The Ritual: Chapter 7

JUNIOR YEAR AT BARRINGTON UNIVERSITY

I SIT IN the chair with Matt to my right. We haven’t spoken one word to each other since last night in Chicago. We were given one hit and ended up killing his wife as well.

The door opens, and I sit up straighter.

“What the fuck happened?” Lincoln demands.

“The job was completed,” Matt snaps, immediately going into defensive mode just like he did with me at the house last night.

The moment we made the call that we finished the job, we were on a private jet and brought back to Pennsylvania to the house of Lords and escorted to this room where they’ve made us wait. Which is never good. I’ve seen men come in here and never walk out.

“You killed his wife,” Lincoln argues. “She was to stay alive. I don’t know how you see that as a job completed.”

Matt growls. “She got in the way.”

“Is that true, Ryat?” He looks at me. “She was a problem, standing in your way of completing your assignment, and you had to terminate her as well?” Arching a brow, he waits for my answer.

I just stare at him, crossing my arms over my chest. I’m not a fucking rat, but I’m also not going to lie for Matt. He stepped out of line. We have rules that we have to abide by. Otherwise, what in the fuck are we doing here? I’m not killing for sport. I do what needs to be done. Period.

Lincoln sighs, running his hand down his face. He’s clearly stressed. “You’re on probation, Matt.”

“What?” He jumps to his feet. “What the fuck, Linc? You know that’s bullshit!”

“I know that you killed a very important bitch!” Lincoln snaps, getting in his face. “And now I have to clean up your mess!”

“Who the fuck was she?” Matt demands.

“That’s none of your business!” Lincoln shouts in his face.

“You just said she was important,” he argues.

“Get the fuck out of my office, Matt, before I strip you of your Lord title!” he screams, pointing at the door.

Matt spins around and shoves the chair over before he storms out, slamming the door behind him.

I push up off the armrests and turn to exit as well.

“Wait, Ryat,” Lincoln growls.

I turn to face him, and he plops down behind his desk. “I need to know what happened.” He links his fingers together on the surface.

I say nothing.

“Goddammit,” he hisses, leaning back in his seat. “You have to give me something.”

“I did what was required of me. He’s dead,” I say simply.

He nods once. “So, Matt killed the woman.”

I look away from him and grind my teeth. They already suspected it was Matt, but I just confirmed it. This is why I don’t fucking talk.

“I’m not sure what to do, Ryat,” he states.

I look back at him, and he tilts his head from side to side, contemplating his next move. “I could put you on probation as well.”

I fist my hands, not really all that surprised. I figured they’d punish me in order to get me to talk. Then he reaches over and pushes a button on his office phone. “Send him in.”

The door opens behind me, and I see a man walk in. I don’t know him personally, but I’ve heard of him. His list of bodies is a mile long. A sadistic son of a bitch. He killed three of his brothers his senior year. Everyone in the house of Lords feared him. He’s a legend, really.

“Ryat Archer?” He reaches out his right hand to me.

“Yes, sir.” I do the same and shake it.

He gestures for me to sit back down in my seat, so I do. “What is this about?” I ask, looking back and forth between the two men.

“Well, son …” He sits on the leather couch, unbuttoning his black suit jacket. “I’d like a favor from you.”

I lean forward, placing my elbows on my thighs. This is how they’ll get me to talk? Threaten to put me on probation and then ask me for a favor? In return, I ask to no longer be on probation. “And what will I get in return?”

He throws his head back, laughing, making his body shake. Then he looks over at Lincoln. “I like this kid.”

“Told you,” Lincoln says cryptically.

“The Lords are all about accommodating their brothers who are willing to go above and beyond.” He leans back, getting comfortable. “So, Ryat … the real question is, what is it that you want?”

I sit in my black W Motors Lykan Hypersport, tucked back in the parking lot of Blake’s apartment complex. It sits right off campus.

The first thing you are taught when becoming a Lord is that you do your intel. You think of every scenario that gives you an advantage to win.

The light flips on in her bedroom, and I sit up straighter when she walks past her window, finally arriving home. Stopping in the corner, she reaches down and lifts her shirt up and over her head. My cock grows hard instantly as I watch the motion cause her hair to fall over her back.

It doesn’t matter that I can only see her shadow. It’s good enough. For now.

