Bride by Initiation: Secret Society Mafia Marriage Pact (The Underworld Book 1)
Bride by Initiation: Chapter 6

Several Days Later

Twelve men of all shapes, sizes, and colors stare back at me from the photos. It’s Sunday night, and I spent the weekend fixated on the images to the point I’ve memorized things others probably wouldn’t ever notice about them.

Each man has a set of seven photos, spiral bound together. The first is a close-up of their face. The second and third are photos of their naked bodies, both front and back. The fourth is two side-by-side images of their ears. The fifth is the bottom of their feet. The sixth is the inside of their mouth. In the seventh photo, their cock stands at attention, hard as a rock.

Their features are all different, but each man has the same evil glint in their eyes. It draws me in while sending chills down my spine.

No matter how many times I tell myself to close the binder and toss it in the trash, I can’t. I study every man until I know every mole, tattoo, scar, and imperfection. If I were blind, I could feel their sharp or rounded features in the dark and know which one is which.

Well, I’d know their number.

There are no names on the photos, only one through twelve. I’d be attracted to half of them if I saw them on the street. The others, I’d never give a second glance.

I still don’t know what Sylvia meant when she stated one of them would choose me and I would choose them. Yet the fact these men are naked in their photos, and one displays their erections, gives me the impression she’s insinuating I’ll be sleeping with someone in this binder.

That’s not happening.

Number six, a Middle Eastern man who’s one of the most well-endowed, stares back at me with his hazel eyes glowing, a confident expression, and a thin scar running from his eye to his chin.

I study the photo for several minutes, then mutter, ‘Gotcha!’

The end of his scar widens, and it’s a new detail I hadn’t noticed before. I study it another moment and add it to my mental list about number six.

My heart races faster, and I flip to the next man, unsure why I’m trying to memorize everything about these men.

I’ve already decided that I’m not going through with this bid or initiation ritual. As intrigued as I am, it sounds like a cult. Besides, there’s no proof they know anything about my father.

How did they know I want answers I can’t get from my dad?

It’s the lingering question I can’t figure out. No matter how hard I try to let it go, it’s the thing that keeps bringing me back to the photos.

Number seven’s Asian. His eyes hold a dark mystery. Evil flirts with his expression, but it’s borderline soft, as if he’s a bad boy but could be a true friend.

Don’t kid yourself, I scold myself.

I stare at his torso, then pick up my pen. I draw the shape of his birthmark, weaving around his abs as best as I can. I make several attempts to get closer to the one on him and finally move on.

Eight steals my breath. He always does. Everything about him reminds me of Sean. He wears his dirty-blond hair the same way, just slightly over his eye. I can almost see him shoving it to the side the way Sean does. His crooked nose screams it’s been broken, possibly multiple times. I smile every time I see it. Over the years, I’ve witnessed several of Sean’s fights where his nose has gotten smashed. It’s a fighter’s risk, and the scars on eight’s knuckles tell me he’s no stranger to landing punches on men.

I pause longer than I should on him until the butterflies in my stomach need to stop. To make myself suffer further, I pick up my phone. I scroll to Sean’s name and click on his picture.

My eyes drift from eight to Sean, over and over. I make mental notes on the differences between the two men, about things I can see in the photos and things I know about Sean without seeing a picture.

Eight has a scar on his chest, ripping through his nipple and stopping an inch from his belly button.

I’ve seen Sean shirtless enough to know he has a scar on the back of his shoulder in the shape of a half-moon.

Eight has a mole near his lip.

Sean has a mole on the top of his foot.

Eight’s arm sleeve is on his right arm.

Sean’s is on his left.

Eight has a snake tattoo on his lower back.

Sean has the O’Malley family cross across his entire back.

Eight appears tall but smaller than Sean.

Sean’s feet and hands are bigger, and I assume so is his cock. Not because of the stereotype about big hands and feet but because his erections have been pushed against my stomach too many times for me to count. And eight doesn’t have anything above average below the waist.

My eyes turn blurry from studying the binder, yet I can’t stop. I turn the page to number nine.

The doorbell rings, tearing me out of my haze. I turn and stare at it, frozen, unsure if I should let anyone in.

Is it them?

No, they would just let themselves inside.

It has to be family or a friend who has unannounced access.

There’s a loud knock. Sean’s voice rings out from the other side. ‘Zara, let me in.’

My pulse skyrockets.

What’s he doing here?

‘Zara!’ he orders, banging again.

