Page 5 of The Stallion
With a mansion like this, you’d think he would splurge a little more on accessories.
My father had mentioned that the masks were solely used to keep the protégés’ identities confidential from one another, just in case one of them never made it through their tests.
Aside from that, they served no real purpose to the MUR.
With a shake of my head, I inhaled deeply as I pulled the mask down over my face, following Alec down the staircase to the mansion’s lower level. Once we’d reached the bottom, we turned down a long hall that led to an extravagant but dimly lit ballroom.
This was where most of the society’s formal events were held, including the five-year member gala that my parents were always required to attend together.
“Make me proud when you’re down there. Show everyone what it means to be a legacy, what name you represent, and whatever you fucking do. Do. Not. Hesitate. The targets are the problems that need correcting, and it’s your solemn duty to serve the brotherhood from this moment forward.”
With everystep I took toward the front of the room, my father's words ran through my head as I noticed that the other two revues were already present with their protégés.
Our masks were color-coded: red for Heaven Down Under, green for Temptations, and blue for us—Red Magic.
There was a rumor that the Slate family had more than just these three revues working for the MUR, but no one had seen them here for initiation, and we were the only three that initiated together.
Alec and I silently took our positions beside the other two revues, and from the corner of my eye, I noticed that Temptations had two protégés instead of one.
Interesting… I remember learning that each revue was restricted to one nomination per initiation session—
“Twins,” Alec whispered near my ear as if he sensed my confusion. “Normally, there’s only one protégé per revue to level the playing field. But this year, Temptations were granted leniency due to their uniquesituation.” He bent over my shoulder as he finished his sentence and placed his hand on the opposite side before kicking my legs out from under me.
Like a pile of bricks, I dropped to the ground, my knees slamming hard onto the floor from the force of my weight. I clenched my teeth at the pain, biting back a hiss and a few choice words I had for Alec.
I knew that part was coming. But fuck, it still hurt like a bitch.
“I see that the next round of Protégés made it right on time this evening.” A man dressed in an all-black Armani suit stated as he entered the room and approached us, his arms outstretched widelyin greeting. Dustin Slate. The reigning leader of the MUR. “It is my pleasure to welcome you all to the MUR Manor. I assume we all know and understand why we’re here tonight?”
Don’t speak; nod your understanding—shut the fuck up, as Alec would say so eloquently—
“Excellent. Then let’s get this session underway, shall we?” Dustin clapped his hands together before snapping his fingers in command. Two brawny men appeared from the shadows, one of whom slammed down a basic metal chair in front of us before exiting the room together. I rolled my eyes at the dramatics—thank fucking god for the masks.“As you should already be aware, we love tradition in our organization, and what better way to uphold tradition than by initiating a legacy?”
So much for subtlety.
I could feel my palms turning slick with sweat the longer I knelt, anticipating my first kill—wondering who it would be and how much longer I’d have to wait to do the damn thing.
“Spilling blood is a requirement for initiation and secures your membership within our organization. If you can’t stomach the work we do to ensure that our city remains a thriving and lucrative one, then you’re not worthy of our time or payroll.” Dustin stated bluntly, pulling a handgun out from behind his back.
I’m ready. So fucking ready.
A door slammed open against the wall at the far end of the room, the sound echoing throughout the half-empty space. My attention was immediately drawn to where a body was being hauled in, kickingand screaming. The individual’s voice was muffled by whatever was covering or stuffed inside their mouth.
“Here we go… My favorite part of the evening.” Dustin chuckled menacingly as his gaze followed his errand boys across the room to the chair they had placed in front of us earlier. The husky body of a suited man was aggressively shoved down and restrained without the need for further instruction.
Dustin’s bodyguards and mansion staff were not members of the organization but were held to the same standard of secrecy. Everyone was paid well, so there was generally no reason to betray the MUR—at least there hasn’t been yet.
In the limited light, I could see that a ball gag had been strapped across the target’s mouth, smothering whatever he had to say. And yet, it still didn’t stop him from trying. The man had one hell of a fight left in him, I’ll give him that—pissed off and practically frothing at the mouth with feral rage toward his captors.
Seeing this man on full display made me more than willing to kill now and ask questions later. I was born for this work, I was ready to pull the fucking trigger, and they didn’t need to tell me twice…
“Everything we do is for the good of the city. Don’t get me wrong; they will fight, cry, and try to guilt you into believing in their innocence. However, the MUR does its research thoroughly before making a move on anyone. Every target has been proven guilty of the crime they have committed. Don’t doubt Dustin’s judgment. It’ll be the last thing you ever do.”
My father repeatedly reassured me that what we were doing was right, no matter how wrong it may have seemed.
Dustin Slate was the only man you never questioned—unless you wanted to switch places with the assigned targets yourself.
The first year of learning about the Men Under Revue was the hardest, as I had to study in depth in order to understand the organization's purpose and why it was established. In doing so, I also had to learn a new moral code of ethics—one that wasn’t explicitly black or white.
