Chapter 5
Rhylan
CELEbrATION.
After completing our test, every cowboy was flown individually by private jet to Las Vegas, where a blacked-out Escalade delivered us to a mansion in the middle of fucking nowhere.
Lush green grass greeted us in contrast to the vast desert landscape as we passed through black iron gates that sealed the property off like a fortress. It was like driving into a painting; the grounds of the mansion were far more beautiful than what I’d expected.
As the SUV circled the drive, a large fountain’s white lights morphed into a bright orange shade, clearly visible even in the middle of the day.
“Kerosene Cowboys.” The driver announced as I continued to stare at the water, glistening in the sunlight.
“Excuse me?”
“Your signature color within the MUR is orange; every revue has its own. Heaven Down Under is red, Red Magic is blue, and Temptations is green.”
My brows furrowed as I tried to make sense of the color coding choices. Wouldn’t red magic be… red?
“Why orange?” I cleared my throat. “Who determines the colors of the revues?”
“It’s a color. Does it matter?”
“No, I suppose not. Just genuine curiosity...”
“Just be glad you’re here. You’re the first revue to join the society in over twenty years, and I’m sure you won’t be the last. Not if Dustin has any say in the matter.”
“Dustin. He’s the leader, right? The one who came to the bar and announced the test—threw all seventeen of us to the fuckin’ coyotes.” I knew who he was; I just wanted confirmation.
“He’s not a bad man, and the requirements for membership have been the same for decades. Be glad you only had to take one life to join. The others have three tasks in their initiation, and anyone who joins the Cowboys after you will follow the same process.”
“How do you know all of this—as a driver?” He knew a lot for someone who wasn’t a direct member himself. Although… he was wearing the signature ring.
“While the organization is a secret, within our brotherhood we keep none. Dustin is upfront and candid with his plans. All you have to do is ask. He’s always willing to share.
” As the leader of the MUR, Dustin seemed far more intimidating than his driver was making him out to be.
“Best not keep the boss waiting. Wouldn’t want to start off with a bad first impression. ”
“Yeah… sure.” Let’s go with that.
After exiting the vehicle, I took quick strides up the steps, and the double doors swung open on my approach, revealing a gentleman waiting to greet me on the other side.
“Master Slate has been expecting you. Rhylan Ross, I presume?” The elderly man spoke with a heavy English accent.
“That’s me.” I nodded briefly before my gaze started to wander the foyer, taking in the intricate details and marble flooring. Goddamn… so this was how the other half lived...
Ask Jeeves cleared his throat, bringing my attention to him as he extended a hand out in the direction of a long corridor that ran along the front interior of the mansion.
“His office is this way. If you’ll follow me, please.”
I tipped my hat at the butler and kept pace right behind him as we passed several doors, stopping halfway down at the largest of them all. He gave a gingerly knock before turning the polished-gold handle to push it open.
I waited to follow his lead into the room, but all the man did was bow his head before skirting around me, taking quick strides back in the direction of the foyer.
“Come in and have a seat, Rhylan.” Dustin’s casual voice called from inside the room, and, doing as instructed, I entered. Why fear anything anymore when your only other option is death? That should be their slogan.
“Mighty fine home you’ve got here.” Not quite the words I expected to fall out of my mouth, but they were the only ones that came to mind as Dustin set his dark gaze on me, and I felt as though he could suck the soul right out of my damn chest.
This man took intimidation and branded himself the Grim fucking Reaper.
To no surprise, he didn’t dignify my half-assed attempt at complimenting his house with a response—didn’t think he would.
Instead, clearing his throat, Dustin lowered into a black leather chair positioned behind a solid mahogany desk.
Then he picked up a crystal lowball glass, which was filled a quarter of the way with a bright amber liquid, swirling it a couple of times before taking a long sip.
“After already speaking with twelve of you, I believe I know most, if not all, the questions you currently have for me. So I’ll keep this meeting short and sweet unless you feel there’s something I’m forgetting to mention.”
Nope. That’s fine. Keep talking so I don’t have to. I’ll willingly shove my boot in my mouth if it gets me the fuck outta here before you change your mind.
“The Men Under Revue was established roughly fifty years ago by my father, when he’d finally had enough of people in Vegas fucking around and getting away with shit they never should have been doing to begin with.
The city was suffering, and he discovered the solution to fix it.
A brotherhood willing to fight for peace and correct the wrongs that outside entities couldn’t, protecting the city and its means for growth.
” Setting down the glass, he started rotating the black ring around his finger.
