Bride by Initiation: Secret Society Mafia Marriage Pact (The Underworld Book 1)
Bride by Initiation: Chapter 9

Killing isn’t something new to me, but ending a man’s life during a fight isn’t part of the sport I’ve spent my life perfecting.

I’m a champion boxer. I respect the rules and structure. I thrive within them.

Here, none of that exists.

The beaten, bloody man who’s ready to kill me stands on the other side of the line. He’s a few inches shorter, a bit more muscular, and has snake tattoos all over his chest.

He’s exhausted and struggling for air, yet there’s no doubt he’ll do everything he can to make sure he’s the one standing at the end of our encounter.

A shrill whistle is blown, and before I can even comprehend what it means, his fist slams into my jaw. His other one pounds into my belly, knocking the wind out of my lungs.

I stumble back and almost lose my footing. I regain my balance, and he charges at me, but I step out of his reach at the last second.

My father’s voice fills my head. ‘Forget the rules.’

The animal within me wakes up. This isn’t a boxing match. This is a fight. The only way to win is to shed as much of your enemy’s blood as possible.

I crouch down, assessing him, attempting to anticipate his next move. He roars while lunging at me.

I swing as hard as I can, landing a punch on his jaw. His head whips to the side, and his blood sprays across the floor. I follow up with another swing to his gut, making solid contact.

He gasps and leans over.

I grab his head with both hands and then shove my knee into his face, and his nose cracks.

The excitement in the crowd grows. It feeds my adrenaline, pushing me to not think about anything but survival. I jab my fingers into his eyes, and a painful sound flies out of him.

‘Kill him! Kill him! Kill him!’ the crowd chants.

He falls to his knees, and I kick him as hard as I can in the temple.

His body goes limp, and he thuds to the ground. Dirt flies into the air.

The audience gets louder.

‘Get up!’ I order, ready to pounce on him again, but he doesn’t move. I remain in fight mode until I realize a new chant fills the room.

‘One! One! One!’

Byrne rushes out and grabs my arm.

I shove him, unable to let anyone touch me. Right now, everyone is the enemy.

‘Sit!’ he screams over the crowd, and points to the metal chair.

I snap out of it and obey, grateful for the moment to rest.

The same woman who gave me the pair of shorts holds a water bottle to my lips.

Byrne instructs, ‘Drink it!’

I don’t argue, and the liquid slides down my throat.

Byrne screams in my ear, ‘One down. Don’t let up, Sean. Whatever you do, don’t let up.’

The air’s so thick, I can barely breathe. My hand has started to swell, but I can’t worry about it now.

Byrne shouts, ‘Two’s ready, lad.’

I glance over at my new opponent and try not to freak out. He’s huge. I assume he’s 350 pounds of muscle and eats children for breakfast.

Jesus. He looks like Goliath.

He drops his pants, and a woman hands him gold shorts. He puts them on and then tears off his shirt and shoes.

His face and chest are covered in burn scars, and what look like healed-over claw marks run down his legs. He roars and pounds his chest, pinning his scowl on me.

The crowd goes crazy, chanting, ‘Fight! Fight! Fight!’

The bell rings.

Byrne slaps my cheeks. ‘Stay focused, lad. Don’t let him intimidate you.’

I jump up, crack my neck, and step to the line.

The shrill whistle explodes in the air. My enemy pounces toward me, but I’m faster than him.

I duck out of the way and sweep my leg against his shin, catching him off guard.

He falls to the ground face-first, and a dust cloud rises three feet in the air.

The audience yells louder and claps.

I jump over the beast, and grip his ponytail as tight as possible. I slam his head into the dirt, slide my hand under his chin, and yank it toward me as fast as possible.

A crack fills the air, and his eyes roll. His heavy head goes limp in my hold.

I release it and jump up, pumping my fist in the air.

‘Two! Two! Two!’ the crowd screams.

Byrne pulls me to the chair as six men work to remove the mammoth corpse. When they finally get him up, the crowd parts, and then they all disappear.

The woman gives me more water.

Byrne rubs my shoulders and shouts in my ear, ‘Two down! Eleven to go!’

I move my mouth away from the bottle. ‘Eleven?’ Water drips down my chin.

‘Drink,’ he orders, pointing.

I repeat, ‘Eleven?’

‘Aye. Your bid number is thirteen. We never have thirteen. No one makes it. But you’re going to, lad. Now, drink,’ he demands.

The woman moves the bottle back to my mouth.

My chest tightens, but I drink.

The crowd chants, ‘Fight! Fight! Fight!’

I try to take a few deep breaths as I glance over at my next victim.

He’s shorter than me, and I suspect he’s faster. He’s a pretty boy with blond hair and blue eyes. He’s muscular, but it’s from gym equipment, and I suspect he spends most of his days at the country club.

The bell rings, and we step to the line.

