How does someone with a shred of decency even answer that?
You don't.
I shake my head casually, taking a sip of my whiskey. Addie's grandfather has better taste than these old dicklickers.
Glancing at his Rolex, he motions for me to follow as he stands. "It's time. Let’s head on down," Dan says, swallowing the last of his whiskey before setting the empty crystal glass on the table. He turns and checks out a passing stripper, his eyes leering on her exposed backside.
"And when we're done, I'm going to take a bite out of that one next. These initiations always get me in the mood."
The whiskey in my stomach sours.
Swallowing down what I really want to say, I motion for him to lead. He saunters towards the hallway where the moans are emanating from. Steeling my spine, I follow after him.
We enter through a hallway riddled with doors on either side. The moans escalate, but now that I’m closer, I hear the notes of fear and pain laced in them. Cracks of whips, flesh hitting flesh, and the loud grunts of men accompany the moans.
Fuck. Think of the child lying on a stone altar somewhere. They need me more.
At the end of the hallway is a black marble door. Dan wraps his fist around the knob and pauses before peering back at me, his lips curled with excitement.
“You ready?”
“Considering I was teased last night, I’m more than ready.”
Dan flashes a malicious smirk before opening the door. I'm met with a dark hallway, scarcely lit by dim LED lighting on either side of the floor.
The hallway is long and almost feels never-ending. And it seems the further we walk, the narrower it grows. But it's just my mind playing tricks on me.
At the end is another marble door. I glance back and notice we were going down a subtle incline, where I see a small group of men coming down the hallway in the distance.
Dan opens the door, and we're greeted by a room full of people. The black marble extends into the room, but the walls are rock. On either side are long rows of familiar black robes I've seen in the last few videos. The people gathered in here are speaking in low tones, slipping on the oversized robes.
My heart pounds, almost in disbelief that I'm finally here. The moment I've been working towards for so long.
It's surreal.
"Grab one," Dan orders, his tone serious. Without a word, I unhook a robe and slip it on. The material is silky smooth, but it feels like I'm wrapping myself in wool. Despite my large stature, the material still hangs past my feet and hands.
"This another newcomer?" a nasally voice asks from my left. I turn to see a weasel of a man standing next to me. He's at least a good three feet shorter than I am, with a receding hairline, a hooked nose, and round glasses.
"I am," I answer cryptically. "And you are?"
The man smiles nervously. "Also a newcomer. My name is Larry Verenich."
"Zack," I offer.
Several robed figures start pouring out of the room through another black door straight ahead.
"Let's go," Dan says, nodding his head towards the group.
As I approach the door, a low hum gathers at the base of my neck, causing the hairs to rise. The room is just like I've seen in the videos. It’s like walking into an underground cave, only instead of moisture in the air, it's dry and heavy. The dark space is lit by hundreds of candles lining the rock walls. But the small flames are no match for the oppressing shadows.
We're on a rounded platform, a simple black rail as a barrier to about a forty-foot drop. In the center of the room is a stone altar, a wriggling little girl on top of it. Black straps circle her tiny wrists and ankles, keeping her in place.
She can’t be more than six or seven years old.
The hum grows louder until it sounds like it's coming from inside my own head. My hands clench beneath the fabric, and I'm only thankful that the sleeves are long enough to hide my reaction.
"To your left are the stairs," Dan says, pointing in the direction. “Go ahead and stand by the altar. One of you will be offered the knife to bleed out the sacrifice. Drink the blood, and you will be initiated into the Society."
I nod my head and take off in the direction. The rocky, uneven stairs are just around the bend, where Larry is already heading.
I lift the hood over my head, glancing around the areas until I spot the security guards—three of them on the bottom floor where the altar is, hidden off in the shadows. From my vantage point, I'm unable to see their faces. But I know Michael is one of them.
Two other men follow behind me as I make my way down the steps. The minute my foot hits the ground, a low chant begins, gaining in pitch as I approach the altar.
I stare at the little girl on the stone slab, tears tracking down her dirty cheeks. She's sobbing, her little lip curled in a frown as her wide blue eyes stare at us in absolute terror.
My heart constricts so tightly it's debilitating. By sheer willpower, I force myself to stand still.
"Fuck, I'm already getting hard," a guy whispers from my left. My teeth nearly crack from how hard I clench my jaw in that moment. Slowly, I turn to see a guy that looks like he's in his early twenties, his hood down. His brown, bottomless eyes glance up at me, and all I can see is pure excitement radiating from them.
He's going to be the first one to die.
He’s close enough that he can see my face, and I work to keep it neutral. He grins at me, but I give him no reaction. And though his smile falters just a little, the sick fuck has no idea that I just did him a huge favor. Because had I reacted, I would've reached down his throat and ripped out his windpipe with my bare hands.
"P-p-please, I want my mommy,” the little girl begs from below me. Her red and puffy eyes are full of tears and she’s staring up at me with terror and desperation. Her little lip trembles, and I have to physically restrain myself from reaching out and grabbing her tiny hand in my own.
“Pleeaasssee,” she cries, her blues full of tears, despite the rivers streaming down her cheeks. “I wanna go ho-oome.”
Snarling, I force my mouth to stay shut. More than anything, I want to reassure her. Comfort her. Promise her that she will get to see her mother again. But I can't allow any of those words to escape.
Not yet.
The chant around us grows louder, building until it feels like the cave vibrates from the sound. But it’s muted, like I’m under water. All I can concentrate on is the small girl pleading for my help.
I'm staring at her so hard, trying to convey the assurances in my eyes, that I don't even notice the black figure that approached until they’re right before me, standing on the other side of the little girl.
Their face is hidden in the depths of their hood, and black gloves cover their hands. I've no idea if this person is a man or a woman, or how significant they are.
They could be from the Society.
In fact, my intuition tells me they are.
In each hand are two goblets twined between their fingers. The figure holds out their arms, and the four of us each grab one. And then, the figure reaches down by their leg and pulls out a curved black blade.
They don't speak. They just balance the blade in the palm of their hand and hold it out straight, an offer for any one of us to take.
I swipe the blade, already sensing the frat boy next to me gearing up to snatch it. I can feel his disappointment, assumingly because he wanted to be the one to plunge the blade into a child's chest. And for that, I'm going to make sure his death is slow. He won't get the honors of getting his jugular sliced open so he can bleed out in seconds.