Lust (The Elite Seven #1)
Ker Dukey
For my darKER Souls
My sinners who want that
neck biting, hair pulling, skin slapping, ass spanking, back scratching, angry kinda sex.
Life is for living.
So live.
Wild, dirty, and free to sin.
t h e e l i t e s e v e n
Since 1942, The Elite Seven Society has created and guided influential leaders, molding the country into something better. This society was birthed by Malcom Benedict II, who wanted more for Americans. More wealth. More influence. More power. Some leaders have the skills, but not the influence, and that simply wasn’t fair according to Mr. Benedict. He invested his own money and time to construct a society that bred the best of the best, year after year.
But to be the best, you must be ruthless.
Good leaders make sacrifices. Sometimes the sacrifices are hard, but the rewards are plentiful. Mr. Benedict made sure to indulge these leaders with their utmost desires. A devout Catholic himself, he designed a society that rewarded his leaders with the sins that were frowned upon. If they were giving up love and happiness and joy for the betterment of the country, they deserved something in its stead.
Pride, Envy, Wrath, Sloth, Greed, Gluttony, and Lust.
Choosing leaders for this society takes intense focus. Only seven are to be selected, and the investment and time are showered upon the new seven chosen every four years. The university’s acting dean behaves as a liaison for the society, bringing the applicants to the predecessors so the selection may begin. The society members going out will bring forth a candidate the society votes on and approves.
After they are chosen, the initiates are given a token and an invitation to initiation. The initiation tests their character and ability to do what’s right for the betterment of the society. Once the initiates pass their test, they are discreetly branded with the mark of the society and groomed through challenges during the course of their elite education to breed them into the influential people they were meant to be.
Once in The Elite Seven, there is no getting out. The money and power are their reward. Should they choose to stray or break the rules, the society strips them of everything. Anything they once had will be removed. Opportunities will never arise. They will no longer have the support of the society. To this day, there have been no known occurrences of anyone from the society having to be banished. Every young man and woman aspires to be a part of the elite group whispered about amongst the privileged. Anyone who is anyone knows of the group and secretly hopes their son or daughter is selected, for good fortune is showered on the family for decades to come.
These violent delights have violent ends ~ William Shakespeare.
—Romeo and Juliet.
Rhett
20:15
The clock on my dashboard mocks me. Late is an understatement.
Punishing the throttle, I will my tires to stick to the wet road as the storm rattles the sky above me. Like it’s releasing the fucking Kraken.
I love living in New Orleans but the weather in hurricane season is a bipolar bitch. Soaking rain with high winds that could blow the skin off a gator one minute, hotter than Satan’s asshole the next.
My wipers battle to give me visual as I pass the sign telling me half a mile to my turn off.
Static white noise crackles through the radio, breaking up the vocals of Post Malone’s new track, and smacking the thing doesn’t seem to fix the problem.
This night has turned to shit fast, and it’s only going to get worse when my mother finds out how late I was picking up my kid brother.
Groaning at the time ticking by, I try to focus, my speed eating up the pavement.
Blue and red lights flash through the smog of the rain in front of me, and I slow the car to a roll before I can even reach the exit I need to take.
Perfect.
Slamming my hands on the steering wheel, I squint through the rivulets of water pouring all around.
Orange cones block the road, forcing me to idle the car.
The rain punishes the windshield, blurring my sight, making it almost impossible to make out what’s going on outside.
Fuck.
Like I need this shit.
All I can think about is Robbie waiting outside his Karate class alone, soaking wet and no doubt starving.
I’m a shit big brother, selfish. The guilt is building, and whatever the fuck’s happened here is bad. I’m not going to get moving anytime soon.
Ignoring the constant beeping of my cell phone with texts from our anxious mother, I open a message from my best friend asking me to bail on the party tonight and go dragging with him instead.
He’s got a death wish to risk drag racing in this weather. Hard pass.
I shoot him a message back, telling him to come to the party for a few hours first, then chuck my cell in the passenger seat.
I’ll get him drunk tonight—which is all too fucking easy with him—and take his keys away. No racing and dying tonight.
I roll down the window and try to flag down one of the officers laying out cones to prevent traffic from coming through on the other side.
“Sir, I really need to get through here,” I call out, waving my arm in an attempt to get his attention.
Thunder rumbles from above, followed by a lightening show dancing in the clouds.