Carnage: A Dark Revenge Romance

INITIATION

DEVOTION

Sophomore year at Barrington University

I’m leaning up against a concrete wall in the basement under the courtyard at Carnage. I was instructed to be here, and when I arrived, they immediately ushered me down here. I think that was yesterday, though I’m not 100 percent sure. There is no window in here. Just concrete walls and a door with a slot where I was fed water and a piece of bread hours ago.

I have no clue what my initiation consists of—we never do. We just show up and do what must be done.

I was left fully dressed and allowed to keep my combat boots on, which threw up more red flags than anything else. I’ve seen my father and the others strip men naked, brand them, and throw them in a cell. If they expect me to go crazy and kill myself with the use of my clothes or shoestrings, they’ll be disappointed. I’m not suicidal.

The door opens, and my father enters with another Lord, whose identity is disguised. Nothing new. The Lords love their masks and cloaks. It makes them feel superior. As if running the world isn’t enough.

“Give me a second with my son,” my father tells him.

The man in the mask nods and steps out, closing the door.

I cross my arms over my chest as he runs his hand through his dark hair. Lords are intended to breed after graduation, so the fact that they have kids at a young age is common.

“Do I get conjugal visits?” I ask, my mind going to a specific woman who is brunette with blue eyes. She’s the twin sister of Adam—another Spade brother—and everything I want. And one day, I’ll get her.

His eyes narrow on me. “This is serious, Saint.” He huffs. “This test…” He pauses, rethinking what he was about to say. “I’ll see you afterward.” With that, he turns, knocking on the door, and it opens, allowing him to exit.

I stay where I’m at, and this time, three Lords enter the confined space, making my heart race as I look over their cloaks and masks. One holds out what looks like a cap to a two liter of some sort. It’s full of clear liquid.

Taking in a deep breath, I take the offered cap and hold it up. “Bottoms up,” I say and toss it into my mouth, knowing it’s going to fuck me up. But it’s not like I can say no.

It drops to the floor before I even have the chance to blink and stumble back. My legs no longer hold me up, and I fall into the back concrete wall. My eyes grow heavy, and I watch the three blurry figures walk toward me as my eyes fall closed and blackness takes over.

I groan, a throbbing in the back of my head hitting like a drum. I go to roll over onto my side but can’t. “Fuuucckk,” I slur, trying to get my bearings straight. Where the fuck am I? How long have I been out?

Opening my heavy eyes, I see blurry figures right in front of my face. Lines run down the length of my body, and I realize I’m lying on my back. I fist my hands, trying to get feeling into them. They’re cold and numb. Lifting my head, I hit it on something and curse myself.

Fuck, Saint! Now the front hurts as much as the back. I lie still and close my eyes, taking in a few deep breaths to let myself adjust to wherever the fuck I am before I hurt myself.

Once I can move my fingers, I realize my arms are down by my sides, and I’m still dressed because I feel the roughness of my jeans on the palms of my hands. I go to touch my face, but my arms don’t make it far because they come to a stop when my elbows hit something hard.

Opening my eyes, they adjust to see the blurry lines I saw initially are metal bars. My breathing picks up when I realize exactly where I am—the pits.

The best way to describe them is that they resemble shallow graves in the center of the concrete floor. I’ve watched my father place men in here and then they lock them in with bars across the top. There’s not much room for movement, let alone escape.

I turn my head from side to side to see both concrete sides only inches from my face. The tight space smashes my shoulders and arms down to my sides. My pulse races, and I move my hands to rest on my belt and try to move them up my stomach and chest to see how far I can go. But they can’t go any higher than my belt because when I go to bend my elbows, the concrete sides stop them.

I try to calm my erratic breathing. “Don’t panic,” I tell myself. They don’t want to kill me. That won’t benefit them.

I feel around the best I can down by my sides, trying to see if there is a key anywhere underneath or beside me. But I’ve seen how the pits work. The key goes in from the top where the feet go. There’s no way I’d be able to reach that. I have no clue what the point to this is. Am I supposed to free myself? Or is it to see how long I can last in a concrete box?

