Saints of the Syndicate by Natalie Nicole
Chapter 11
Sinclair
As I reach our dorm building, I head in through the front entrance and go over to the private elevator we have for our garage and penthouse. It only works by using a key, which keeps out people that we don’t want in. Which is pretty much every other mother fucker on this campus. It also gives us access to any other floor including a custom armory we had installed into what was originally a bunker.
With over 5.5 million dollars’ worth of vehicles in there, not to mention the vast amount of weapons and personal information we keep on people of our vested interest, the one-of-a-kind keys we have are an expensive, but necessary, investment.
As I hit the button to go to the garage, my mind races over the events that have gone down in the past day and a half.
First, our manipulative fucking sperm donors thinking they can just pick and choose how our god damn lives are going to go. All because they want to expand their already vast, lucrative, and mostly illegal empire by forcefully merging us with beneficial-to-them arranged marriages. No doubt to dip shit bimbos we have zero interest in. Fuck that and fuck them. I’ll fake my own death or take an oath of celibacy before that shit happens.
Ehh, celibacy? I think I might prefer death over never having sex again.
Thank fuck Giovanni has a damn near perfect photographic memory and knows our Trident code of conduct and manual with all the rules that have been put in place since the school was established in the 1870’s. The rules and regulations that have been upheld with the utmost respect. Well, until our fathers took power. Now it’s just a shit show of even shadier shit than the normal.
The ding of the elevator brings me back to the current situation at hand: a five and a half foot spit fire from hell with aqua eyes, long brown to blonde hair, and curves formed by the devil himself that I want to sink my teeth into and never let go of. The visceral reaction she pulls from me is unlike anything I’ve ever felt before, and I’m not sure how to handle the onslaught of emotions she pulls from me.
One minute I feel like I want to shield her from all the evil in the world, myself included. Then the next minute I pull shit like I did in her room as I rubbed my dick up and down her cunt until I hit her clit to make her come. All to demand her submission and get her stubborn little ass to agree with us.
Fuckity fuck she is going to be the death of me.
Maybe I need to rethink that celibacy thing? Nah.
I’ll take my chances. Risk and reward and what not.
Hopping into our most basic vehicle, a blacked out Tahoe with tinted bulletproof windows and a micro weaponry hide within the vehicle, I turn the key over and head out the gate. As I’m turning out of the underground garage, my grandfather, Arthur Sr. calls.
Well perfect fucking timing for me.
Hitting accept and the Bluetooth feature, I keep driving a roundabout way to throw off potential threats as I talk with pop.
“Hey pop, what’s going on?”
“My favorite grandson! How are ya my boy?”
“I’m your only grandson, pop,” I chuckle “But good, just running a quick errand then heading home for the night. Hats to make later.” He knows that means Syndicate business. We wouldn’t want to tip off a potential wiretap or screen calling somehow. Never fucking know who we really piss off nowadays. Not surprising.
“Ahh yes, been meaning to ask about those my boy. Everything good with the hats?”
I snort, he knows I never sugar coat shit with him. He hates my father just as much as I do. Thank fuck.
With a loaded sigh, I know exactly what he is going to ask. “And what might I ask did my joyous namesake do this time. I can only imagine what he could do that would actually surprise me anymore. His list of infractions is rather long.”
“Forced arranged marriage. For Declan, Giovanni, and myself. This coming summer.”
Dead silence.
“Pops? You there old man?”
“Old man? Sinclair, I can still kick your ass, and you know it. Don’t fuck with me, boy. Is this some sick joke to send me to an unwanted grave?”
“I fucking wish, Pops. They sprung it on us last night. All in agreement and they have made their choices as to who each of us marry. Something about stronger ties and bullshit like that. Thank fuck Giovanni saved our asses with Grandpa Carter, NonnoMartinelli, and yourself. Said that shit isn’t possible without you three agreeing too.”
“God damn right that boy Giovanni is. Gianluca! James! Get your useless ball sacks in here! We’ve got an issue.”
Issue? That’s putting it lightly. Then I hear muffled shouts from Deck and G’s grandfathers as they are all going to wherever Pops is located in whatever time zone they decided to enjoy for the week.
“Sinclair, setting the phone down real quick. Don’t hang up.”
I don’t even bother responding, and I just keep driving as I text the guys, I’m about five minutes out. Of course, Declan has to be a smartass about it, further pissing me off until G answers and ends the feud. All the while I heard the heated and animated voices of our grandfathers, furthering suspicions that they have all been excluded from this decision and are now furious about it.
“Sinclair, you are on speaker.”
“Hey Nonno. Hey Grandpa. Yes, Pops. I’m not lying. Get a hold of Deck and G to prove it. It ended with a drinking wager against Declan if that helps verify the truth for you. Also, disappointed in your skill set, old man. Can’t fucking lie to any of you. Too much respect.”
“Sweet mother that boy,” Grandpa Carter mumbles.
We all know when Deck is in a rager mood, he is furious. They have also lost way too many bets against us in the process.
