Page 8

CHAPTER 8

Malakai

The room is dark—the kind of dim that swallows noise and sharpens edges. Shadows stretch across the polished table like they belong there, and the smell of expensive whiskey and cigarette smoke lingers in the air. This isn’t a gathering place—it’s a goddamn throne room. And we’re the ones calling the shots.

Nate’s leaning back in his chair, one leg propped on the table like he owns the place, his lighter flicking open and closed in a steady rhythm. Jameson’s in his usual spot, slouched so far down he’s practically horizontal, scrolling through his phone with the kind of boredom that only comes from being too powerful to care. Liam’s by the window, arms crossed, his silence louder than anyone else in the room.

These guys aren’t just teammates or friends—they’re my brothers. The only ones I trust to have my back when shit hits the fan. Which, in the Pantheon, it always does.

“You’re late,” Nate says without looking up, his voice carrying that smug edge he knows pisses me off.

I smirk, kicking the door shut behind me as I walk in. “I don’t do late. I do entrances.”

Jameson snorts. “Jesus, Malakai. Always gotta make it about you.”

“Everything’s always about me.” I drop into the chair at the head of the table, spreading my arms wide like the goddamn king I am. “Now let’s get to it.”

Nate spins his lighter one more time before snapping it shut, his grin sharp. “This about Callahan?”

“Of course it’s about Callahan.” My gaze sweeps the room, locking on each of them in turn. “He’s perfect for what we need.”

Jameson raises an eyebrow, leaning forward just enough to look interested. “Perfect how? The kid’s a mess.”

“He’s not a mess,” I correct, my smirk widening. “He’s desperate. There’s a difference. He’ll do whatever it takes to impress us, to stay in the game. And that’s exactly what makes him useful.”

Liam shifts, his dark eyes narrowing. “And the girl? She’s part of it?”

“She’s the key,” I say, leaning back in my chair. “Alex is only as strong as his weakest link. And Raven? She’s it.”

Nate chuckles, his grin bordering on wicked. “Damn, you’re really going for it, huh? Using her to break him?”

“Damn right I am,” I say, the words cold and final. “He’s already on edge. She’ll push him over it.”

Jameson whistles low, shaking his head. “You’re a sadistic bastard, you know that?”

“And you love it,” I shoot back.

They laugh, and for a moment, the tension eases, the room filling with the kind of camaraderie that only comes from knowing you’re the ones in control. But I’m already thinking ahead, my mind fixed on what’s coming next.

“Callahan thinks this is about proving himself,” I say, my tone darkening. “He doesn’t realize he’s just a pawn.”

“And Raven?” Liam asks quietly.

“She’ll play her part,” I say, my voice sharp. “She doesn’t have a choice.”

The conversation shifts after that, the guys tossing around ideas for how to make the ritual even more... memorable. But in the back of my mind, I’m already picturing her—her dark eyes wide with fear, her breath hitching when she realizes she’s in over her head.

And me? I’ll be the one pulling the strings.

Later, back in my room, I lean against the headboard of my bed, staring at the ceiling. The guys are gone, the meeting’s over, and the silence is deafening. But my thoughts are loud enough to fill the space.

I think about Raven, about the way she looked at me in the rink. She tries so hard to pretend I don’t exist, to act like she doesn’t feel the pull between us. But I saw it. The way her eyes lingered just a second too long, the way her breath hitched when I looked back at her. She felt it, even if she’d never admit it.

In my mind, I see her in the middle of the ritual, her dark hair falling around her face as she moves through the fog. She’s wearing the lamb mask, the white toga clinging to her curves, her eyes wide with a mix of fear and defiance. She’s beautiful like that, caught between strength and submission, not knowing which way to turn.

And then she looks at me. Not Alex. Me. Because she knows—deep down—that I’m the one who holds her fate in my hands.

The thought sends a thrill through me, dark and electric. I shouldn’t be thinking about her like this, but I can’t help it. There’s something about her that draws me in, something I can’t quite name. And it pisses me off.

I sit up, running a hand through my hair and laughing to myself. Not the kind of laugh that’s light or happy, but the kind that echoes with cruelty. Because at the end of the day, it doesn’t matter how I feel about Raven. She’s dispensable, just like Alex. It's a game, and I couldn't care less about the losers in my way.

And when the ritual is over, when the dust has settled and the lambs have been sacrificed, I’ll be the one standing on top.

With or without her.

I don't think I'll be able to sleep tonight, so I check out my laptop, letting its glow light up the otherwise dark space. The air conditioning drones on, but it’s enough to keep me grounded as I scroll through the social media profiles of the freshmen who’ll be part of the ritual.

It’s almost too easy.

These kids post everything. Parties, hookups, fights—every messy, humiliating detail of their lives is plastered across their accounts for the world to see. I click through their pictures and stories, piecing together their weaknesses like a puzzle.

One of them, a preppy-looking guy named Ethan, has a string of posts bragging about his trust fund and his “weekend car.” Another girl, Madison, shares every single detail of her day right down to what she had for breakfast. And then there’s Carter, a scrawny kid trying way too hard to look tough. His profile is full of flexes—pictures of gym sessions and overpriced sneakers—but all I see is someone desperate for approval.

They’re all so predictable, so painfully naive. They think this is just a game. That the Pantheon is some exclusive club that’ll give them a free ride to the top.

They have no idea what they’re walking into.

A slow smile spreads across my face as I picture them at the ritual, their wide-eyed excitement turning into panic when they realize what’s really at stake. They’ll break, one by one, and I’ll be there to watch it happen.

But even as I scroll, my thoughts keep circling back to Raven.

Her social media is surprisingly quiet—mostly pictures of sunsets, her mom, and the occasional shot of her and Alex at some church event. There’s nothing flashy about her profile, nothing that screams target. She’s not like the others, the ones who practically hand you their secrets on a silver platter.

She’s careful. Private. But that only makes her more interesting.

I picture her dark eyes again, the way they widened when I caught her staring at me at the rink. She pretends she’s not affected, but I know better. There’s a fire in her, buried beneath all that loyalty and sweetness. And when it finally burns through, it’s going to consume everything in its path—including Alex.

Especially Alex.

I close the tab on Raven’s profile and open his instead. His posts are as predictable as the rest—hockey practice, church charity events, the occasional bro-y selfie. But the cracks are there, just beneath the surface. The desperation, the need to prove himself—it’s all over his face, even in the photos where he’s trying to look confident.

He’s hanging on by a thread, and he doesn’t even know it.

I close my laptop and lean back in my chair, running a hand through my hair. The ritual is going to be a masterpiece, a carefully orchestrated symphony of chaos. And at the center of it all will be Alex and Raven.

They have no idea what’s coming.

And that’s what makes it so fucking perfect.