Page 54 of A Light in the Darkness
A brotherhood.
It’s not the first time I’ve heard of the word in this context.
Like it’s been called upon, I remember a dinner party my parents threw once, waiting at the top of the stairs for it to be over so Rhea and I could go down to eat. I’d heard a stranger call my father his brother, and he’d gotten angry, telling him he wasn’t an equal. I hadn’t realized then what that was about, but now the pieces make sense.
“What is the brotherhood?” I ask, studying his face.
He slams his head back against the headrest, clearly happy to reacquaint himself with luxury after however long he’s been hiding in squalor. He casts a glance at the other passengers. Violet is still passed out—I’d be worried she’s dead if she hadn’t moved around a few times in the last couple hours—and Kent is sleeping with his mouth open, snoring softly.
But the two of us are still awake, so I guess it’s true, what they say about there being no rest for the wicked.
“I just fucking told you. The brotherhood is our world. It’s our life—the system we were fucking bred to uphold.”
“What’s it called?”
“You want to Google it?” He laughs. “You won’t find anything. You wear the symbol on your skin, and you don’t even know the name of the fucking society?” He shakes his head, pushing up his sleeve to reveal on his forearm the same tattoo I have… the one I had inked on me before I moved to Costa Rica as their pawn. He traces the bird with his finger, focused on the details. “The Brotherhood of The Dove.”
It sounds too ridiculous to be true, but Wes isn’t grinning the way I imagine he would if he was simply fucking with me. “The Brotherhood of the Dove?” I huff a laugh that’s not amused. “I thought that was a fucking pigeon.”
“Same thing.” Wes smirks. “You want a history lesson?”
I don’t really, but I need to know more, so I gesture for him to carry on. “Ever heard of King Juan? Old fuck, not important, but what he did was important. He was a rich and powerful man, who did what rich and powerful men do. He organized feasts and parties to celebrate himself and flaunt his wealth. He created the Order of the Dove, and he had these lavish events with lots of food and wine and pussy, of course. He didn’t last long, since the news of his feasts traveled far, and people found out he was serving ‘pigeon’at these events.” He laughs and chases it with a swig from the whiskey bottle.
I mean, eating pigeon doesn’t appeal to me, but when your choices were basically various types of birds and herbs, what difference does it make? Turkey, chicken, pheasant, quail, pigeon? It’s all the same.
“Rumor has it, it wasn’t really pigeon he was feeding his guests.” Wes smirks. “Whether that’s true or not, men of a certain caliber should have never been seen indulging in such lowly vices. When the Brotherhood was born, they named themselves the Brotherhood of the Dove as an homage to the men who haveeclectic tastes.”
“As in…?”
“As in the exact types of people we cater to.” He shrugs, as if that really should have been obvious. And maybe it should have. “Some men like to hunt for their food. Some like to tenderize it first. Others like to play with it.”
Now I really am going to throw up. What he’s saying is revolting, and it makes my stomach sour with the bile inside. “Fucking cannibalism?”
“I mean, they make up a very small base of our clients, but I know they’re out there somewhere.” He doesn’t look nearly asbothered by the thought of cannibalism as he should, but I suppose it’s on me for being surprised.
“All of our clients have tastes that are frowned upon by what the outside world considersrightorjust. In the Brotherhood, all is welcome, as long as you’re willing to pay for it. You want a kid to raise? Sure, we’ve got them. You want a kid to use for other things? No problem. You want a slave who can clean your houseandlick the blood off your dick after you fuck her? We’ve got them.”
The revulsion must be evident on my face because he chuckles a little. “The Brotherhood was around for hundreds of years, back before women thought they were worth anything. Some things evolved with time, and others didn’t. But our fathers? They revolutionized it… theinternetrevolutionized it. My father clawed his way to the top as Grand Sovereign, and he brought yours along for the ride. You and me? The little foot soldiers?” He laughs, though I can tell even he isn’t finding humor in his words. “We’re as good as rats to them. Meanwhile, the Brotherhood—the wealthy, the elite, the people who pay for our services? They keep the whole thing afloat by feeding their monsters in secret.”
I’ve never cared much to think about how they built this system, but I suppose I should have. Knowing how something is built will only make it easier to dismantle it. Though, to be fair, dismantling is not strong enough a word for what I want to do to the prison they’ve crafted in plain sight.
“Our services will always be required because there will always be people willing to pay for them. We aren’t the monsters. They are.”
I shake my head, incredulous, as Wes shrugs. “We just provide the prey.”
Chapter thirty-three
Claire
The shrill ringing is so loud, I can’t even hear myself screaming. I’m not even sure if I am, anymore, because I’ve pressed my arms so tightly over my ears that I begin to think the ringing is in my head.
I don’t know if I should be relieved that I triggered the alarm or not. A fire alarm should mean first responders, which means freedom, but what if he beats them down here?
The spray that washes over my skin is cold, and rather than offering me comfort as the water usually does, it’s just one more thing contributing to the sensory overload about to combust within me. So, I close my eyes, shutting out the strobing red light, the dank walls that come into view as the alarm haze flashes over them, the horrid screeching in my ears. I focus only on the sprinklers as they splash over me, the water droplets beading on my skin.
I’m barely lucid, retreated so far into a dark, safe place in my head that I almost forget where I am. Maybe I even do forget a little bit, before the sudden jerking sensation, the falling feeling, jolts me awake.
The crash is loud enough to cut into the screeching alarm, and it knocks me off my feet as I’m pulled backwards with it, the chain around my neck tightening. For one horrifying minute, I think I’m being dragged upwards, that I’m about to strangle.