I shut the binder, get up, and open a drawer. I shove the binder inside, shut the drawer, and step in front of the mirror.

I wince at my reflection. I showered in the morning and my hair air-dried. It’s a frizzy mess, and I have no makeup on.

It doesn’t matter.

‘Zara!’ Sean shouts.

‘Hold your horses,’ I reply, running my fingers through my hair before I step in front of the door. I fling it open. ‘What’s the emergency?’

He shoves past me, shuts the door, and locks it.

The hairs on my neck rise.

Sean grabs my hand and leads me to the sofa. ‘Sit.’

I obey, unsure what is happening.

‘Is anyone else here?’ he asks.

‘No. Why?’

‘Stay here.’ He gets up and searches my bedroom, then returns.

‘Why are you searching my house?’ I ask.

He releases a big breath. ‘Did you get any gifts?’

The binder flashes in my mind, but I lie. ‘Gifts? No.’

He clenches his jaw and goes to the window, staring down at the street.

‘Sean, you’re acting paranoid. What happened?’

He spins to face me. ‘John must have been in my apartment.’

My insides quiver. I ask, ‘Why do you believe that?’

‘There was a box with a bow left on my bed. This was in it.’ He comes over, pulls a piece of paper out of his pocket, unfolds it, and hands it to me.

A drawing of the skull branded on John, but with some flowers and feathers, along with gray and black shading, fills the sheet. The initials S.O. are on the corner.

My mouth turns dry. I glance up, unsure what this means.

Sean blurts out, ‘My dad drew it.’

‘How do you know?’

He points to the corner. ‘S.O. Sean O’Malley.’

‘That could be anyone,’ I declare.

He shakes his head. ‘No. It’s not. My mom and uncles confirmed my dad used to doodle this everywhere. He had this branded on his hand, in the same spot John has his. Except, before he died, his had colors just like this one.’

My stomach flips. I process what he’s saying, trying to understand it all.

Sean adds, ‘My dad used to sketch this everywhere he went. My mom and uncles wouldn’t lie about it.’

Why would his dad have the same mark as John?

Sean plops down next to me. ‘When did you talk to John last?’

‘Why?’

‘Don’t ask questions. Just answer mine, please,’ he pleads.

‘I haven’t had any contact with him since Shannon’s party.’

He assesses me.

‘Sean, what’s going on?’

‘What did he promise you?’

My chest tightens. I open my mouth, and Sean puts two fingers on my lips. He orders, ‘Don’t lie to me, Zara. Please. Just don’t lie.’ He slowly removes his hand.

My heart beats harder. I swallow hard and answer in a low voice, ‘Sean, I can’t discuss anything about my conversations with John.’

‘You can tell me,’ he insists.

I grapple with what my heart wants to do, but my fear leads. I insist, ‘I’m sorry, but I can’t discuss anything with you.’

‘You have to!’

‘No, I don’t. I can’t. I want to, but I can’t.‘

‘Zara—’

‘You tell me everything you know, and I’ll reconsider telling you what you want to know. But until you go first, I’m not budging,’ I assert.

He grits his teeth.

I point at him. ‘See. You won’t talk either, will you?’

He takes long breaths, keeping his challenging stare pinned on me.

Tense silence builds between us. The air turns thick from his toffee and bourbon vanilla cologne. I break the stare, lean closer, and grab his hand.

He glances down at it.

I scoot closer, softening my voice. ‘Tell me what your dad has to do with this.’

His eyes dart to my lips, then he sniffs hard. His expression reveals no emotion.

I put my hand on his cheek. ‘Sean, you can trust me. I won’t say anything to anyone. I promise.’

He snorts. ‘That’s rich, coming from the woman who won’t answer anything I ask her.’

‘Sean—’

He grabs my hand and pins it behind my back, then lunges forward.

I fall back on the couch and stare into his blazing greens.

He positions his face an inch from mine. His hot breath laces with mine, teasing me. His legs straddle my waist.

He yanks my hair with his other hand.

My breath catches. I can’t breathe, and adrenaline burns through my body.

He growls, ‘Don’t be a brat, Zara. I need you to tell me everything.’

I stay silent, unable to move, except for the butterflies in my gut waking back up and tormenting me.

‘What’s it going to take to get you to talk, Zara, huh?’ he murmurs in my ear, his lips grazing my lobe, sending a shock wave down my spine.

I shudder beneath him, my chest rising and falling faster.