Walking out of sight, I see another light come on in an adjoining room, her bathroom. I’ve been watching her enough to know the layout of her apartment. It’s even harder to see through the stained glass, but still enough to make out the side view of her large breasts. The curve of them and her flat stomach followed by her great ass.

“Fuck.” I unzip my jeans and pull out my dick. Spitting on my hand, I slowly start to stroke it, imagining I have one hand in her hair that’s shoving her mouth on my cock.

She steps in what I know is her shower, and I see water spraying onto her body. Closing my eyes, I pick up the pace with my hand and see her on her knees inside the shower. Her pretty blue eyes look up at me while her parted lips just beg to be fucked.

“Whatever my girl wants,” I pant, my hips bucking in the driver’s seat.

I wrap my hands into her wet, dark hair and slide my cock inside her hot, wet mouth and begin to fuck it. “Blake.” I moan, my hand picking up the pace as I imagine her pretty blue eyes crying while I fuck that pretty face.

My balls tighten, and my breath quickens seconds before I come in my hand. “Fuck!” I hiss, reaching up, I remove my shirt and use it to clean up my mess.

Looking up at her window, I see the light to her bathroom turn off, then the one to her bedroom.

Taking a deep breath, I lean my head against the headrest, trying to calm my racing heart.

“Soon, Blake. Soon.” I won’t have to use my hand or imagination.

I’ll have her mouth, pussy, and ass to use.

I will fucking own her.

JUNIOR YEAR

I exit the room and start walking down the hallway to my bedroom. Shoving the door open, I slam it shut to find Matt sitting on the side of my bed. “Get the fuck out.” I walk past him toward my adjoining bathroom.

He jumps to his feet. “What in the fuck did you tell Lincoln?”

Spinning around, I shove his chest. “I didn’t say shit!”

He stumbles back and then shakes his head, giving a rough laugh. “You should have my back.”

“And you should have known not to fucking touch her!” I shoot back.

“If you would have let me fuck her …”

“You mean rape her?” I correct him. “Fuck, Matt! What in the hell were you thinking?” Abstinence is part of our oath, until our senior year when we are granted a chosen. If I had told Lincoln that he was going to rape the woman, he’d for sure be stripped of his Lord title.

Matt runs his hands through his hair, letting out a frustrated breath. “I don’t know, man. Blakely and I have been fighting—”

I snort, interrupting him. “You’ve been fighting with your girlfriend, so you decide to disobey an order with the Lords? They’ll kick you out!”

“I’m fine!” He waves me off. “What did Lincoln have to say to you after I left?”

He only mentions Lincoln, which means he doesn’t know another man was brought in to speak to me. “I didn’t rat you out.” I avoid his question.

“Well, what did you fucking say?” Matt snaps.

“That’s none of your damn business.” I turn my back on him, ending this conversation.

He grabs my shirt and yanks me from the bathroom back into my bedroom. I swing, my body twisting, and my fist connects with his jaw. “Don’t fucking push me, Matt!” I growl, clenching and unclenching my hand, feeling it already starting to swell from the hit.

Rubbing his jaw, he steps up to me, chest to chest, and I bow mine, ready to knock his ass out when he speaks. “If I find out you fucked me over, I’ll end you, Ryat.”

I smile at that. “I’d like to see you try.”

With that, he spins and exits my room, slamming the bedroom door on his way out.

BLAKELY

IT’S A FRIDAY night, and I’m lying in my bed watching a horror movie on Netflix while scrolling through my social media page. Not seeing anything interesting, I close out the app and turn up the TV, thinking over my time here at Barrington University since classes started two weeks ago.

I haven’t run into dipshit anymore. But Matt’s been acting weird ever since I stormed into the library demanding answers. That he didn’t give me. He’s always bringing up Ryat. Every day, he asks me if I’ve seen or spoken to him. When I say no, he says okay, but I can see it in his eyes that he doesn’t believe me. And it’s starting to bother me. I’ve never cheated on him before, never even flirted with another guy, so the fact that it’s got him questioning my loyalty is pissing me off.

I’ve been the one begging him for sex, and he’s the one who turns me down. Always telling me that he promised my parents we’d wait for our wedding night. That’s bullshit. Who the hell waits these days? We’ve fooled around, but he always stops it before it goes too far, leaving my body begging for more.

