Page 40 of Bonds of Obsession

The brand he’s carrying isn’t glowing quite as much, but it still hurts like a motherfucker, and the smell of burning flesh—my burning flesh—makes me want to throw up.

Still, I stay strong. I’m not going to cry out. I’m not even going to flinch.

The third approaches wearing deep crimson lacquer with obsidian details. Beneath it is a man with a slightly crooked nose and cold, deep-set eyes. His brand sizzles against my flesh.

Blood trickles down my back, mixing with sweat. I’ve bitten the inside of my cheek raw, but I haven’t flinched once. Won’t give them the satisfaction. Won’t risk fucking this up for Atlas.

The chanting grows louder as each member finishes their part. Next comes a man with dark blond hair, brown eyes, and a smile that’s much too charming for the dangerous aura that radiates from him. Then a tall woman with platinum blonde hair, piercing green eyes, and angular features.

“Sanguinem nostrum, vinculum nostrum. Our blood, our bond.”

Malcolm steps forward last. The chanting reaches a crescendo as he removes his black and gold mask, revealing those sharp features and calculating eyes I remember from our first meeting.

“I accept this marker and claim my portion.” His brand glows brighter than the others, and when it connects with my flesh, the pain is almost unbearable. My eyes roll back in my head and I worry for a moment that I might pass out. But I lock my jaw and breathe through it, determined that even the leader of the Dark Lotus Syndicate won’t get the best of me tonight.

The chanting fades to silence as Malcolm offers me a hand to get to my feet. I ignore him, forcing myself to stand straight, chin up.

“Speak your oath,” he commands. “Then choose who will take your place in our ranks.”

I take a deep breath. The words I’ve rehearsed are on the tip of my tongue—the ones that will give my marker to Ambrose. That will make him a member and save Atlas’s life.

“I, Quinn Kent, swear to keep the secrets of the Dark Lotus Syndicate. I bind myself to your traditions, your brotherhood, and your ways.” The words flow easier than I expected, maybe because they’re coming straight from my gut rather than any script. “My blood is your blood. Your interests are my interests. I’ll protect our secrets with my life, and stand with my brothers and sisters against any who would harm us.”

The Syndicate members around us nod in approval. The Latin chant rises again, stronger this time. “Sanguinem nostrum, vinculum nostrum.”

Malcolm raises his hand for silence. “Your oath is accepted. Now choose who will take your place among us.”

I scan the faces around me, lingering on Atlas’s bruised features, then Ambrose’s expectant smirk as he takes that confident step forward. His chest is already puffing up with pride.

“No one.” The word cuts through the silence like a knife. “I’m keeping my membership.”

14

QUINN

Ambrose’s eyes go wide,his lips parting in shock. The sight would be almost comical if there wasn’t so much at stake. My shoulder throbs where they burned off my marker, but the pain only fuels my focus. I can see the exact moment his brain catches up with my words—keeping my membership—and his hand moves toward his gun.

But I’m already speaking again, the words tumbling out before he can recover or make a move. My heart pounds so hard I can barely hear myself over the rush of blood in my ears. This is the moment everything hinges on. If I hesitate, if I stutter, if I show even a hint of weakness, it’s all over.

“I hereby invoke my first votum.”

The words ring out across the cemetery, clear and strong despite the nerves building up inside me. Around us, the Syndicate members go absolutely still. Malcolm’s eyes gleam with something that might be respect or might be fury, and it’s impossible to tell how this is going to go.

I force myself to look only at Atlas as I continue speaking. If I let myself focus on anything else—the guns still trained on him, the way Ambrose’s face is twisting with rage, or the dozen other ways this could go wrong—I might lose my nerve.

But Atlas’s gaze locks with mine, and I see the moment he realizes what I’m doing. A flash of fear crosses his face, not for himself but for me.

Always for me.

I just paid in literal blood and pain for this membership. For this moment. For this one chance to turn everything around. My father’s voice echoes in my head—his lessons about power, about sacrifice, about never showing weakness.

About using every hint of an advantage, no matter the cost.

Well, I’m about to use every single advantage I’ve got. The words are already forming on my tongue, and I know there’s no going back after this. But then, Ambrose made that decision the moment he took Atlas. I only reaffirmed it when I decided he was worth any price to get back.

The Syndicate members tense slightly, waiting. I understand as well as they do that a votum is sacred. Inviolable. The entire foundation of their brotherhood rests on this one absolute rule—when a member calls for aid through a votum, everyone must help.

No exceptions.

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