‘Tell me everything, and I’ll give you whatever you want,’ he adds.

I’ve never felt so tempted in my life. The ache in my body grows to the point I feel dizzy. His scent somehow intensifies, flaring into my soul.

I open my mouth, but John’s voice comes at me from nowhere. ‘There is no speaking of The Underworld outside of us. You won’t ever get access if you tell anyone about our conversations now or in the future. The truth you seek will stay hidden. The riches set aside for you will stay buried. And all the power and control you don’t know you want will become someone else’s.’

Sean’s tongue teases my lobe and then he seductively asserts, ‘Don’t be a little brat. I’ll do multiple things if you want. Whatever you want. Just talk to me.’

‘I can’t,’ I manage to get out.

Sean tenses, putting his face over mine again, scowling with a rage I’ve only seen on him in the ring.

It scares me, and I take my free hand and push against his chest. ‘Get off me.’

He hesitates for a moment, then releases me, rolling to a seated position.

I rise and walk to the kitchen, needing some distance. I fill a wine glass with Merlot and take a long sip.

Then I open the fridge and take out a beer. I open it, then take it to him, suggesting, ‘Have a drink and relax for a minute.’

He glances at the bottle, then me, and stands. In a betrayed voice, he declares, ‘I thought we were friends.’

‘We are friends. Always have been, always will be.’

He shakes his head. ‘No. If you can’t tell me what I need to know, then we aren’t friends, Zara.’

My insides tremble. ‘Don’t say something so horrible.’

He cries out, ‘Then don’t keep things from me! Things I need to know, not just for me but for you!’

I rarely hear Sean raise his voice, and I’m momentarily taken aback. I replace my voice and ask, ‘What does that even mean?’

He steps forward, and I take several steps back until I’m against the wall. He pushes his body against mine and leers down at me, but worry laces his expression. His voice turns low, and he questions, ‘What do you think they want with you, Zara? Hmm?’

I open my mouth, but no words come out. It’s something I’ve never asked myself. I suddenly feel foolish for not considering it.

‘Ah. You can only think about whatever it is that they promised you,’ he states.

I shake my head. ‘No. I-I…’ I release an anxious breath.

His voice turns stern. ‘What did they promise you?’

I bite my lip to keep from speaking.

He drags his knuckles down the side of my arm, and I shiver. He murmurs, ‘Do you think they’d take a girl like you and not have any plans for you?’

The binder in my drawer pops into my mind, and I glance over at it.

Sean freezes.

My pulse pounds between my ears.

‘Why did you look over there?’ he questions.

‘No reason,’ I lie, but it comes out flat.

He stays planted against me, then turns his head, assessing the room.

My heart races so fast, I think I might faint.

He releases me and races toward the drawer.

‘Sean!’ I cry out.

He doesn’t stop. He yanks the drawer open, then goes still.

I chase after him, dropping the beer on the carpet, but I’m too slow to react.

He grabs the binder, flips through it, and his face pales, then turns bright red. He gets through several pages and then sets it down. Horror fills his expression.

My voice cracks. ‘It’s not what it looks like.’

In an angry voice, he admits, ‘I’m not sure what this is, but it’s nothing good.’

I grab the counter to steady myself, focusing my gaze on the pattern of the stone, unable to look Sean in the eye. Shame fills me, and I don’t know why. I’ve not done anything wrong, but the disappointment in his expression makes me feel like I have.

He softens his tone, ordering, ‘Tell me everything, Zara.’

Tears fill my eyes. I want to so badly, but the promise of things I don’t even know really exist keeps me from it. The quartz under my fingers turns blurry, and I reply, ‘I’m sorry. I can’t.’

Silence builds between us, and it tears at my heart. I still can’t look at him.

He finally warns, ‘Last chance. Tell me, and I’ll make sure you’re okay.’

For some reason, I laugh. It’s emotion-filled, crackling with tears.

He barks, ‘That’s funny?’

I stop laughing and force myself to look him in the eye. I shake my head and declare, ‘It’s hard for you to promise you can make sure I’m okay when you don’t even know what it is your father was involved in.’

Hurt fills his sharp features. His eyes turn to slits. He glares at me until I feel like I’ll melt into a puddle on the floor. Then he turns and goes to the door. He reaches for the doorknob.

I blurt out, ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for my statement to hurt you.’

He huffs. ‘Sure you did. But don’t worry. From here on out, you’re on your own.’