Chapter 15 Monroe
MONROE
Seven Months Prior to Present Day,
The February Full Moon Ceremony,
Junior Year, Dornell University
“I’ve already told you a thousand times, Monroe. It’s an initiation.”
Kieren threads a string of what looks like a black leather bikini top under my breasts.
The material digs into my ribcage as he ties the bottom ends together along the middle of my back.
Next, he tightly cinches the top two strings around the nape of my neck.
I frown when I look down at the leather triangles, which are barely big enough to cover my nipples.
I huff in frustration. “But you haven’t told me what exactly happens at this initiation, and now you’re dressing me in BDSM lingerie.”
“I’m dressing you this way because all the Little Sisters getting initiated will be in their bras and underwear, and it would be weird, not to mention prohibited by the Sigma initiation rules, if you were fully clothed.”
“What initiation rules? Who made up these rules, and why only a bra and underwear?”
“Jesus Christ, Monroe. I fucking told you. Anyone initiated must bear and offer their whole and true selves to the Brotherhood, and such purity of form cannot be tainted or obstructed in any way, including by material coverings. I didn’t make the rules.
The rules are outlined in the Sigma Charter, which was written centuries ago by Sigma’s founding members.
I’m sure your sorority did something similar when you initiated new pledges. ”
“I guess, but it was different. It was a born-again thing, and everyone wore white. And it was all women. What does ‘bear and offer’ mean?” I ask, recalling words from his lecture.
“Use your imagination,” he answers gruffly.
I huff a grumble at his lack of information.
Kieren drops to his knees and unbuttons my jeans, pulling them and my underwear down my legs as he helps me step out one foot at a time.
“Should I be nervous?”
“You’ll be with me the entire time, so no.”
Kieren cups his hands around my backside, pulling me into him. He plants a lingering kiss below my pubic bone, inhaling my scent.
“Fuck, I wish there was time to eat this pussy before the Ceremony.” His warm breath caresses my center.
“Maybe just a taste,” he growls. My breath hitches as his wet tongue parts my labia and works broad strokes against my clit.
Restrained sucks turn hungry and I worry I’ll lose my balance.
The intimacy ignites something feral within my bones, and I fist his hair, yanking him closer so I can grind my clit against his face.
Just as I feel the build of my orgasm, he shoves me away as if I’ve done something wrong.
“Kieren,” I plead through gritted teeth.
“Don’t you ever grab me like that again, Monroe. Don’t you ever undermine my control. You know better.”
I swallow my defeat and avert my eyes as he slips a black leather G-string thong over my feet.
I study him as he pulls it up my legs and into place.
Despite the dimly lit bedroom, his dark eyes glimmer with ferocity.
The air around him feels different – charged, in a way – like an electrical current crackling with heat.
It’s not excitement or anxious energy I sense, but I can’t put my finger on it either.
He wraps a black lace skirt around the curve of my waist, although skirt is a generous description for this scrap of fabric, and ties the strings together in a bow. The lace pattern is near transparent, leaving nothing to the imagination.
“Almost ready,” he comments.
I turn to look at myself in the full-length mirror propped against the wall, and gawk with a mix of horror and amusement.
Pivoting on the balls of my feet, I see my backside is on full display save for three shoestrings of clothing, the lace wrap skirt doing nothing to conceal my naked form.
Discomfort bubbles in my throat, and anxiety rips through my stomach.
“Kieren, I don’t like this. I don’t want to…”
“You don’t want to what?” Kieren barks, standing behind me now with a leather mask in his hand.
“If you’re going to leave me again, then fucking leave now, Monroe.
You want to leave me on the most important day of my life, then go!
Go now. Because there is no turning back after you’re initiated.
Betrayal and defection are punishable by death.
If you run after tonight, I’ll be forced to track you down, and I’ll have to fucking kill you. ”
“Why are you being so dramatic?” I scoff, holding his gaze in the mirror.
“Because this is dramatic,” he answers, stepping between me and the mirror.
“This is a big fucking deal for me, Monroe. I’ve been working toward this moment for three years.
For my entire life, really. I need you to take this seriously.
You’re the president of the most prestigious sorority on campus.
These freshmen women know you and look up to you.
Some of them are probably in your sorority. I need you by my side. Please.”
