something illegal? Pick one, I don’t care, but I’m not stooping that low for extra cash.” I slammed my locker door shut, no longer interested in this conversation or where it was potentially heading.
If Lucas wanted to sell himself for the additional income, that was on him; I was more than okay with picking up shifts at Levitation and losing sleep if it meant keeping my dignity intact.
“What?! No. Not even close! So, I was talking with Dane and he said that—”
“Emerson? You were talking to the one guy you said that you couldn’t fucking stand to be around?
” The number of times he’s mocked and teased Dane for no good reason was beyond me.
Honestly, I was surprised that they were even talking to each other at all.
Usually, when Dane entered the room, Lucas was the first to leave.
It wasn’t clear why the two of them were at odds—my best guess being that Dane led the kind of lifestyle that Lucas so desperately desired. Or, stating it bluntly, he was jealous.
“That’s beside the point, and I can’t continue to hate or avoid him after what he just offered to me—to us.”
“Why is Dane offering you anything?” I shook my head in disgust. We weren’t a fucking charity case…
“Just—shut up with the questions and let me talk… for fuck sake, Levi.” I could tell I was getting under his skin, raining on his parade that had him flying higher than a fucking kite.
“There’s more to the revue than just performing…
a deeper level encompassing the entire city, not just The Strip.
” What in the actual fuck… “…A secret society.”
I pursed my lips with a scowl, processing what he’d just said.
A secret society? I didn’t know if I was more baffled or concerned at the concept of male revue dancers running something so dark and nefarious, but he had my attention.
At least it wasn’t porn related, although still potentially criminal—
“Fine, you’ve got the car ride home to tell me everything, but there better not be a catch, or my answer’s no.”
Lucas explained everything, from what being a member of the organization entailed to the initiation process and the paychecks earned upon completion.
I can’t recall how long he said he’d spent talking to Dane, but it was enough for him to want to commit, and quite frankly, I was sold too.
However, there was a catch, just as I had expected.
Did I see myself six years ago killing for the paycheck of a lifetime? No.
Was I going to do it? Fuck yeah, without a doubt.
Lucas and I agreed to follow through with what Dane had offered us. The opportunity of a fucking lifetime with the Men Under Revue.
Our timing couldn’t have been more perfect. After the show, we hopped into our old beat-up Taurus and followed Dane half an hour into the middle of fucking nowhere.
After arriving at our destination, I stared up at a bright white mansion, pristine and stunning against the contrast of the night sky and deep green landscaping.
A structure that appeared to belong in the middle of this desert about as much as we did, and yet here we both stood, strong and resilient.
Dane seemed more than happy to sponsor us for our initiation. However, it took a little extra effort from him and Cole Ryan to persuade the leader of the organization to grant us the leniency of going through the process together, rather than separately.
Generally, only one dancer per revue was allowed to initiate at a time. But, because Lucas and I both now knew about the MUR and were twin brothers, we had no other option but to do this together—a blessing and a curse, because if one of us failed, we both did, and the penalty? Death.
“You ready?” Lucas stepped up from behind me, placing a hand on my shoulder for reassurance.
“Yeah.” I confidently nodded in answer, just as Dane got out of his jet black Mercedes-Benz, pocketing his phone and strutting past us.
“Let’s go, you two. Dustin doesn’t like it when his protégés are late.” He ordered, making his way up the steps toward the large double doors.
A protégé. That’s what we’re called when we go through initiation, and you either die by that title or kill to earn your membership status.
I trailed my brother and Dane into the grand foyer, taking in the intricate detailing of the black-and-white marbled floor and the grand staircase leading to the upper levels that can’t be seen from the entrance.
Everything about this place was clearly built and executed with the utmost care and precision—it was immaculate.
Out of the corner of my eye, I spotted an older gentleman as he approached us from one of the connecting rooms, loudly clearing his throat to gain our attention. He was carrying a polished silver tray containing three identical black masks.
Upon closer inspection, I noticed that each was made of a thin plastic with neon green tubing crossing the eyes and mouth sections.
“We wear these masks during the first initiation task to keep the protégés’ identities anonymous from one another.
This ensures that if any of you should fail, no one would know who you were—not like they would even give a fuck.
” Dane huffed his last statement with a short laugh as if death were nothing more than a joke to him.
If this was going to be my new way of life, I needed to understand the mentality that was required of it—to not give a fuck about what happened behind closed doors.
A life of luxury was never freely given. Fame and fortune always came with a price, but the cost of evolving our moral compasses a few shades darker than they already were seemed worth it in our situation.
“Once we’re in the ballroom, neither of you can speak. Just do as you’re told and complete your test. Failure isn’t an option anymore, unless you’d prefer being buried six feet under.”
With a serious look of understanding, Lucas and I pulled on our masks just as Dane strolled his way toward a staircase I hadn't noticed until now.
He tucked his hands into his pockets as he led us down to the lower level of the mansion, carrying himself with the kind of confidence only a seasoned member of this organization would hold—a swagger that I would need to establish for myself in the future.
This was it—no turning back now. Let’s fucking go.
The ballroom was a massive, empty, and dimly lit space, a bizarre contrast from the elegant entryway we'd just come from. Two men were situated at the far end of the room, wearing masks that looked similar to ours, only theirs had red accents instead of green.
Following Dane's order to stay silent, Lucas and I settled ourselves next to the protégé and stood in awkward silence. I don't know if it was because of my nervous anticipation or the extended stillness itself, but waiting for the last protégé to arrive felt like it took fucking forever.
I was fighting the urge to fidget when two men wearing matching black masks with blue accents descended the stairs and crossed the room in our direction.
The man standing behind the last protégé mumbled something unintelligible right before we were all knocked to the ground, having our knees kicked out from under us.
A strained collective groan filled the room as I bit down hard on my lip to counteract the shockwave of pain that radiated up my thigh. My brother elbowed me, and I turned my head, responding with a nod that confirmed I was fine and still willing to proceed.
When the lingering pain had subsided, I lifted my gaze to see a man entering from the opposite end of the room dressed in an all-black tailored suit—Armani, probably.
“I see that the next round of Protégés made it right on time this evening.” The man praised as he approached us, his arms stretched out wide in greeting, and with an entrance like that, he couldn't have been anyone else but Dustin Slate—the reigning leader of the Men Under Revue. “It is my pleasure to welcome you all to the MUR Manor. I assume we all know and understand why we’re here tonight?”
Anxiety and confusion struck me like a hand to the back of the head. Were we supposed to actually answer his question or continue to keep our mouths fucking shut and assume it was rhetorical?
When neither of the other two revues responded, I thought it best to follow suit and remain silent myself. If we were supposed to respond, we’re all fucked together.