Total pages in book: 331
Estimated words: 315585 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1578(@200wpm)___ 1262(@250wpm)___ 1052(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 315585 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1578(@200wpm)___ 1262(@250wpm)___ 1052(@300wpm)
A Lord is required to produce an heir. You have to pay your debt to the society, and to them, there’s nothing better than another body to pledge their loyalty.
“Son?”
I take a deep breath before I see my father now standing in the hallway outside my cell. His hands shoved into the pockets of his dress slacks.
“Eat,” he commands.
I look away from him, and my eyes scan the concrete walls. Tallies cover the surface. More than I can count.
They make my chest ache. Years and years of being caged makes you go insane. I’ve been in here for maybe three days and I already feel my mind slipping.
My father takes a step back from the bars and whistles. A Lord steps forward, unlocks the door, and enters.
There’s no use in fighting. I need to save what little energy I have. He storms over to me, grabs my hair, and yanks me to my feet, only to throw his fist into my face.
The blow knocks me into the wall, and I fall to my knees. The room tilts and I blink rapidly to get my vision to focus.
I refuse to fight back. That’s what they want, and I know this isn’t the main event.
No. It’ll be a big show in front of other Lords. This is just to make me tired, and I won’t give them the very little energy I have left.
“Take care of him,” my father orders before I see his blurry shoes turn and disappear down the hall.
My breath is taken away when a boot kicks me in the side, knocking me to my back.
A sound that has my ears ringing makes me flinch. I groan, lifting my heavy head to see I’m center stage in the arena at Carnage. Two stories, the stadium seating on the upper level lined with Lords.
Knew it.
There’s always a bigger picture with the Lords. The cell was to wear me down. Drain me of my energy. It was a mind game that my father wanted to use to his advantage.
I was beaten until I passed out and relocated. A quick assessment of my body tells me I’m in bad shape.
It’s hard to breathe. Think I’ve got a broken rib. A collapsed lung?
Fuck, maybe I’m just being dramatic, and everything is intensified due to lack of food and dehydration.
I’ve never had that fighter mentality like my brothers. I’d rather just fuck. But no, that’s not allowed. Three fucking years, I can’t get my dick sucked because the Lords want to control every aspect of my life.
Leaning my head back, I look up to my bloody and cuffed wrists. At least I’m no longer naked like I was in the cell. I’m dressed in jeans and boots.
“Kashton Landon Pierce.” A man’s voice rings out through the arena. “You have been called to serve. Do you wish to proceed?”
I groan but manage a nod. “I do, sir.” As if we have a choice. We don’t. They want us to willingly submit—to be their fucking puppets. Nothing about our lives is by chance. Everything is by design. One that they make sure benefits them.
“You may proceed,” he states.
The sound of rolling wheels gets closer to me, and Devin walks up the steps onto the platform I’m displayed on. The Lords are always putting on a performance. A Spade brother is no exception. If anything, ours is meant to be bigger. Bloodier.
We’re their entertainment. Rich old bastards with too much time on their hands.
“If you wanted to give me a physical, all you had to do was ask,” I try to joke, but my voice is hoarse from lack of communication during the days I was locked in the cell.
The corner of his lips twitch as he starts to fill the syringe from the vial.
I tense, knowing exactly what it is. Adrenaline. It’ll last about twenty minutes and then I’ll fucking crash.
Looking up, I fist my hands to see if I even have feeling in them. Thankfully I do. I haven’t been hanging here for long.
Devin grabs a hold of a rag and shoves it into my mouth. I have enough time to bite down on it before he stabs me in the chest, momentarily taking my breath away.
My wrists are freed, and I drop to the floor. Ripping the cloth from my mouth, I grind my teeth, kneeling on my hands and knees.
Fuck! I’m gasping for a breath when a knife is dropped in front of me. “This is all you get,” a Lord announces. “Good luck.”
I’m surprised they even gave me a weapon.
The side door opens and a man enters the arena. He’s around my height, at six five, but he’s bigger in overall size. Probably has fifty pounds on me. I learned at a young age that it’s not the size that matters but the speed.