Kieren’s pleas pull at my heartstrings. I’ve already abandoned him once. I don’t want to let him down again.
I nod my complicity.
“Thank you,” he says softly, followed by a kiss on my forehead.
Rarely is Kieren ever this vulnerable, and it makes me ache for more.
What I wouldn’t give to be loved by him.
Truly loved. I know I would bleed myself dry if it meant I could earn this man’s genuine affection, and that honesty terrifies me.
Despite all he’s put me through, I’m afraid I’ve fallen in love with him again.
I don’t know why I crave him. It’s more than physical. It’s an overwhelming need to have his approval, his warmth, his acceptance, or otherwise, I feel like I am nothing. I am worthless. Discarded. Unwanted and unloved.
I feel like I am no one.
And I have always been no one.
I fight back tears because this isn’t the time.
Turning to face myself in the mirror, Kieren lifts the mask, pulling it tight against my face as he ties the leather strings behind my head.
I take in my reflection. The mask covers the top half of my face with a singular, thick black strap that originates at my forehead and runs along the middle part of my hair.
It’s sturdy, not like a cheap masquerade mask you see people wear during Halloween.
The grommet details and Sigma symbol atop the third eye give it an edge, but the detail that stands out the most are the pointed, dog-like ears.
“It’s beautiful,” Kieren breathes in admiration, standing at my back with his arms wrapped around my chest.
“I guess?” I agree warily.
“Or maybe it’s just beautiful on you. I had it custom-made.”
My brows furrow as I can’t help but mentally calculate the time it might take to commission such a piece. Months? Which means Kieren has been planning this for…
“I’m so lucky you’re mine,” Kieren rasps, interrupting my thoughts. He turns me around by the shoulders and takes in my finished appearance.
“Fuck,” he growls, raking his eyes up my exposed torso and onto my breasts. “So goddamn perfect.”
“Kieren,” I hear a male voice call from outside his door. “You ready?”
“Five minutes,” Kieren bellows back.
His hands leave my shoulders and I take another look at myself in the mirror as Kieren disappears into his walk-in closet. I’m about to make a comment about my lack of footwear when I see him emerge, and I freeze.
My entire body goes rigid.
Kieren has on black, low-slung dress pants that accentuate the V-shape of his abdomen, a matte black, hooded robe currently open in the front exposing his swirls of tattoos, and a mask that looks like it was resurrected from the pits of hell.
My eyes immediately flick to his grandfather’s bulbous gold ring on his pinky, and then back up to his gold mask in terror. Frankly, I wonder if I’m hallucinating because it looks like the ring and mask are personifications of Kieren himself instead of ceremonial accessories.
“Kieren?” I ask quietly. Did I just become the main character in a horror movie?
The gold mask with whirls of ancient lettering and gold horns triggers thoughts of a demon cow – like the bulls I would see in pastures back in Ohio. The mask tilts down and cocks to the side.
“Do I scare you, Monroe?” he asks, and I shudder because I swear, even his voice sounds different. If this were Halloween and our outfits were meant to be costumes, I would marvel at his demonic transformation. But it’s not Halloween. And these aren’t costumes.
Suddenly, my mouth is too dry to swallow. Speaking is too terrifying, because it dawns on me that I’m in a fucking cult.
My eyes flick to his bedroom door, and his hand shoots to my wrist a second later.
“Too late,” he says with a low chuckle.
A hand dips into his pocket, and he pulls out a pill.
“What is that?” I stammer.
“Take it.”
I shake my head, and try to twist my wrist free, but he’s too fast. His hand snaps to my jaw and squeezes.
“Open,” he commands.
“No,” I say through clenched teeth. “Tell me what it is first.”
“Molly. Just a small dose. It’ll take the edge off.”
My eyes plead with the mask in front of me. “Are you lying?”
“No. I promise you Monroe. You’re supposed to take enhancements at these Ceremonies. It’s even written in Sigma's Charter. You'll enjoy the festivities more, trust me.”
I’d really like to get my hands on this so-called Charter. What the fuck else is in there, anyway? Demon worshipping?
I sigh a loud breath of surrender. “Okay,” I huff with resignation and open my mouth. He places the pill gently on my tongue and holds my jaw closed until I swallow.
“Show me,” he demands, squeezing my jaw open. I timidly stick out my tongue as proof.
“Good girl. Now let’s go.”