This didn't use to be theonlyform of order that our world had. Our fathers and their fathers before them had their own ways of trying to settle things. But those venerable institutions—the Bratva, the mafia, the cartels, the Yakuza, whoever—have limitations when dealing with traitors or broken contracts.
They have to consider all sorts of things before they act—the loyalty of their men and soldiers, for one. Their business interests. Various treaties.
The Black Court is not burdened with those things.
That was the whole point: five of us, from different mafia worlds, putting any rivalries aside to maintain order.
We use our private resources to stay apprised of anyone who's broken a blood oath, and we hold “court”, where those who’ve broken their sacred vows are brought before us for adjudication.
The guilty are given a choice: fight, or flight.
“Fight” means they choose either fists or one of the various weapons made available to them to fight one of us.
To the death.
The “flight” option is a chance for them to run for their freedom—through a winding stone labyrinth connected to our underground cathedral court, with one of us chasing them.
No one’s ever succeeded in either one.
The masks the five of us wear, funnily enough, were a last-minute thought, added on the very night we held our first adjudication back at Knightsblood. Now, they’ve become part of who we are, and of the myth behind the court. Here, we’re no longer who we are outside these walls. We’re no longer beholden to the last names that mark us, or the empires we’ll lead one day.
Here, we are only the masks.
The Hound. The Raven. The Wolf. The Bull. The Stag.
Right now,mymask—the bull’s visage with the curved horns and peering back eyes—is hot and clingy against my face. It feels like even the mask knows that tonight, it’s doing more than hiding my identity. Tonight, it’s a wall between the world and the warring emotions I’m sure are written in neon all over my face.
Across the cavernous cathedral space, the pre-trial party is beginning to unfold. Bodies writhe on couches, masked men and women teasing, moaning softly, and groaning in the low, flickering light.
There was a time not that long ago—though it feels likeyears agoat this point—when the five of us would be much more interested in this part of the evening’s festivities.
Now, we’re bored hosts idly watching the fun our guests are having without us.
The Hound, The Raven, and The Wolf are all “taken” now, without aparticleof interest in the array of female flesh on display tonight—the gorgeous women in masks, slowly disrobing, kissing, touching, dancing…fucking.
The Stag? I don’t know what the fuck his deal is these days, but he’s also thoroughly disinterested in the women around us. As if there’s something or someone else sucking up all his attention.
And me?
Well, I’ve also had a distinct lack of interest in any of this lately, in contrast to even a few months ago.
I blow air through my lips.
WasI interested? I mean,actuallyinterested? Or was I just so deep into a role I portrayed to everyone around me that Ibecamethat character?
This has been on my mind for the last few days, since I stormed out of Val’s.
I’ve been “straight” my whole life. At least, I’ve told myself I’m straight. I’vethoughtof myself as straight because, well, what else would I be? I've slept with women—lots of women—and it’s not like I spent my entire teen and adult life “forcing” myself to fuck girls. Over the last few days, that's brought a whole slew of questions into my head.
Among which is… Am Ibi?
I turn back, forcing myself to watch the scene unfolding across from me. Two women, masks covering the tops of their faces,sensually embrace as they kneel on one of the couches. One is already nude, and I watch as she slowly, teasingly, pulls the straps of the other girl’s dress down. When it pools at her knees, the two of them slowly come together, nipples rubbing, breasts squeezing together…their mouths opening as they start to kiss…
I mean, for fuck’s sake, it’s every straight male’s porn fantasy. And as a king and lord of this secret space, I know full well that I could walk right over there and instantly be invited to join them.
But I don’t.
I don’t evenwant to.