“Not slipping ya little shit. Well, we will be in touch very soon. Gotta pick up that unannounced hat order. Love ya, boy.”
“Love you fuckers too. Kiss the wonderful women too.”
NonnoMartinelli finally chirps in, “You just want Nonna’s cooking and sweets, you voracious gluttons.”
“Damn straight.” I laugh, then hang up as I pull up to the entrance. I find the shittiest excuse of belongings sitting with Deck and G standing nearby as I park, pop the trunk, and get out.
“That everything?”
“Yeah. That’s it,” Deck deadpans. Asshole.
“She still asleep?”
With a smartass shrug he says, “Was a minute ago.”
Fucking Christ. I can feel my blood pressure starting to spike with his juvenile attitude.
“Finish loading everything,” I order. “I’ll go get her. Gio, you drive back.”
As I start to walk towards the door, Declan turns up the delinquency to a perfect ten. The shit head bows, then smirks while talking out his ass. “Yes master. Anything else master? Do we get cookies for being good boys, master?”
Almost instantly G mutters, “Jesus Christ.” While I just deadpan him with a look that would have most shrinking back into their self-righteous shells. After a quick second, I just toss the keys to Gio and walk away before I knock Declan off his 6’6” high horse.
As I walk down the stairs, my blood boils even more at the situation in general. I know this shit that both Bethani and god only knows how many more people have lived through is a direct result of my self-absorbed father. This is nothing more than a giant tax write off, something to show at the events he parades himself at, or some sort of cover for an even more nefarious activity. I’m guessing the second is more of a likely outcome, with the first just being a bonus to the bullshit facade he promotes to the world. Humble philanthropist my fucking left nut.
Bethani is still passed out, which isn’t surprising in the slightest. She is a hot ass mess compared to the other night, but still one of the most gorgeous and infuriating creatures I’ve ever come in contact with. I quickly scoop her up into my arms, and as her head lulls into my shoulder, a wince of pain whimpering from her lips.
“Shit. Sorry,” I whisper, knowing she won’t hear me. But since I’m not a complete monstrous dick head every waking minute, a little chivalry goes a long way. And for some unknown reason, this curvy, mouthy little vixen has crawled her way under my skin, our skins. She’s already bringing out sides of myself I wasn’t even sure were possible within my frigid dead soul.
As I’m walking up the stairs, she starts mumbling in her sleep, making me chuckle until she utters words that stop me dead in my tracks.
“Ante...Mortem.” Then there is a small snort of, “Infidelitatis,” before she mumbles more nonsense and goes back into a deeper sleep. Her breathing evens back out while I’m standing there with my mouth agape, eyes wide as fucking saucers, and completely in unrequited shock.
How does she know our motto?
Our fucking motto.
The Trident Syndicate motto.
Not even the wives of members know that motto. Utterly oblivious to our....for lack of better terminology, cult like status.
“You look like someone hit your G-wagon dude. What’s going on?” Gio asks, violently throwing me out of the tailspin my mind is going through.
I quickly regain my usual asshole demeanor, steeling myself because this is a conversation not for anywhere but our penthouse.
“Tell you when we get back home,” I mutter as I walk away to get into the backseat with Bethani still in my lap.
Gio shuts the door for me and I mutter a “thanks” out to him, which causes Declan to whip his head back at me, giving me an incredulous expression. “Someone hit your G-wagon dude? Did you die and get replaced with a Sinclair that has manners?”
“That’s what I said,” G adds, glancing back at me through the rearview mirror. His bright blue eyes pierce me with one of his studious gazes. He knows something has knocked me out of sorts.
Trust me. Your time is coming quickly cock suckers. You’ll be equally stunned.
Glancing out the window as we head another long way back to our building, I remind them, “Not a conversation for anywhere but our place. Multiple things that need not be said in public, if you catch my drift.” I turn back, catching the ominous looks on their faces as they nod in understanding.
The rest of the ride is silent as we get back to the garage. Once parked, Deck hops out and grabs one of the carts we use for heavier shit to load Bethani’sbelongings on. They both unload while I sit in the SUV, studying her, and wondering how in the ever loving fuck she knows our phrase. I barely register the back hatch closing as I auto-pilot my ass out of the vehicle, and we all walk to our private service elevator.
Once we reach our floor, we all make our way to one of the guest rooms in the same hallway. We choose the one closest to our rooms in the opposite hallway, but also closest to the main living space. I quickly set Bethani on the bed and get her covered up, then I go to grab her a glass of water and painkillers and set them on the end table. Once she’s taken care of, I walk out to the bar area and pour myself a heavy pour of bourbon. I slam it back and start pouring a secondary glass for myself, then grab two others and fill them as the guys walk over.
“Gonna need these,” I say as I hand each of them their rocks glass. I chug the second one, feeling the glorious burn as it ripples down my throat and settles into my stomach. That warming of liquid courage flows through my body.
“She knows the motto,” I state, pulling off the bandaid.
