Page 14 of Barons of Decay (Royals of Forsyth University #10)

T imothy

The older I get the more grateful I am to survive another day.

With the sun rising and another Hunt behind me, I exit the tunnel into my personal quarters.

My bed, imposing and made of solid black oak but with the most comfortable mattress money can buy, taunts me after the long night.

In the past I would have succumbed, sleeping off the revelry. I’m older now. More disciplined.

Graves, my assistant, is already in my room, waiting for my arrival.

“Congratulations on a new class of Barons,” he says, taking my cloak and mask.

“I’m not sure congratulations are in order.

” I run my hand through my hair, loosening it from the weight of the mask.

The entire night had been on the verge of disaster.

Sure, everything looked to standard. Tradition makes that easy.

Follow the rules, adhere to the rites, and the pieces fall into place.

But after the last two years, I’m finding it challenging to pretend things are normal in Forsyth.

If that’s even a possibility. The old Kings are gone, picked off one by one, and a new crop of leadership has risen.

I’m the last one standing, and if I can’t get a handle on what’s happening in this city, I have no doubt I’ll be next.

“We’ll need to notify Trudie Stein and let her know her son is coming home. ”

“Today?”

I shrug out of my suit jacket and rest it over the end of the bed before removing my tie and shirt. “Maybe tomorrow. Let’s analyze the body first.”

“I’ll contact Shepherd and have her come out to the morgue.”

It’s good to have the coroner on call. “Perfect.”

Graves places the mask in a bronze case and folds the cloak, securing them both in a cabinet by the door. I finish undressing and he opens the glass doors that lead to the patio off my room. I’m not the only one with discipline. It’s one reason we work so well together.

Gibson Graves is a former brN, class of ‘98. Back then, we’d been fraternity brothers and good friends, enjoying the spoils of being rich and entitled.

Pussy, psychedelics, power… it was all at our fingertips and we took it by the handful.

We’d drifted a bit after graduation, but when I became King, I needed a confidant.

Someone smart and capable but most of all, someone I could trust. Graves was the first person I contacted after my cousin Benji killed Clive Kayes and left me with no choice but to claim the throne.

For many years he was the only one who knew the truth behind the Baron mask–a secret he’s never revealed.

“You’re sure about these two?” he asks, and I know he’s referring to Kemp and Sorrin. “They’re different from your regular picks.”

“Times have changed. The last thing we need is entitled brats stoking the flames of chaos right now. And beyond that, I don’t want to keep one eye over my shoulder, looking for a blade in my back. I need loyalty and commitment. I need hard workers. Smart men.”

“So you want a guy who dropped out of high school and has a prison record?” he asks.

“If prison records kept men from leadership in Forsyth we’d all be screwed,” I point out.

“Kemp has a GED and a tested IQ of 155. He could have graduated from high school with honors if he’d been included or had a stable living situation.

Academics aren’t his problem–the chip on his shoulder is his downfall–that’s why I arranged his early release and scholarship to make him eligible. ”

“And Sorrin?” he asks. “What does he bring to the table?”

I’ll admit that from the outside, Hunter Sorrin seems like an unlikely pick.

Quiet. Academically driven. Lacking in adequate social skills, but after reviewing his background I noticed some trends.

“He has an attention to detail that is unparalleled. Give him a task, a challenge, a subject of interest, and he’ll master it quickly.

He’s obsessive, and right now I need someone that can bring that kind of focus to the work I’m trying to accomplish. ”

“They’re outcasts, Timothy.”

“And that may be exactly what makes them so useful!” I snap. His eyebrow lifts at the loss of my temper. Taking a deep breath I add, “I appreciate your concern and I understand you’re looking out for me and the fraternity, but I assure you that my moves are in the best interest of all of us.”

“I trust your decision.” He nods toward the porch. “The bath is ready.”

“You’re a lifesaver.”

Shucking my pants, I walk outside in my shorts, and dip my fingers in the galvanized steel tub.

“Fifty-two degrees,” Graves notes, nodding at the thermometer.

“Jesus,” I mutter, wondering why I put myself through this.

“One of these days my balls are going to shrivel up and fall off.” Not that I have much use for them.

Abstinence has also become part of my process.

Learning to channel my urges into something more productive.