It’s not even a battle. One hit, and he falls on his hands and knees. Within seconds, I end his life.

Over and over, I kill each of my opponents until Byrne finally states, ‘Twelve. Ya got one left, lad.’

Out of breath, swollen, and low on energy, I drink some water and stare at the final man who stands in the way of my life.

Blood and sweat drip off me. My knuckles are split open, and my foot is shaking from kicking hard without a shoe to protect it.

My opponent’s back is toward me. He drops his pants, puts on a black pair of shorts, removes his shirt and shoes, then spins toward me.

We lock gazes, and my pulse skyrockets. Diesel Conway, a boxer I’ve fought too many times to count, clenches his jaw in recognition. His dark eyes glow with the same killer instinct I’m sure I have in mine.

Over the years, we’ve traded wins and losses against one another. His skills match mine, but we’ve always stuck to the rules and structure of the boxing world.

Now, none of that matters. Diesel clearly wants to be the one breathing when this is over. And he’s fresh, while I’m exhausted from killing twelve other men.

The bell rings, and we step to the line. Neither of us tear our focus off the other.

The moment the whistle sounds, we fall into a familiar rhythm.

We each get a few punches in, but then I hear my father’s voice again. ‘This isn’t a boxing match, Sean. Time to fight dirty.‘

I lunge at Diesel and grip his throat, squeezing as tight as I can.

He tries to pull my hands off him, and I knee him in the groin. He sputters, but I don’t let up. I keep my grip tight, then headbutt him in the temple.

His body goes limp, but I don’t release him. I can’t take any risks. The weight of his body becomes too heavy, and we slump to the ground, but I maintain my hold on him until Byrne tries to tear me off him.

‘No!’ I shout, staring at Diesel’s wide, dead eyes.

‘It’s over, lad! He’s gone!’ Byrne insists.

Another guy steps on my other side, and he and Byrne eventually pry my hands off Diesel.

The crowd turns deafening again, chanting, ‘Thirteen! Thirteen! Thirteen!’

Byrne hauls me to my feet and holds up my arm. It’s only when they remove Diesel from the circle and a chair is brought behind me, that I realize I killed thirteen men.

Sweat and blood pool at my feet. I don’t know how many hours I’ve been here. The woman holds water for me to drink while Byrne massages my shoulders. Exhaustion and inflammation take over my body in a matter of minutes.

Relief mixes with dread. I made it, but what’s next? Nothing ever seems straightforward with The Underworld.

Byrne hands me another bottle of water, and my ears ring. The crowd’s cheering intensifies, and no one leaves. The energy in the room is as electric now as when I was fighting.

Byrne’s face is full of pride. He pats me on the back. ‘Your dad would be proud, lad.’

An alarm goes off. It’s four quick bursts. The crowd goes silent.

A voice comes over a microphone, announcing, ‘The bid is granted.’

The crowd shouts in jubilation.

Adrenaline fills me, but I still don’t know what the bid means. Yet I’m not dead, and this test is over.

The scent of blood, sweat, and beer swirls around me, making it harder for my lungs to draw in breath.

I assume it’ll be time to leave, but another alarm sounds.

Three long beeps blare through the room, and the crowd quiets again.

My sweat cools on my skin, and I shiver. The hairs on my arms rise, and I glance at Byrne in question.

His forehead creases in worry.

The crowd parts.

Four men drag Brax into the ring. He tries to fight them, but it’s only making it worse.

One pulls a knife out and holds it to his throat, and he immediately freezes. We lock gazes and my gut sinks.

What the hell is he doing here?

He gives me his I’m-sorry look, and I curse myself. I never once made sure he, or anyone else for that matter, wasn’t following me. And I know this isn’t good. They told me to come alone.

John steps forward. The silence in the room is deafening until he breaks it by saying in his Irish accent, ‘You were told not to bring anyone here.’

‘I didn’t bring him,’ I carefully state.

‘Then how did he get here?’

I don’t say anything.

‘You weren’t careful,’ John accuses.

I continue to stay silent.

He takes a pocket knife out of his jeans and opens it. He steps before me and holds it in front of my face. ‘You do the honors.’

‘The honors of what?’ I question, even though I know deep down what he wants me to do.

John orders, ‘If you didn’t bring him, and you don’t want him here, then get rid of him. Slit his throat.’

My insides quiver. I don’t look at Brax.

As beaten as my body is, I square my shoulders and lift my chin, standing as tall as possible. I step closer to John. In a loud voice, I declare, ‘No. I vouch for this man.’

A gasp fills the crowd.

John sarcastically chuckles, ‘You vouch for him?’

‘Yeah. I vouch for him,’ I repeat.

Tense silence fills the air between us.

Byrne interjects in a stern but respectful voice, ‘He hit thirteen. He won the bid.’

John snaps his head toward him. ‘He didn’t follow directions.’