They both look at me like I’m a blithering idiot, which I probably am in my current state of mind.
Declan speaks, “Uhh...tons of mottos dude.” He shoots his drink, then shoves it to me for a refill before continuing. “Why don’t you like, I don’t know, start at the beginning or something that actually makes some sort of fucking sense?”
I sigh heavily, not sure which part to even begin with. Apparently my incorrigible mouth decides word vomit is the better choice, furthering their affirmation that I am indeed, a blithering idiot. Thank you alcohol and shock. Fucking trifling bastards.
“Called Pops on the way back. God knows where him, Nonno, and Grandpa are with our grandmothers, but they sounded like they were having fun. He asked what was up, I told him about the shit show our fathers have orchestrated. Cue him going off his rocker, then calling Grandpa and Nonno into the conversation away from prying ears. He put me on speaker so they could hear the confirmation from me. Also, prepare for phone calls from them. And an ass chewing for you over us betting against your alcohol usage of the night in question, Declan.” I stop to take a deep breath for the next part, while also noticing the glare from Declan. “They all made the decision to be here soon, very soon. Our dads won’t know until they are walking into counsel to light the proverbial shit on fire. Now the other part…” I trail off, still not sure how this one will go. “As I was carrying Bethani up the stairs, she started mumbling in her sleep. That cute girly mumble bullshit. Then she said the motto.”
Yet again. More confused glances mirror back at me, amping my frustration and agitation up even more. “The. Fucking. Motto.”
They sit there another second before a damning realization crosses their faces. “You don’t actually mean that motto, do you? Like, our motto?” Giovanni finally asks, disbelief coloring his features.
“Ante Mortem Infidelitais. Yes, that fucking motto. You asked me earlier why I looked like someone hit my vehicle. Well, there’s your damn reason,”I snarl at them like a caged lion, which would honestly be an accurate as fuck description to my thought process. Chaotic, messy, ready to be let the fuck out and unleash hell fire on the world. Yeah, my body tingles with sensations that only happen when that deep seeded thirst for blood comes into play.
Control keeps the urge at bay, but with everything going on, the monster is scratching the surface, ready to play. Ready to make someone bleed. Craving that infinite rush that comes from seeing a crimson pool on a floor is the most indescribable feeling ever.
I’m losing the battle with the urge, so I quickly chug my third glass and pour a fourth. Sometimes alcohol quiets the beast within me, other times fueling the passion. I’m hoping for the former, seeing as how we have counsel in a bit.
“Fuck, how much time do we have?” I ask.
Muttered curses flare from all of us as we look at our watches. We realize we have 30 minutes to be ready and in the catacombs.Fuckkkkk.
Each of us break off to find our suits and make ourselves half assed presentable, which takes zero effort seeing as how our black Armani suits are fitted to perfection for us. I pair the suit that I only wear for Syndicate business with a black dress shirt, black tie, black dress shoes, and my Trident ring.I’m done in roughly 7 minutes.
Walking out of my room, I see the guys standing in the living room in their matching suits. There is a customary curse that we all have to look identical for this. But rules are rules. We head to the hidden elevator in our penthouse that is used for this specific purpose alone: going to Syndicate business in the catacombs beneath the campus. One of the perks of being the future leaders of the Trident and the current kings of campus.
Private elevator. Expensive 8,000 sq.ft. penthouse on campus. Houses all over the world. Top notch service anywhere we go. Women that flock to us in drones, down to do whatever we want, when we want, just to say they’ve been with us. Extensive vehicle collections. The list goes on and fucking on.
I’d give it up in a fucking heartbeat.
This lifestyle has turned me into a blood thirsty mother fucker. I’d rather slit someone's throat and watch the life drain out of their eyes than negotiate or make amends to appease the masses. Working out for hours or fucking chicks into a damn near coma is the only ways to keep the beast at bay sometimes. Other times, I have to drink myself into a goddamn oblivion while locked in my room and wishing the liquor would end my miserable fucking life.
Nights like tonight, the alcohol is only fueling the monster. It’s raging inside me, eager to escape. As I’m riding the elevator down the roughly forty flights, it’s only getting worse. I’m clenching and unclenching my fists, trying to contain myself. Declan and Giovanni don’t even bother me, they already know the internal war I’m fighting.
As the elevator dings, we step out into the hallway only to be greeted in the lounge area with our drinks on a platter being held by one of the junior members. Then three other members walk up with our robes and masks and one bows to speak.
“Master Blackwell, Master Carter, Master Martinelli, if you will allow us, we have been tasked with the honors of dressing you in your ceremonial robes for the newest pledges. May we?” he asks with a slight gesture of my robe and mask.
I snatch up my drink, shoot it down, and then nod to the pathetic kid in a ‘go ahead’ motion.
New pledges?
Well, that was the notch in the right direction I needed.
Guess my blood lust will be satisfied after all.
Embrace it. Accept it. Relish it.
Unleash the inner fucking beast.