“We’re going,” Sarah states, entering my bedroom and plopping down on the end of my bed.

“But …”

“No buts.” She shakes her head. “We’ve done nothing but stay in, and I didn’t leave Texas just to stay home all the fucking time. Plus, Matt is out of town.” She winks at me.

He went home for the weekend. I wanted to ask why he didn’t invite me, but I also didn’t want to see my parents, so I kept my mouth shut. “What does that have to do with anything?”

“You can let loose and have fun without him accusing you of wanting to fuck Ryat.” She’s overheard several of our arguments in the past couple of weeks. The walls in our apartment are too thin. Or maybe we just fight too loud.

“Please.” She resorts to begging when I remain in bed just staring at her. “Just this time … It’s just one party.”

It’s been a while since I’ve had a girls’ night with her. Matt’s never been a big fan of Sarah’s. He says that she’s too flirtatious with everyone. He’s been very vocal about his hatred for her over the years. When we’re all back home in Texas, he’d always show up or make plans for us with his parents, so I’d have to cancel mine with her. She never seemed to get mad at me for that. Funny how I’m just now noticing that he would do that. “Fine,” I growl, throwing the covers off. I do want to get out and have some fun. “We’ll find out what this chosen shit means,” I add.

“Yes!” She jumps to her feet. “I’ll go get dressed.” Storming out of my room, she yells over her shoulder, “Wear something slutty.”

I laugh, entering my closet.

An hour later, we’re pulling up to an open gate outside the house of Lords. It’s about fifteen minutes from Barrington’s campus off a two-lane road. It was a hotel back in the day that was given to them. All members must live in the house during their duration of college. Matt moved in his freshman year. You’re not welcome to be here unless they are throwing a party. Otherwise, the gate is closed, and the property is off-limits to outsiders.

Two men stand on either side of the gate dressed in black cloaks and white masks, resembling skeletons.

A building comes into view at the end of a long and curvy drive. The renovated hotel stands five stories tall with large windows. Its white brick with black shutters makes it look designed for the rich. Six columns are decorated with black garland wrapped around them from top to bottom. Spotlights are placed strategically on the ground to illuminate the site of the party.

It has a large roundabout with a pond in the middle with a fountain on either side and a white arched walkway across the center. Men and women stand on it with their drinks, some smoking cigarettes.

After pulling into a parking spot to the left, we get out of the car. “Are you sure we’re invited?” I ask.

“Of course.” She waves me off. “Everyone is.”

“But Matt has never let me come here.” Not even during the parties. He said even though I was off-limits , he didn’t even want me around the members. I never knew what he meant, and when I asked, he would get mad, blow up at me, then avoid me for a few days.

You can hear “Make Hate to Me” by Citizen Soldier blaring from the inside of the house.

Both glass doors are wide open, and we step inside. The marble floors, expensive décor, and artifacts make my mouth fall open. Now, I’ve grown up around money. My father owns a multibillion dollar business. My mother isn’t nearly as wealthy as my father, but she’s known around the world for her swimsuit spreads. That’s how they met. He saw her picture once and flew halfway across the world just to buy her coffee. Three months later, they were married. I was born six months later. Pretty sure my mom got knocked up that first night on purpose—trap the wealthy man type of situation. Then after they had me, they were done. I always begged for a sibling. Not like it would have taken time out of their days. I was raised by nannies and tutors. But this is on another level.

Everything is white as snow and polished to perfection. The walls are painted white with black and white pictures. The one on the wall to my left is a large picture of the Eiffel Tower. I’ve been there several times, and I’ve never seen it prettier than in this photo. Straight ahead is a grand staircase covered in black carpet with a matching banister. On the second floor, the platform opens up, giving the option to go left or right. The upper level is also open in the middle, allowing you to look up at the high, black-painted ceiling where chandeliers hang down to the first floor. I see multiple doors that lead to some of the rooms. An elevator in the left-hand corner must take you to the third and fourth floors.

“This place is amazing,” she whispers in awe.

“Phones, keys, and ID.”

We both turn to the right to see a man standing behind a concierge desk. He wears a black mask with Xs over his eyes and stitches for lips along with a black cloak.

“Phones, keys, and ID,” he repeats loudly over the music, holding out two baggies for us.

