Chapter 25 Monroe
MONROE
Six Months Prior to Present Day,
The March Full Moon Ceremony,
Junior Year,
Sigma
“Jace, slow down,” I huff as I struggle to keep up with his gargantuan strides. Jace slows enough for me to walk beside him.
Cold, sobering air kisses my skin as we walk silently through the halls of Sigma. I try not to think about the fact that I’m practically naked with cum running down my inner thigh, walking next to a shirtless Jace, while both of us wear bizarre masquerade masks.
“Who were those men in the back, Jace? The ones who wore the masks with tall demon horns?”
“Elders,” he answers curtly, like he wants me to drop the subject.
“Who are ‘elders’?”
“Alumni.”
I furrow my brows in confusion and disgust. “Alumni?”
“The less you know, the better.”
I don’t know what to do with this response, but I need answers, so I redirect my line of questioning to keep him talking. “Are more women getting initiated tonight? You know, branded?”
“After Kieren is done with whatever he’s doing,” Jace says, stone-faced.
“Why does Kieren have to be the one to do it?” I pry.
“Because it’s his ring.”
“The…,” I fumble for words, because, what?
“What do you mean ‘because it’s his ring’?” I clarify.
“The brand. It’s his ring. Don’t you remember?”
“Not really,” I admit, searching my memories from that night.
“It was his grandfather’s ring and supposedly can only be used by someone in his family’s bloodline.”
I sense aggravation and annoyance in Jace’s tone as he opens the door to Kieren's presidential suite.
“After you,” he says. The common room is eerily dark. I scrunch my nose at the faint smell of alcohol and weed, permanent fixtures at this point. Jace pulls out a set of keys from his pocket, jiggling one into the keyhole of the bedroom. “I have to lock you in here.”
I scoff, but I don’t bother to argue. “Whatever.”
“It’s for your own safety. Kieren doesn’t want any lust-hungry guys to find his trophy. Who knows what some of these heathens would do if they found you alone.”
The thought of horny, masked frat guys coming after me like bloodhounds in The Purge makes me shiver.
“Hey, Jace,” I ask before he can shut the door. “Why did Kieren and the alumni go into that back room with that blindfolded girl?”
“You didn’t see that,” he snaps, trying to close the door.
“But I did,” I say, pushing my body into the gap of space. “Are they going to have sex with her?”
“I’m going to say something, Monroe, and I need you to listen carefully. If you value your life, do not ask questions about what happens in that room. Erase whatever you think you saw from your memory.”
I falter at the warning and forget myself. Jace forces the door closed, and I stagger backward. Deadbolts turn, locking me inside with a clang, alone with my own thoughts.
My life? What the fuck is going on in that hidden room?
The rattle of the door slamming shut jostles the room, and Kieren’s laptop screen flickers to life. His email is open. Curious and irritated that I’m locked away, I pad over to his computer. My eyes struggle to focus, and I have to blink several times before I can read the words on the screen.
An email received two days ago with the subject “full moon” catches my eye, and I click on the row.
From: x@
To: kierenhuntIII@
Subject: full moon
Body of the Email:
fine but we will speak on this.
I expand the correspondence to read the full exchange in descending order by date received.
From kierenhuntIII@: no.
From x@: a disloyal is not preferred. find another.
From kierenhuntIII@: a disloyal.
From x@: what is the Sinner’s status?
From kierenhuntIII@: yes.
From x@: has the offering been pledged to The Brotherhood?
From kierenhuntIII@: yes.
From x@: have you secured an offering?
“What the fuck?” I whisper. Nauseating anxiety coils in my gut. An offering?
An offering for what? My thoughts jump to the conversation with Jace. Kieren’s ring is the brand? But how? I step toward the mirror and twist my torso to see the design of the brand in my reflection. This doesn’t look anything like the top of Kieren’s ring.
I dart back over to the laptop and do a search for the email address ‘x@’. Hundreds of emails populate the email search results. I click through the pages to understand how far back the correspondence goes until I find the date of the first exchange – June 26th of last year.
I click on the row.
From: kierenhuntIII@
To: x@
Subject: hello
Body of Email:
Dear X,
By way of introduction, my name is Kieren Hunt III, son of Kieren Hunt Junior. I’m contacting you at the direction of my father. I’m told you are expecting my email. My family has come under duress, as I believe you are aware, and I’m told you may be able to help. May we set up a time to speak?
Regards,
Kieren Hunt III
My eyes scan the flurry of back-and-forth responses, but I would need hours to read the entirety of their email exchanges. Who the fuck is ‘X’ and what did Kieren mean by his family has come under duress? What kind of help does this X person provide? Is he a medical professional?
Kieren told me about his father’s suicide attempt – could his email have something to do with his dad’s health? But then, how do you explain the first email exchange I read about an offering? What does any of this mean?
The fluttered beep of a car unlocking in the back parking lot pulls my attention from the screen.
I scurry to the window and open the curtain just enough to see outside.
Two of the men wearing the full-face satanic masks open the back doors of a large, black SUV and climb into the back seat.
Two other men wearing black balaclavas carry a bulky, long object, open the trunk, put the object inside, close the trunk, and settle into the driver and front passenger seats.
Seconds later, more men in the full-face satanic masks get into a second black SUV.
Both car engines roar to life. The first SUV reverses out of its parking spot, then drives off.
The second SUV does the same less than a minute later.
So fucking strange. What time is it? Is the Ceremony over?
I dash back to Kieren’s computer to see that it’s almost three a.m. My hand rests on the mouse trackpad, ready to resume my snooping, when heavy footsteps can be heard marching down the hall.
The door to the common room opens, and I slam the laptop shut.
I’ve barely scurried onto the bed and under the covers when a key turns in the lock.
I squeeze my eyes closed, pretending to be asleep. Did I close out of the last email exchange with ‘X’? Shit, I pray I did.
The thunk of Kieren’s mask hitting the floor is followed by sounds of clothes being aggressively stripped off his body and discarded into a heap.
His first stop is the bathroom. A stream of urination landing in the toilet bowl is starkly loud in the otherwise silent room.
The loud whoosh of flushing precedes the squeaking turn of the sink tap.
He’s coming back.
The mattress dips under the pressure of his body, and it takes every bit of energy I have left to steady my breathing and maintain my ruse.
Smells of sweat and rancid char permeate my nostrils.
Kieren collapses beside me, and the rank scent of him is like the human version of curdled milk.
It’s so awful, I bury my face into the pillow, hoping the fibrous filling will filter away some of the stench.
I should have taken off my bra and underwear.
I should have cleaned myself up, but I didn’t, and now I’m trapped, wide awake, under the weight of his arm.
Sleep finds Kieren in less than two minutes. His heavy breathing is hot against my neck. Thoughts swirl in my mind, and I can’t make them stop. Minutes pass, maybe an hour. I stare at the blank wall in front of me, unable to quiet the nagging voice in my head.
Get up, Monroe.
Get up and find that hidden room.