Chapter 2 #2
“Excellent. Then let’s get this session underway, shall we?
” Dustin snapped his fingers, and suddenly two men the size of gorillas entered the ballroom—bodyguards, most likely.
One was carrying a metal chair, which he dramatically slammed down in front of us, like a fucking tough guy, while the other slid something behind Dustin’s back.
And just as quickly as they’d entered, they exited the room through a side door.
“As you should already be aware, tradition is important in our organization, and what better way to uphold tradition than by initiating a legacy?”
A legacy? There are men fucking born into this type of organization? Jesus Christ.
Good thing the initiations weren’t a competition between men—survival of the fucked up fittest, because I’d hate to be the one who’d have the honor of going up against a man who was born for murder.
“Spilling blood is a requirement for initiation and secures your membership within our brotherhood. If you can’t stomach the work we do to ensure that our city remains a thriving and lucrative place, then you’re not worthy of our time or payroll.
” Dustin revealed a black magnum from behind his back just as he’d finished his bold and blunt statement.
As my eyes took in the gun, a loud bang rang out from where the two large guards had just exited, snapping my attention to the door, and this time, they weren’t returning alone. Hauling in a man kicking with muffled screams as he fought for his fucking life.
“Here we go… My favorite part of the evening.” Dustin’s tone was sickeningly sinister as he let out a dark chuckle, his gaze attentively following his men across the room.
As they passed through a beam of light, I caught a glimpse of the ball gag that had been secured in the man’s mouth, his saliva glistening around its edges as he continued to scream and growl like a rabid fucking animal.
The bodyguards roughly shoved him into the seat before us, securing his hands and legs to the chair so he had no means of escape—as if fleeing out the back door would save his ass from a racing bullet…
“Eager for the kill, are we, Red Magic?” Out of the corner of my eye, there stood the blue designated protégé, fists balled at his side and shaking with what I imagined was feral rage and the burning desire to take the kill for himself.
He was a legacy after all, and that title alone meant he wasn’t here to play games or fuck around.
“That shouldn’t have surprised me, knowing the bloodline you come from.
” Dustin continued, seemingly unfazed by the unprompted motion.
“By all means, if you require no explanation for this man’s crime against the MUR, please go right ahead. ”
The Red Magic protégé confidently stepped forward, taking the gun from Dustin’s outstretched hand, wasting absolutely no fucking time in positioning himself at the struggling man’s back, and without a word, the man lined up his shot and took it with a single breath.
A sharp, ear-splitting bang followed, and I winced behind my mask, wishing that I could’ve shielded my ears from the sound, but acknowledging that the move itself would’ve been a blatant display of weakness, and I was better than that—far fucking better.
My mind wandered as I attentively watched the guards carelessly drag the lifeless body of a man whose name I would never know out of the room.
“—and with our first target out of the way. Who’s next?” I caught the tail end of Dustin’s sentence as my hearing returned to normal and stood without wavering. My brother followed my lead and rose to stand beside me, as confidently as I felt—our twin bond tighter than ever.
“Our twins. How exciting.” He didn’t sound fucking excited—devious was the better word to describe it, ready to see more blood spilled beside his freshly polished shoes. “Bring in Mr. Jacobson.”
The second man was hauled into the room, faster this time, in the same fuck all manner as before—gagged mouth, roughly shoved, and restrained to the metal chair that now had flecks of blood coating the backrest.
With eyes flared wide, this poor guy already knew what was coming to him; he probably passed the body of the man before him on his way in here.
“For the twins, a choice…” Dustin smirked, slipping his hands into the pockets of his slacks, as the two hulking men each offered a gun and a knife—a choice, to stab or to shoot.
Going with my gut, I reached out and took the knife. Lucas did the same in sync with me, showing just how alike we truly were—the handle’s weight in my grip as heavy as my conscience…
“I’m over being viewed as a disappointment. Fuck the world we left behind. We pave our path, we determine our future. Who gives a shit if it's painted in other shades than plain black and white? This opportunity is a fucking gift, and I’m taking it, whatever the cost may be.”
Lucas was right; we’ve spent our entire lives allowing others to judge us, and that stops here.
The move to Vegas was to make a name for ourselves—to become something everyone told us we could never be.
Money held power.
We would no longer be our parents’ greatest failure.
We were the Castiel brothers.
We did whatever the fuck we wanted.
Together, Lucas and I gripped Mr. Jacobson’s shoulders with opposing hands and, while pinning him in place, we plunged our knives into his chest.
The blades sank in deep, his white dress shirt bleeding red as his blood seeped from the wounds and soaked into the fabric like a dry sponge.
I didn’t care to know who he was or Dustin’s reasoning for him being here. This man was my ticket to a life worth living—I’d ask questions later, or maybe not at all.