“Membership extends as long as your heart remains beating, and, if you manage to reach the full thirty years of continued loyalty, you’ll qualify for retirement. You’re then relieved of all MUR obligations and will continue to receive your standard salary indefinitely.”
“While the members are all men, there are women within our ranks. If at any point you choose to marry, there are strict protocols to follow. You will also need to understand that your future bride will be required to complete a test similar to yours.” I tried to hide the shock from learning there were women just as fucked up as the men in this organization.
Not that it bothered me.
Women with a bad attitude and mouth to match were always a turn on, but murderous? Why was that thought suddenly making my dick hard?
“You will continue to perform at Kerosene as usual, with the added requirement of holding a day job as well—and before you say anything, the required number of hours is minimal. The purpose of work outside your revue is to keep an eye on Broadway at all times, same standard as Vegas. Additionally, you will be assigned tasks, just like your test, that are non-negotiable. You fulfill our needs, and we will continue to support and protect yours. Simple as that.”
Honestly, I expected a lot more…
Dustin stood from his chair and strode to a large open safe in the corner of the room, a few feet away from his desk. Reaching for the top shelf, he pulled out a small matte-black box, and I knew exactly what was inside by its size and shape alone.
“Obsidian.” He commented, leaning over the desk and setting my reward in front of me. “I won’t bore you with the lengthy details and history—for today at least. But these rings signify who belongs to the brotherhood. You wear it on your right hand ring finger at all times, no matter what.”
Remaining silent, I opened the box and retrieved my ring, placing it exactly where he’d stated. The longer I stared at the jet-black material, the more I felt that I was meant to wear it.
“Any questions?”
A brotherhood that required me to kill, but for a purpose.
Their secrets died with me.
What was left to question?
“Ravish. Reign. Revue.”
The entire bar chanted the oath before the sound of clinking bottles rang throughout the room, and every Cowboy cheered at their newly coveted status.
Three months had passed since Dustin stepped through the front doors of Kerosene, and only fifteen of us remained. One failed to kill his target, and the other attempted to flee Nashville entirely.
Our new boss wasn’t fucking around when he told us the only way out was zipped up in a body bag, and now I’m glad I rationalized my decision before it was too late.
Every single cowboy in the bar tonight was sporting their new ring with fuckin’ pride, myself included.
I had no regrets from the moment I stepped out of Dustin’s mansion. I breathed in that desert air like a new fucking man, ready to live out the rest of my life without a care in this goddamn world.
“What job did you pick?” Silas asked, setting a cold beer on the bar while he finished sorting inventory as Trent and I counted out the last tip jar we’d ever need to put out.
It was the end of our first normal shift in weeks—no one on edge, anxiously awaiting their test. With all our bank accounts above six figures, the stress levels were nonexistent. Now, we were just here to party and have a good time; it didn’t matter how much the bar made by the end of the night.
“Following in your wise old footsteps and bartending—for now.” I had no clue what I wanted to do outside of working at Kerosene, so I just picked something easy until a better option came to mind.
“There’s only a six-year age gap between us, kid. I ain’t that old.”
“And women go for older men anyway, so your twenty-four-year-old ass can take a seat while the buckle bunnies with daddy issues come to us,” Trent added with a bold smirk. “It’s not always about the abs and baby face. Some women want experience.”
“Trent, are you fuckin’ around with the clientèle again?” Silas mocked, feigning shock and surprise.
“Only the ones who manage to catch and hold my attention. Can’t blame a guy for having a good time—”
“Alright. I think I’m done with the senior citizen sex talk. Two-thirty-nine.” I slapped the stack of bills in front of Trent as I stood from the bar and adjusted my jeans that had started to sag on my hips.
“Aw, now you’ve gone and scared the poor boy off.” Silas laughed as he leaned forward to rest his forearms on the counter.
“No, I just don’t need to hear about you two sticking your dicks in random holes every other night.” Because that was precisely where this discussion was going.
“First of all, they aren’t random…” Trent corrected with an arched brow and a reminiscing grin. “Most are regulars; and secondly, there ain’t no harm in indulging yourself from time to time. You should try it on for a change, maybe it’ll loosen you up.”
“I’ll… consider it.” Not.
“Take your time. Us, old folks, will continue to enjoy the women of Nashville at your expense.” Silas added, and I rolled my eyes as I took my cut of the tips and turned to leave, giving them both my back.
“Ravish. Reign. Revue, Rhy.” Trent held up his beer with a wink before finishing off what was left.
“Yeah, yeah. To the fucking brotherhood.” I smiled, holding up my own in return before heading into the locker room to grab the rest of my shit.
So this is what it felt like to find a family—brothers.
Can’t say I didn’t like it.