Page 3

CHAPTER 3

Malakai

The bass thunders through the walls of the house like a heartbeat, shaking the floor under my boots. The place is packed—Pantheon recruits trying to look like they belong, veteran members lounging around like gods surveying their kingdom, and girls who don’t give a damn about either as long as they get a taste of the power hanging in the air.

I step through the front door and scan the room. It’s chaos, as usual. Booze flows like a river; the air reeks of weed and expensive cologne. The laughter is sharp, loud, almost predatory. The perfect scene for what’s about to go down.

Alex is easy to spot. He’s standing near the kitchen, clutching a red Solo cup like it’s a lifeline. He looks like a kid playing dress-up, his shoulders too stiff, his smile too forced. He’s trying to blend in, but he’s already standing out—for all the wrong reasons.

I smirk, leaning against the doorframe. This is going to be fun.

“Yo, Callahan!” Nate calls out, slinging an arm around Alex’s shoulder and nearly spilling his drink. “You’re looking a little tense, man. Relax. This is a party, not Sunday school.”

Alex laughs, but it’s weak. “Yeah, I’m good. Just... taking it all in.”

“Taking it in, my ass,” Nate says, shoving a joint into Alex’s hand. “You gotta participate if you wanna keep up, rookie.”

Alex stares at the joint like it’s a live grenade, his smile faltering. “Uh, I don’t really?—”

“It’s not a suggestion,” Nate says, his tone sharpening. “This is part of the deal. You wanna run with us, you gotta keep up.”

I watch from the shadows, taking another swig of my drink. Nate’s good at what he does—pushing just hard enough to get the result we want without scaring them off entirely. And Alex? He’s perfect. He’s desperate to fit in, to prove he belongs, and that desperation makes him malleable. Breakable.

Exactly what the Pantheon thrives on.

Alex glances around, probably looking for an escape route. But there isn’t one. Not here. Not tonight.

“Come on, man,” Nate presses, clapping Alex on the back. “You’re one of us now, right? Show us you can handle it.”

Alex hesitates for another second, then brings the joint to his lips and takes a shaky drag. His cough is immediate and violent, and the guys around him erupt into laughter.

“That’s the spirit,” Nate says, handing him a shot glass filled with something that smells like jet fuel. I knew when I chose it that it was the kind of drink that could get someone sloshed with just one glass—maybe even a single sip. Little alcoholic virgin Alex isn't going to stand a chance. “Now chase it with this.”

Alex downs the shot without question, grimacing as it burns its way down. The laughter turns into cheers, and for a moment, he looks proud of himself. Like he’s won some kind of fucked-up prize.

I shake my head, biting back a laugh. This guy’s a joke. A preacher’s kid with a golden-boy smile, crumbling the second someone puts a little pressure on him. He’s a goddamn train wreck waiting to happen, and I can’t wait to be the first one to see him crash.

But tonight isn’t just about breaking him. It’s about setting the stage. I know he has some kind of an abstinence vow with his girl. It's time to make him break those vows so I can reap the rewards later.

He's already drunk and high as fuck. The only other thing he needs is a woman ravishing him.

I push off the wall and weave through the crowd, nodding to a few familiar faces as I make my way to the kitchen. Katie—or maybe Kristen, I don't really remember the names of forgettable girls—is smoking a joint, her cleavage exposed. I slide up to her and point toward Alex. She knows what she has to do, and the drugs inside her will do the job for her anyway.

Alex is still there, his confidence growing with every drink. He’s laughing louder now, his arm around some girl who’s probably using him for free booze.

“Callahan,” I say, my voice cutting through the noise like a knife.

He looks up, and for a split second, there’s fear in his eyes. Good. He should be afraid.

“Malakai,” he says, his smile faltering. “Hey. What’s up?”

I grab a bottle of whiskey from the counter and pour myself a generous glass. “Just observing. You look like you’re having a good time.”

“Yeah, it’s... it’s great. Thanks for inviting me.”

I raise an eyebrow. “Thank Nate. He’s the one who vouched for you.”