‘I did,’ I insist.

John jabs me in the chest. ‘You were careless.’

‘He still hit thirteen,’ Byrne states.

The crowd starts chanting ‘Thirteen! Thirteen! Thirteen!’ so loudly, I don’t know what to make of it.

Another alarm sounds. This time, it rings for five full seconds.

Another hush falls over the crowd, and a different section parts.

A tall woman with curled long, dark hair and a ruby-encrusted red mask over her eyes and nose steps forward. She wears a matching strapless cocktail dress and stilettos. She confidently struts toward us and glances up when she stops in front of me. She reaches for my chin and holds it authoritatively so I’m forced to look at her.

I stare silently into her hazel eyes, unsure who she is but understanding she has power. And I’m not a God-fearing man, but I pray she’ll give me some mercy. There’s no way I’m killing Brax, but I’m unsure how we’ll get out of here alive if I don’t.

She tilts her head, studying me. Then she says with an Italian accent, ‘You’re the spitting image of him.’

My heart beats faster. It’s surreal to be in a world where so many people seem to know my father. It makes me feel like I barely know him. I didn’t used to think that, but I’m starting to question everything I did know.

I ask, ‘You knew him?’

She shakes her head, replying, ‘No. It was before our time. But my parents did, and I’ve seen photos.’

‘Who are your parents?’ I question.

Her lips curve slightly. ‘That’s not a question for you to ask.’

‘What question should I ask?’ I retort.

Another moment passes before she replies, ‘They said you have your father’s humor. I guess they were right.’

I don’t know what I said that struck her as funny, but I say, ‘Some say I do.’

She nods. ‘I suppose you do.’

Silence ensues, and my chest tightens.

She steps closer and curls her finger. I lean closer and she whispers in my ear, ‘Do you think your father’s position allows you to not abide by the rules?’

I pull back so my face is in front of hers, answering, ‘No. I do not. I was careless coming here. I admit it. I was thinking about making it on time, and I apologize. It will never happen again. But I can assure you, I can vouch for this man.’

She tilts her head and inquires, ‘Why do you have so much loyalty for him?’

I sternly repeat, ‘I vouch for him.’

She steps back and glances over at Brax. Her gaze travels from the top of his head to his feet and back up. She smirks. ‘Granted, he’s sexy in a rough way, but so are others. Why are you vouching for him?’

‘I know who he is,’ I say without hesitation.

She raises a brow. ‘You know who he is?’

‘Yes.’

‘Ah. You’re a foolish one.’

‘Why is that?’

She glances at Brax again, then pins her gaze back on me. ‘You think you know people, but I can assure you, you do not.’

My mouth turns dry. Before John entered the scene, I would’ve said I knew everybody close to me, but now there seem to be secrets, possibly lies, and I don’t know what to think.

Her eyes brighten, but sadness laces her voice. ‘Ah. I see. I’ve spoken a truth, and you’re unable to deny it.’

I stand straighter. I assert, ‘I can vouch for this man, and I will not kill him. If you must, take my head and let him go.’

‘You would rather be killed than kill him?’ she questions.

My heart beats faster, my pulse pounding between my ears. I nod, affirming, ‘I would rather you attempt to kill me.’

Her lips twitch. ‘Attempt?’

‘Do you believe I’d go out without a fight?’

She studies me for a long time, and the crowd circled around us deathly quiet.

She finally smiles, then warns, ‘Those who vouch for the uninvited choose a different path.’

It’s another riddle full of confusion. I admit, ‘I don’t understand what that means.’

She glances again at Brax, then turns her attention back to me, challenging, ‘Are you sure you want a different path, Sean O’Malley Jr.?’

I don’t know what the different path means. All I know is there’s no way I’m killing Brax. So I nod, and in a loud voice shout, ‘I vouch for this man.’

The crowd gasps.

A look of approval crosses her expression, along with something else. But then it dawns on me what it means. Maybe it’s the mask hiding part of her face, but I didn’t immediately see it. Yet I know what it is. It’s pure sadistic evil. I’ve seen it before on men, and a few women, but she surely has it.

She snaps her fingers toward Brax.

The men release him and push him toward me. He stumbles, replaces his footing, then stands next to me.

She gives him another once-over and praises, ‘At least you vouch for a man who seems to have…’ She tilts her head, looking him over again, and continues, ‘Shall we say, benefits for the ladies?‘

I try not to smile. Part of me wants to laugh as I strike her comments as odd for the situation. Instead, I reiterate, ‘I vouch for him.’

She steps back farther. ‘Then he’s your responsibility. Go home, Sean O’Malley Jr. Heal. Your bid is secure. But remember, you’ve selected another path.’

She turns to the crowd and shouts, ‘He will now compete for an initiation with rings.’

The crowd erupts, deafening my ears once more. This time, a chill consumes me, digging deeper into my bones than ever before.