A ticking sound gets my attention, and I look around the ceiling the best I can through the five bars. Lifting my head, I allow my forehead to press against the bar in the center and see a timer hanging on the wall outside the pit. It’s large in size and has big red numbers. It’s counting down from what I’m guessing is five minutes because it’s currently at four and a half and dropping.

“What the fuck happens once it stops?” I ask myself. I’ve never seen that before with previous men put in here. They have to serve time, but it’s way more than five minutes.

“It comes in waves.” A voice speaks.

I tilt my head back, trying to look around, but can’t see shit. “What does?” I ask, thinking that maybe it was one of my brothers—Kashton, Adam, or Haidyn—but I didn’t recognize the voice.

“The timer,” he answers, and I can tell by the softness in his voice that he’s weak. There are three pits in the floor here so he could be in one next to me. “The first wave is tolerable…the second gets colder…” He pauses before whispering, “The third is the coldest.”

The blood rushes in my ears and I try to bend my knees and get frustrated when they hit the bars. Lifting my head as far as I can, I see I’m down to two minutes and fifty seconds. “After the third?” I rush out.

He coughs, and it sounds like he’s been smoking all his life, but it’s probably just the shit Carnage has put him through. “I’ve never seen anyone make it past that.” He gets out before coughing again.

My fear rises, and I try to shake it off. No. I won’t fucking die in here. There has to be a reason as to why this is my initiation. Instead, I lift my head, letting the bars push against my pounding head, and watch the timer count down the last twenty seconds. When it gets to zero, an alarm sounds, and I feel a rush of cold air down by my legs before water begins to fill the hole.

FUCK!

My fear is drowning to death. This is why this is my initiation. My father knows this. He found my mom once trying to drown me in the bathtub. She hated my father, and I fell into that category by association.

I take in a deep breath and let it out, trying to calm my nerves as the water fills the confined space, soaking into my clothes, making my limbs feel heavier than they did already.

Lifting my head the best I can, the water comes to a stop at about my ears. My neck strains, and I slowly lie down, the water coming up to my cheeks. The only sound I can hear is my own heavy breathing.

My body is tense, hands fisted, and I remind myself not to panic as I shiver. The water is cold, and the slightest movement makes it splash around my face.

Then as fast as it filled the space, it’s sucked out, leaving me shivering and teeth chattering. I take in a deep breath. The guy said three times. That means I’ve got two more. Lifting my head, I see the clock reset to three minutes this time.

My chest feels heavy, my wet shirt sticking to me, and my legs are already restricted to the space so the fact that my jeans are soaked makes it harder to move them. My boots feel like my feet are in concrete.

I close my eyes, trying to ignore the blood rushing in my ears. It’s nothing. Just another day, another chance to prove myself. They kept me in the cell for so long to make me weak from lack of food and water. They wanted me weak, then had me drink whatever the fuck that shit was to knock me out to put me in here. They wanted the panic factor to set me up for failure.

There is no word to call out or signal that a Lord can do or say in order to stop an initiation. Not like I would anyway. So there has to be an endgame. Because this isn’t a kill-or-be-killed situation. It’s a mind game. An illusion meant to push you to your limits. To see how far you can go before they get to throw you away. The Lords only take the best, and they want you to prove your worth.

I hear the sound of the alarm once again and the rush of cold air before the water enters. It’s colder this time just like the guy had said. Almost freezing, making it worse since my clothes are already wet.

I’m shaking uncontrollably, lifting my head to let it fill all the way. Once I know it’s done, I lower my head into the water to see how far it comes up this time. It covers my eyes, making me close them along with my lips, but I’m able to breathe through my nose. I arch my neck instead of lifting it, allowing my lips to part and suck in a ragged breath. A little bit of water enters my mouth, and I choke on it, making my body press against the bars above me.

I count in my head as a distraction, knowing that sending myself into a panic attack won’t do me any good. Possibly just kill me.