Walking over to him, I take them. “Why?” Sarah asks.

“Because those are the rules. Either drop your shit in the bag or get the fuck out,” he barks, handing the kid next to us a bag. He doesn’t think twice about digging his belongings out of his pockets and placing them in the bag. He zips it up before giving it back.

The guy in the mask writes on it and then places it in a cubby behind him on the wall.

“Come on.” She bats her eyes at me. “What could it hurt? It’ll be fun.” Then she starts placing her things inside hers.

“Right?!” What could it hurt? This is what I wanted to do. Get out and get some answers.

Handing him back the bag, he gives us two pieces of paper. “Write your name on the tag and place it on your shirt.” Then he clicks the pen and hands it to me.

Bending over, I write my name and then give it to her to do the same with her name tag.

“This is wild. I’ve never been to a party like this.” She grabs my arm and starts bouncing up and down excitedly. “Is this for a prize?” she asks him.

He throws his head back, laughing. We can’t see his face, but the angle gives us a clear view of his Adam’s apple moving from his laughter. “This is the start of the ritual,” he states once he’s calmed himself.

“What is that exactly?” I ask because I still haven’t gotten a direct answer.

“Don’t get too concerned. I doubt you two have anything to worry about,” he answers cryptically and then dismisses us, moving on to the next set of girls who just walked in.

“Let’s go find some alcohol.” She drags me through a hallway and into a kitchen. The room is large with industrial-size stainless-steel appliances. To the right is a bar area where people currently occupy.

It looks like any other college party. The only difference is some are dressed as the guy up front—masks and cloaks. “Who are these people?” I whisper-shout in her ear over “Needles” by Seether.

She shrugs. “If I had my phone, I’d google it.”

Something tells me Google isn’t going to know shit about the situation we’ve found ourselves in. Ritual? Sounds churchy to me that involves blood and a sacrifice. I wonder if it’s the Lords that are dressed differently. It’s no secret at Barrington who the members are as far as I know. You don’t hear much talk about them, but all I know is what Matt has told me, which isn’t much. I’ve just always assumed they were like a fraternity.

Going over to the island, I see small glass bowls lined up side by side. Each one contains pills of various colors and shapes. I recognize some as Xanax, Percocet, and Adderall. Things my mother will pop every now and then when she’s either stressed or has a headache.

“What do you want?” Sarah asks me, looking over the drinks lined up.

“I’ll have a rum and Coke, please.”

She nods her head and starts to pour me a drink. Once done, she makes herself one. We tap them together in cheers. Taking a drink, I cough. “Dear Lord.” I hiss in a breath. “Trying to kill me?”

She laughs. “No. But a good liquor coma sounds good.”

She was in rehab twice while in high school. Her mother came home during our freshman year to find her passed out on the floor in her own vomit. She took some Oxy. She’s not suicidal, but she wanted them to see her. When that didn’t work, she went to a party, got drunk off her ass, and wrapped her father’s one-of-a-kind car around a tree. She didn’t even have her license yet.

Obviously, rehab wasn’t any help. I think her parents were just glad she left for college after her senior year. She was someone else’s problem kind of attitude.

“Come on. Let’s go see what this place is all about.” She grabs my arm and pulls me out of the kitchen and through a hallway. We step into an open room. I’m guessing it was once a ballroom with high cathedral ceilings. The walls vary in shade from white and gray. The black granite floor has white vines running through it. It’s gorgeous, just like everything else I’ve seen so far.

The music is louder here. A DJ is set up in a corner at the front of the room, and he too wears a black mask and matching cloak. A long table seats every bit of twenty-four, but only one side is occupied. Twelve people sit side by side, all wearing the same black masks and cloaks overlooking the room.

“What the fuck?” I whisper in her ear over “Like Lovers Do” by Hey Violet.

“I like it.” She nods quickly, taking a drink. “Mysterious.”

It can’t be that bad, right? Not if Matt is involved. He’s a Polo and loafers while playing golf kind of guy. Not a mysterious, I’ll chase you down in an alley and kill you type of vibe. “It’s like a cult,” I mumble to her. “If they try to brand our asses, we run for it.” Fuck the keys, cell phone, and ID. I can get new ones.

She laughs like I’m joking.