Denial can be good for the soul. I push my shorts down and sling a leg into the tub, feeling the icy water.

There’s no time to fuck around, not when it’s this cold, and I quickly submerge myself. “Fuck.”

Graves starts the timer. The amount varies. After a workout I’ll shoot for ten or more minutes. After a long, stressful day or night? Five will do the trick.

“Any idea what really happened out there?” he asks, leaning his hip against the tub. He’s wearing a light gray button-down and dark gray slacks. A thick gold watch wraps around his wrist. His eye for fashion is impeccable, which has been a help over the years.

“I have my speculations.” The girl looked wild when she came back from the hunt.

Blood all over her hands, dirt on her knees and feet.

Predator or prey? Maybe both, if I’m to believe Kemp.

Someone tore her panties off, a clear indicator that an attempt was made to break my single rule.

“I’m sure the Shadows bore witness, but as you know, the details of the hunt are never revealed to those not participating.

” It protects us all. Dangerous things go on during the hunt.

This isn’t even the first death. Those had been considered accidental.

Hazing gone wrong. But this? This was no accident.

But what was it?

“I assume everyone made it back from the ceremony?” I ask, body shuddering. Every nerve pleads to get out and get warm. I mentally tell them to suck it up. This is good for us.

“Kemp and Sorrin are in their rooms cleaning up. The Baroness is also in her room.” I nod, pleased everyone is finally under one roof. “Regina opted to stay behind and see to her wounds.”

That’s a bit of a surprise. Regina has always had an aloof nature, but after tonight’s events, it’s probably best to have someone check on the new Baroness. “Thank her for me.”

“I will.”

Just like the other Baronesses that have come through during my reign, I’ve set her up with a trust fund.

Like all Royal women, the sacrifices and secrets my daughters carry with them are substantial.

Unlike Ashby, I don’t poison them and leave them to rot in the soil.

Or Payne, who put them to work in his whorehouse.

Cartwright discarded his Duchesses like trash, too focused on an unattainable purity that left him alone and heirless.

And Lucia? Good riddance. He was nothing but a glorified pill pusher, hellbent on destroying Forsyth for his own gain.

No, I’ve always viewed my Baronesses and Barons like my own children. They need security, nurturing, and guidance. All the things my own son, Remington, rejected.

My teeth start to chatter as Graves reaches for a towel and clicks the button on the side of the watch. “Time.”

“Thank god.” My muscles scream as I grip the sides of the tub and pull myself up. Water rushes down my body and my cold skin meets the warmer air with relief. I waste no time getting out. As I wrap the towel around my waist, Graves places a robe over my shoulders. Warming up gradually is the key.

“For what it’s worth,” he says, handing me a cup of freshly poured tea, “I think it’s likely that Stein had it coming. Whoever eliminated him probably did you a favor.”

I can’t argue with that–and I don’t. He was killed by his own weapon.

A humiliating defeat. Armand was here for a reason, hand selected like every other Baron during my reign, but Graves is correct.

Anyone who can’t survive The Hunt is a liability–especially this year when the stakes are so high. There’s no room for error.

“What does my calendar look like today?”

He smirks. “Is that your way of asking if there’s time for a nap?”

“Is that your way of saying I’m getting too old for this bullshit?” I snap back. “Because if it is, fuck you.”

“Not a chance,” he smirks. “You’re in better shape than you were when we were in college.”

He’s right. Back then, youth and genetics were all I needed to get through the day.

I lived the hard, partying life that comes with being a royal and never woke up with a single hangover.

A random crypt chaser and a dash of regret maybe, but a hangover?

Never. After I became King, I realized I needed to take care of myself.

Not just for me, but for the men I lead.

For my daughters. Our motto may be, ‘ Remember you must die,’ but that doesn’t mean today.

I don’t fear death, but I sure as hell do everything I can to stave it off.

I lift weights, practice Jiu-jitsu, meditation, and yoga.

Twice a year I commit to a spiritual journey on ayahuasca.

I eat well, foregoing sugar and supplementing when and where I can.

My body fat is under ten percent. And yeah, I shrink my balls in ice water every goddamn morning. Whatever it takes.

“I’m not saying you need a nap,” Graves continues, “ but there is time for you to get some rest before Dean Hexley arrives.”