Page 2 of Don't You Pucking Dare

The Elders turn to each other, and something passes between them— a current of dark understanding. They don't need words. They know exactly what kind of monster they're looking at.

A single nod seals the deal.

"Accepted." The words hit me like a shot of pure adrenaline. "Succeed, and we’ll talk, but if you fail..." A low chuckle ripples through the masks. "Well, you’ll end up just like your brother. Step aside."

I move to the wall, feeling their eyes track me like predators. The air is thick with anticipation— or maybe that's just the taste of victory on my tongue. The red masks mark the true inner circle—those who've proved themselves through blood and loyalty. Plain black for the rest of us, whether it’s an errand boy or an initiate. A hierarchy built on violence and power, with tendrils reaching far beyond this ivy-covered facade. College is just where they recruit, finding men young enough to shape but old enough to understand the price of power. At this point, I don’t care if they misjudged me because of my brother. If he failed this initiation, that shame is on him. I’m here, and they’re willing to give me a chance. After all that digging I did on our common enemy, it’s going to pay off.

Some poor bastard takes my place in front of the Elders, but I barely hear him. My mind is already racing ahead, plotting every delicious detail.

Getting the green light is just the beginning. Now comes the fun part— making little Miss Lola Kemper's life a living hell. And I'm going to enjoy every fucking second of it.

Can I pull it off? These masked psychopaths will turn my life into their own personal torture porn if I fail. Even my ego has its limits, though admitting that makes my skin crawl.

Failure means more than just losing my shot at power. It means proving everyone right—that I'm just another Black brother who couldn't cut it, who didn't have what it takes. The thought sits like poison in my gut. I've spent too long building this darkness inside me, feeding it, letting it grow. There's no going back to who I was before.

A thunderous "No!" rips through the chamber. One of the Elders shoots to his feet, his rage filling the space. I assume that’s Noah voice. I confirm by the way he moves into the guy’s face. "You think we would be impressed by something so fucking stupid?"

The red-headed candidate collapses, blubbering like a baby. Pathetic. Whatever weak-ass plan he offered must've really pissed them off. The mix of their fury and his terror creates something toxic in the air, making my nose wrinkle in disgust.

"Get him the fuck out!"

Another Elder lifts his hand, commanding silence. "His father and grandfather's contributions deserve consideration. One more chance." His voice drops to a deadly whisper. "Place him at the end of the line. He has until the final candidates finish to devise something worthy. If not..." The threat hangs in the air like a garrote wire.

Two red masks drag the sobbing mess across the floor, dumping him beside me. The stench rolling off him— fear, sweat, and what smells suspiciously like piss— makes mystomach turn. He's shaking so hard I can hear his teeth chattering, completely fucking useless.

His eyes find mine, desperate, begging for help like a drowning man. As if I'd throw him a lifeline. He's everything I despise— weak, spineless, born into power he doesn't deserve. No hunger, no edge, no darkness. Just another trust fund baby playing at being dangerous.

The faster they throw him out, the better. Some people were made for power. Others? They're made to kneel.

They drag him back before his time's up. He's stammering, begging— a symphony of desperation that makes my lip curl.

"You have brought shame to your family name." The Elder's voice cuts through his pleas like a blade. "Without us, you are nothing. Less than nothing. Now get him the fuck out of here."

His voice echoes down the corridor as they drag him away, then cut off with a sickening finality before the outer door opens. Whatever they just did to him... well, better him than me.

The thought snakes through my mind— what happens if I fail? Will I run, try to build some meaningless life far from here? Or take the coward's way out, another rich boy's suicide in the papers?

The night air hits my face as we're finally released, and I laugh under my breath. No. I'm not going to fail. I'm going to crush Rick Kemper's precious daughter, watch his world burn, and take everything the Reapers can give me.

I already know where she sleeps at night.

And monsters never lose sleep over destroying angels.

The scariest part? Some small voice whispers that doing this might kill whatever's left of my humanity. But maybe that's exactly what being a monster requires.

Chapter 2

The walls in Section F are always blank, like someone scrubbed away all the personality along with the drug residue. My mom sits in her usual corner, lost in whatever reality the TV's selling her today. The doctors call it progress— moving from meth-induced chaos to this medicated emptiness. I'm not sure which version of her hurts more to watch.

"Hey, Mom." I settle into the chair beside her, already missing her even though I haven't left for college yet.

She turns, smiling lazily from whatever pills they've got her on today. "Must be Wednesday," she says, almost annoyed. Her eyes are rolling again.

I try to keep my voice light. "They up your meds?"

"You're so beautiful, honey." The words slur slightly, but the truth in them is real. It's always been real, even when she was at her worst, cooking meth in our trailer while I played my cello to drown out reality. "But that’s because you look just like me."

That’s the real her, too. Any compliment to me is meant for her because she doesn’t love anyone more than herself.

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