The thumping beatof a Kendrick Lamar song fills the silence as we drive the darkened county roads to Dyersville, all lost in our own heads after that unexpected phone call from Gideon. The tension between us has been thickening with every mile to the point that it’s damn near suffocating. The proverbial elephant in the room has a name; one that formerly commanded respect.
Daniel Powers.
My father used to be a big-shot investment banker, revered for his ability to turn hundreds into thousands, thousands into millions. Millions into tens of millions. Then he lost it all.
The money.
The respect.
His family.
The idyllic household I grew up in turned out to be a sham, and when my dad fell from grace, everything imploded. My mom walked out. I haven’t spoken to my father since. My sister is soft and still takes his calls, but it’s only out of pity for the man who gambled away his future.
Ourfuture.
I doubt he contemplated how his greed would affect his children while he was stepping outside the bounds of his orders within the Invictus. What he did wasn’t a betrayal, per se–that distinction being the only reason he’s still breathing– but there were still consequences that followed. His position within the society saved him from facing legal recourse for his slew of white-collar crimes, but there was no escaping the social backlash.
It’s a small mercy that most in the upper echelon of the Invictus are too polite to sneer in our faces, allowing us to pretend as if we still have wealth and status amongst them. Doesn’t mean I don’t hear their whispers the moment our backs are turned. The only thing that’ll silence them is my own successful ascension, which is now a necessity to secure my future since my family name has been sullied.
All things considered, my father got off easy when he was recused from his position and permitted to continue serving the Invictus in a lesser capacity. The society isn’t known for showing mercy to those who step out of line.
I adjust my grip on the steering wheel, feeling the familiar tightness of the scarred skin on my palm as I flex it against the leather.
Blood in, blood out.
That’s the mantra my friends and I repeated when we dripped blood from our palms onto the stone in the crypt, completing our initiation ritual. We were just fourteen when we bound ourselves to the Invictus, solidifying our triad and setting forth on the path to become Kings, as our fathers were before us. As our sons will be after us, so long as we succeed in claiming our place.
We swore an oath that night to uphold the fundamental tenets of the society.Unyielding Loyalty; not to one person, but to the Invictus above all else.Unwavering Obedience; to followorders without question, trusting each to be for the good of the whole. We understood that we were committing ourselves to a lifetime of allegiance, and that once we were initiated, the only way to sever ties with the Invictus would be through death.
Blood in, blood out.
Of course, membership in the country’s oldest secret society also comes with its fair share of perks. Once an initiate completes their trials– the extent of which depends on the rank they aspire to reach– they’re granted limitless wealth, connections, and power in exchange. The Invictus has its hands in everything, from banking to media, real estate to politics… they’ve been pulling the strings behind the scenes for centuries, quite literally shaping the face of our country as we know it. Their reach spreads far and wide, and every individual member has their own orders to follow, ensuring their contribution to the structure as a whole.
Ford’s old man is fulfilling his current order as a state senator, furthering the Invictus’ agenda through his political moves. My father carried out his orders by controlling a sizable portion of the country’s wealth, directing the economy however the Invictus saw fit. Gideon’s proclivities are on the seedier side of things, so his orders involve dealing in drugs, weapons, and other less-than-legal trades. He controls a flourishing criminal empire, but even that kind of power doesn’t make him untouchable.
A couple months ago, the Kings received an anonymous order from within the Invictus that targeted someone close to us. We were directed to accept or refuse before the identity of the target would be revealed, and assuming it was a test, we accepted without batting an eye. We’ve never refused an order, and we weren’t about to start. We understand that sacrifices are sometimes necessary for the greater good.
Acceptance of an order can’t be rescinded, so once we found out we’d be setting up Gideon Romero to take a fall, we had no choice but to follow through. Not that we had any hesitation in doing so. Raf has always despised his old man– it’s never been a question ofifhe’ll take him down, butwhen– so it felt kismet to have the opportunity fall in our laps the way it did. Whoever Gideon pissed off within the upper echelon of the Invictus obviously knew what they were doing in coming to us.
It was supposed to be simple. Clean. Intercept a weapons shipment, have it conveniently go missing, and plant just enough suspicion that Gideon got greedy and sold it to someone he shouldn’t have. Ford worked his magic on the back end to bury the Romero family wealth in shadow accounts, preventing Gideon from simply replacing the shipment to avoid answering for it. He should’ve been left with no choice but to report the loss to the Invictus and face the consequences.
We should’ve known he’d find another way. Gideon Romero is just as savvy as he is ruthless, and he didn’t get where he is today without always having a contingency plan in place. While it remains to be seen exactly what that plan is, one thing’s clear after his phone call– if we don’t change course and play along, we’re well and truly fucked.
Which is why we’re currently bound for the dilapidated warehouse in Dyersville so Raf can unleash his inner demons through unrestrained violence.
“Did you hear back from Benny yet?” Raf snarls from the passenger seat, hooking his chin over his shoulder to glare at Ford in the back.
Ford was tasked with contacting the organizer of the fights as we piled in the Escalade to leave campus, but all I’ve seen him do since we hit the road is dip into his liquor stash and catch a buzz.
“Yep, got you in,” Ford quips. “You’re the main event, fighting some guy named Ramsey.”
“Never heard of him,” I mutter, frowning.
“Doesn’t matter,” Raf grumbles as he reaches back to steal the bottle of whiskey dangling from Ford’s fingers. He brings it to his lips and takes a long swig.
“The fuck it doesn’t,” I scoff, flickering him a sideways glance as I tighten my grip on the steering wheel. “We need to pull his stats, figure out his weaknesses. You can’t just go in there swinging blind.”
“Fucking watch me,” Raf growls, wiping his mouth off on a forearm as he passes the bottle back to Ford.