Alex nods, his smile slipping. He knows what that means—that he owes us. That he’s not here because he belongs, but because we allowed it. And if he wants to stay, he’ll do whatever we ask.

I move away from him, standing in a place that's perfect to watch things go down from—and go down they will for sure. I see the girl—Katie or Kristen—getting her flirt on with Alex. Seconds later, she is luring him to a corner, her hand firmly gripping his belt. It won't be long before his pants are down and the girl is all over him, giving him a blow job.

I have no intention of seeing this shit go down; it's too cringe for my taste. But I have my minions with phones ready to film them in the act. I need evidence of this, of course. Nothing happens in Pantheon parties that goes off the record.

He seems to protest, muttering something about his vows, but he's clearly not so interested in keeping them—he's responding pathetically well to the girl's advances. What a stupid little dickhead!

I take a sip of my whiskey, studying him over the rim of my glass. He’s perfect. The perfect candidate for the Gods and Lambs ritual. The perfect sacrifice. With the kind of dirt I have on him right now, making him agree to be a part of the ritual will be nothing but a gentle walk in the park.

The Pantheon isn’t just a club. It’s a fucking machine , and every piece has its purpose. We don’t just let anyone in—we take the ones who have something to lose, the ones who’ll do anything to keep their secrets hidden. The ones who’ll fall apart when we pull the strings.

Alex fits the bill. He’s got the golden-boy image to protect, the preacher daddy who can’t afford a scandal, and the girl who thinks he’s her knight in shining armor. Raven. Her name tastes like sugar on my tongue, even in my thoughts.

She doesn’t know it yet, but she’s part of this too. She’s his weak spot, his Achilles’ heel. And when the time comes, she’ll play her role perfectly.

I walk over to Alex. He is still with the girl who's eyeballs deep in him. I'm almost impressed with her act. “Enjoy the party, Callahan,” I say, clinking my glass against his cup. “This is just the beginning.”

I leave him there, already picturing the fallout. He’s digging his own grave—one drink, one hit, one bad decision at a time. And when the dirt starts piling on, I’ll be the one holding the shovel.

As I step outside for some air, I light another cigarette and smile to myself. It’s almost too easy.

Alex thinks he’s climbing a ladder, but it’s really just a noose. And I can’t wait to watch him hang himself.

The next day, I decide to stand near the entrance of the college, leaning against one of the stone pillars, and watch more chaos unfold. It's near the end of the first week of the quarter, so the excitement has died down a bit, but some things are still a mess, and I love watching the drama, snacking on invisible popcorn.

It gives me a sense of superiority like nothing else can. I've been here, and I navigated this mess better than the new kids. Freshmen are still moving in, clueless as hell, eyes wide like they’ve just stepped into some kind of new world. Upperclassmen weave through the crowds, searching for prey but already jaded, already bored.

Same shit, different year.

But this year?

This year is mine . I have a feeling, and I'm never really wrong.

I cross my arms, glancing up at the towering campus buildings and remembering the first time I walked through these gates.

Two years ago, I was just another first-year with nothing but my name and a chip on my shoulder. I had no legacy, no powerful last name backing me, no family donating millions to this school to make sure I got a free pass.

All I had was hunger .

And the will to take what I wanted.

I had to fight for everything .

First on the ice—pushing my way onto the team, proving I was better, faster, hungrier than the guys who thought they were untouchable. They tried to freeze me out, made me ride the bench longer than I should have. But I waited, played my game, and when my chance came? I took the damn shot.

Now, I own the fucking rink.

And the Pantheon? That was another beast entirely.

I didn’t just walk into power—I forced my way in. I spent my first year figuring out who mattered, who was weak, who could be manipulated, and who needed to be eliminated.

By the time sophomore year hit, the old guard was already slipping. And I? I was climbing. Now, I’m in my junior year. I’ve got power . Control .

I don’t just exist in this school—I run it. At least, everything that matters. I glance toward the parking lot, where more new blood is getting out of their cars, wide-eyed and already desperate to fit in.

Idiots. None of them have any clue what it really takes to survive here. But I do. And I never forget.

Because no matter how high I climb—I know exactly what it felt like to be at the bottom.

And I’ll never be there again.