Once I get to forty-five, the water is pulled out, and I readjust my head, trying to relax and open my eyes, blinking rapidly because water covers my face and lashes. It burns, which makes me think it’s salt water. It’s denser than fresh water so it anchors a person more. Another test.

I’m freezing. My body shakes uncontrollably, but my clothes feel like they’ve shrunk in size. The salt water makes them feel like compressions, then the added weight has them pinning me to the concrete floor. Not like I could move anyway.

My throat burns like my eyes, and my chest is so heavy that it’s getting harder to breathe. My teeth chatter so hard they ache. My head falls to the side, and I blink at the concrete wall. How many times did the guy say it did this? Three? I don’t know if I can survive one more. I wouldn’t say I’m scared anymore, just getting sleepy. Is it the shit they gave me? Or the cold water?

That’s what hypothermia does to you. Slows your heart rate; numbs the body.

“Don’t pass out.” I hear that voice again.

I blink my heavy eyes and try to talk, but I’m not sure anything comes out.

“You’ve got another wave in one minute.” He goes on. “It’s going to come up higher. You won’t be able to breathe at all. So take a few deep breaths and get ready.”

“Why…” I lick my numbing lips. “Are you helping me?”

“Let’s just say one day I might need a favor.”

I roll my head so I’m looking up through the bars once again, and his words make me laugh. Or I’m becoming delusional.

“Five seconds,” he warns.

I blink. My burning eyes are so heavy.

“Two seconds.”

I take in a shaky breath, and a loud noise hits my ears. The back of my mind registers danger, but I’m not sure from what. Then a cold gust of air hits my wet clothes before I feel it. The water. It comes up faster this time. It’s also colder. Freezing cold.

I take a deep breath as it covers my face completely. I can’t move. The weight of it too heavy and my body too weak. It’s so cold that it almost feels like I’m burning at first before the chill sets in.

I can’t lift my head, and I open my eyes, and they burn, but I can see the bars. I’m so close to life but closer to death. It’s like when I was five, and I’m back in the bathtub once again with my mom’s hands on my chest, holding me down. I kicked and fought with everything I could, but I was too weak to fight her off.

She was screaming at me, but I couldn’t understand what she was saying. Just saw her mouth moving while she cried tears into the water that was drowning me. My father heard the commotion, pushed her to the side, and pulled me out. I never saw her again, and I never asked why. She didn’t want me, and my father didn’t want to lose his only son. It wasn’t because he loved me; it was because he would have no one to take his place once the Lords decided he needed to hand over Carnage to his child.

It’s the only reason I’m still alive to this day. I blink slowly, my throat burning as I watch the water splash out over the edges of the pit I’m locked in.

My eyes close, and I arch my neck, needing to breathe. My body fights the confined space, pressing against the bars. I thrash back and forth, hoping to splash some of the water out so I can breathe, but it feels as if it continues to fill itself.

Unable to take it anymore, I part my lips and try to breathe, swallowing some. Pain explodes in my chest. It causes my body to jerk involuntarily. The panic forces me to try and breathe again, and I swallow more of the salty tasting water. I’m pretty sure I’m seizing from the harsh movements my body is doing on it’s own.

Drowning has always been my greatest fear, and the Lords chose to use that against me. All I can do is accept it now.

Just when I think I’ve decided I’ll die in the pit, the water is sucked out, and I begin to cough up water onto my face while gasping in cold air that burns my throat. I hear the loud sound of the locks unclasping and the scraping of metal before the bars disappear and hands grab at me. I’m yanked from the pit and tossed onto my stomach.

A hand beats on my back and I convulse lying on the cold concrete. Hands all over…pulling and yanking. I’m being stripped of my wet clothing.

“Good job, Son.” I hear my father’s voice over my coughing and gasping. “I knew you could do it.”

I pull away from him but fall to my face. I lift my heavy eyes to see a figure hanging over in the corner. He’s got a head of dark hair that falls over his forehead. He’s naked and covered in dirt. He hangs by his cuffed wrists above his head. His eyes closed. I’m not sure if he was the one helping me or if it was my mind playing games with me. But his eyes crack open and meet mine before I pass out.