Page 2 of Hers To Keep

In a wooden box, down a shallow grave.

So we rough them up a bit, a few bruises here and there, a couple broken ribs, maybe a concussion or two, no big deal, just a warning. For those who still don’t understand, let’s just say I haven’t had the privilege of finding out what happens to them.

But now as we approach eighteen, we were let in on another secret.

The Gallows.

Now we not only go to the parties around the neighboring towns to recruit dealers, but we also recruit his girls. We flirt and toy with the prettiest of girls, painting a real pretty picture of wealth, prominence, and adoration to those we feel are suitable candidates for The Gallows.

A dirty prostitution ring, led by my uncle, using underage girls to attract clientele for his illicit businesses. They’re not forced intodoing anything they don’t want to. He assures me that with the amount of money they make, everything is consensual, and apparently, he doesn’t even force them to have sex until they’re of age.

A true saint he is. The money he brings in simply from putting his untouchable toys in cages, dangling above ravenous beasts like forbidden meat, is enough to keep his business afloat.

However, that’s no justification for the sick, vile things that occur at The Gallows, but it isn’t my place to have an opinion. We’re like robots—soulless, emotionless, and mute. We serve, we follow, we act.

The drugs are the least of my worries. The illicit businesses that he and his associates run are each more corrupt than the last. The Devil’s Kiss, being the prominent one, followed by The Gallows, which in my eyes is the most depraved. Then comes The Moxy, one I haven’t yet had the privilege of witnessing. The Moxy is an organized, underground casino, where the younger girls of The Gallows who are not yet at theirprime, serve as waitresses and escorts. The Moxy is located in Galen Grove, which is Sin City in the heart of Hillcrest Hills. The original purgatory, run by the king of the underworld himself, Stephan Silver.

Then comes The Citadel, a political sector, run by the mayor himself, Malcolm Smoak, Alek’s father, with the help of Carlisle Prescott, Carrington’s father. The Citadel is the partisan group in charge of the wellbeing of Hillcrest Hills, and Malcolm Smoak, just like his predecessors, has a hold on the police department and other government officials who have dealings with Hillcrest. I’m told they’re the number one clients of The Moxy and The Gallows, and the ledger the Smoak’s hold, would ruin all of them were it ever to be found.

That’s the hold my uncle has on all his associates.

Finally, there are The Calypsos, which I’m sure they all have a hand in. Underground, private sex clubs all around the neighboring affluent towns. In the basements of hotels, office buildings, city halls, casinos, the possibilities are endless. Where the “graduates”of The Gallows can choose to move on to the more illicit clubs where they work for higher wages and engage in more intricate activities.

So here we are, my boys and me. Each of us and our families, a vital part of this wicked world, ready and willing to do anything to ensure the future of this empire, his empire. Our family legacy. Yet this time as we step foot into The Gallows, for the first time since she was here, I see this world for what it truly is.

An immoral, sinful hell.

Two Nights Ago

The Gallows is in an abandoned warehouse on the outskirts of town, in a large unoccupied lot amid all the chaos surrounding it on this side of town. The ugly side of Hillcrest Hills hides behind a curtain of pleasure and leisure. Of course my family owns the vacant land around the warehouse and holds documents that show we use it as a storage unit for vintage family heirlooms and other inherited belongings. As members of one of the five founding families, we’re never questioned.

The night is dark and cold. The sky is clear and illuminated only by scattered stars and a full moon. A perk of living high on a hill, is the incredible views of the non-smog infested skies. If only those views stretched out into the depravity of our surroundings.

“I don’t think I’ll ever feel comfortable setting foot in this place,” Bass mutters as we walk toward the back entrance of the club.

I shake my head at his confession silently laughing at the absurdity. Bass has always been the cynical one. He thinks with his head and nothing else, unlike the others. He’s sarcastic, scornful, and reserved. A certified manwhore, who shows no mercy for his conquests nor apologizes for his indifference to them after.

Alek is the neurotic one. He’s an arrogant bastard with apretentious ego the size of fucking Mars. The most loyal to our cause, but deep down the most terrified of what it truly entails. Beckett’s the passive one. He’s disturbed when it comes to the vile shit we do since he wasn’t born into this world, and no one drilled our ideals into his mind from an early age. It wasn’t until about four years ago that we brought in him when his mother Eliza, married Bass’s father Stephan. Regardless, he’s loyal to the bone. He’s the least hated of the four of us, but we blame it on his foreign blood. An outsider from England, with an accent that makes the ladies swoon. There’s no competition, really.

Then there’s me. The king of kings. The unsympathetic leader of Servite Academy. The impulsive one. A selfish, prideful, all righteous bastard. I was a heartless son of a bitch interested in nothing more than what I’m destined for.

Until I met her.

Now she’s all I can think about. She’s infiltrated my soul and claimed it as her own. With an iron rod, she’s branded me hers, and there is no going back now.

The only problem, and it’s quite a big one, she fucking hates this world I’m a part of. She despises it with such an intense hatred, I’m not sure what I feel for her can surpass it. Although, I know she feels it too. When we’re together, it’s electric, and unexplainable. The pull is unparalleled to anything I’ve ever felt before. Her beauty blinds me, makes me vulnerable to her faults and the hatred she holds for me deep down, but there is no denying how she feels. The way her body reacts to my closeness. The way she’s instantly wet the moment I come near. She melts in my hands. She squirms under the heat of my body, and her fight dissolves the moment my lips touch hers.

Not to mention the way she screams out my name as my cock drives into her, thrust for thrust she meets me. Each orgasm is more intense than the last, and fuck, her stamina rivals mine. Scarlett was created for me. Carved by the big man upstairs to be my weakness. My salvation. The last opportunity to redeem myself.

My Hail Mary.

“You’d be worse than him if you ever get comfortable here, Bass,” Beck says, shaking his head somberly. “I swear your dad is one sick son of a bitch, Bass. But fuck, Ace, your uncle has him beat in every aspect.” We’re all dressed in our usual Horsemen attire, what we wear when we are executing one of his tedious, yet meticulous tasks. Dark jeans, black tees, and leather jackets. The dark sons of Servite Academy.

“You guys are fucking idiots. Come on, girls, sex, alcohol, drugs, the only thing better than this… well fuck, I don’t think there’s anything better,” Alek shouts, patting Beck roughly on his back.

“That’s because you’re just as fucked up as they are, Alek,” Beck answers, ignoring him and pushing through the front door.

“My man, Beck, you say that like it’s a bad thing,” Alek retorts. And fuck he’s getting annoying. I can see Beck feels it too. He’s trying his hardest to ignore him but Alek’s pushing every one of his buttons. Beckett Masters isn’t one to get hot-headed easily. His temper, unlike ours, is calm and he holds restraint. But if there’s one thing that irks him, it’s this. Women, young girls, being taken advantage of by fuckers who use their power and influence to intimidate them. I guess it hits close to home.

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