The women weren’t allowed to move, and I didn’t want to try to remove Makayla off the bench again and draw attention to us. Not now. It was almost over. Or at least the part involving Makayla was over. She had survived the part of the ritual that involved her, and now all she had to do was sit and remain quiet.

Though I knew that would be next to impossible soon enough, and it would be asking too much for anyone to do so.

“The final part of the ritual is ready to commence,” the master of ceremonies announced. “Bring in the players.”

I leaned down to Makayla’s ear and whispered, “Remain quiet. I know this will be hard, but don’t say or do a thing.”

She nodded, and I knew that if she had any control over her emotions, she would obey. But I also knew that it would be next to impossible, and I wouldn’t be able to blame her one bit.

The doors opened to the ballroom and six men marched out single file. They were each blindfolded with a black scarf and were led to a circular table in the middle of the room.

Hearing Makayla’s gasp at the same time I saw Rhett, made the situation even more devastating. The woman I cared about was no doubt shattering into a million pieces next to me as I watched my best friend walk toward what could ultimately be his death. The only good thing at the moment was that Rhett was blindfolded and wouldn’t be able to see his daughter sitting naked on the bench with a dildo up her ass. I assumed he had no idea she was in the room, and at least me knowing this gave me some comfort. No father… nor man… should have to witness his daughter or any woman go through what the victims lined up next me just had to do.

As the blindfolded men were guided to their seats, I looked down at Makayla who sat with her eyes wide, her lip trembling, and complete panic washed over her face.

I anticipated that any moment, Makayla would shoot up off the bench and charge toward the table. Hell, it was taking everything I had not to do it myself. But we were both wise enough to know we couldn’t stop the fates. We couldn’t stop the brotherhood. Even if we tried, we would fail.

The master of ceremonies began to chant, “Domine, Redémptor noster, qui teipsum morti tradidisti, ut omnes homines salvi fíerent et ad vitam possent de morte transire, clementissimam pietatem tuam humílter deprecamur, ut digneris omnes servos tuos intueri lugentes et pro amisso propinquo suo suppliciter exorantes. Illi omnia peccata dimitte, Domine, qui solus es sanctus et summe misericors, qui per mortem tuam portas vitae tuis fidelis reserasti. Ne fratrem nostrum a te separari, Rex aterne, permittas, sed virtute gloriae tuae locum ei lucis, beatudinis et pacis largire. Qui vivis et regnas in saecula saeculorum.”

Six men holding canes rapped them loudly on the ground.

The antique revolver was placed in the middle of the table, and I heard Makayla gasp again. I looked down to see tears streaming down her face, and yet she still remained in place, not drawing attention to herself. I couldn’t have her watch this. I couldn’t just stand there and watch it myself. Something had to be done. Someone had to stop this. Enough was enough, and if it meant me dying to try then I would.

I took a step forward and instantly felt Makayla’s hand on my thigh. “No,” she whispered. “Don’t get yourself killed too. I couldn’t live with that.” Her voice was so low that fortunately with all the Latin chanting, she couldn’t be heard.

“Let us begin,” the master of ceremonies said.

I had to do something. Anything. I couldn’t allow this to happen. Someone was going to die. Yes, maybe it wouldn’t be Rhett… but what if it was? What if Makayla had to sit here and watch her father pull the trigger and die? Would she ever recover? Would I ever recover? Would I be able to live with myself knowing I just stood with all the others and watched my best friend test the fates and see if the bullet in that gun tonight was meant for him?

No. No.

I couldn’t.

I wouldn’t.

“Stop!” I called out, having all eyes turn to me. I stepped forward and away from Makayla in hopes that no attention would be brought her way. “I would like to sacrifice myself for Rhett Knox. My name is Alec Sheldon, life member of The Iron Colt Brotherhood, and I would like to cast my name for the game tonight. I would like to take Rhett Knox’s seat at the table.”

I had seen a sacrifice like this be done when I was much younger. A grandfather stepped in for his grandson to save a man who he felt still had his whole life ahead of him. The grandfather had felt he had lived his life, and he wouldn’t allow his grandson to die before him. The act of bravery did not end with a happily ever after, however, because it was the grandfather who ended up putting a bullet through his head instead.

I didn’t need to look back to know that out of all the gasps and murmurs flooding the room, that Makayla’s was one of them. But I wasn’t going to turn and see for myself. I didn’t want to face her. I didn’t want to see those eyes that melted every fiber in my body, and I didn’t want to see her pain. I didn’t want to give myself any reason to turn back and try to run out of this room like a coward.

I just had to tell myself that I was a lucky man. I had always been a lucky man. Hopefully luck would be on my side tonight. And at the very least—even if I died—I wouldn’t have to watch Makayla’s heart be ripped out of her chest if her father was the unlucky bastard who would die tonight.

The master of ceremony looked around at who I assumed were the governing council and when each man nodded in approval, he walked over to where Rhett sat and removed his blindfold.

Rhett blinked away the harsh lights and settled his eyes on me, clearly confused as to what was going on. I walked over to the table before I lost my nerve, and to hopefully get to him before he saw Makayla so I could help diffuse the situation.

He stood when I arrived, and asked in a raspy voice, “What are you doing? You don’t have to do this. This is my problem, not yours.”

“You did this all for Minka, and I had always wished I could have done more too. So now I can. I can keep Minka’s husband and daughter together.” And that was the truth. I was alone. I had no one to miss me… unless you counted the recent experience I had with Makayla, but no one else. A father and daughter should be together. Family always. I didn’t have family. “And besides. Face it man. I’ve always been luckier than you.”

Rhett shook his head. “I asked you to stay with Makayla. I needed you to keep her safe.” He glanced at the gun on the table and then at me. “Don’t do this, man. I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if you… die.”

I nodded toward where Makayla sat, knowing it was just a matter of time until Rhett saw her there anyway. “I couldn’t stop her from coming. I tried. But I did my best to get her through the first part of the ritual. It’s over, and now she needs you. Leave the last part of the ritual to me.”

Was I being a brave fool? Yes, but when I saw my sweet, innocent Makayla sitting over there on the bench, I realized there wasn’t a thing I wouldn’t do for her. I’d promised her I would try to save her father, and that was exactly what I was going to do.

Before Rhett could wipe the shock of seeing his daughter naked and used as part of the ritual off his face, the master of the ceremony cut in. “Let us proceed.”

He then placed his hand on my shoulder and pushed me down into the chair Rhett once sat in. The blindfold was then placed over my eyes and pitch darkness took over. Odd how the minute the blackness took over, I could actually hear my own ragged breath as I was about to face the sick hand of luck.

“Domine, Redémptor noster, qui teipsum morti tradidísti, ut omnes homines salvi fíerent et ad vitam possent de morte transire, clementissimam pietatem tuam humilter deprecamur, ut digneris omnes servos tuos intueri lugentes et pro amisso propinquo suo suppliciter exorantes. Illi omnia peccata dimitte, Domine, qui solus es sanctus et summe misericors, qui per mortem tuam portas vitae tuis fidelis reserasti. Ne fratrem nostrum a te separari, Rex aterne, permittas, sed virtute gloriae tuae locum ei lucis, beatudinis et pacis largire. Qui vivis et regnas in saecula saeculorum,” began the chant again.

I pictured my time at the lake with Makayla to try to chase away my fear. I didn’t believe in God, so I had no one to pray to really. I could hear the heavy breathing of all the men around the table. Had they come to peace with the fact that they could die? Were they terrified? Or were they so arrogant to believe they were going to be just fine and the chamber would be empty on their turn?

“Player number one, it is now your turn,” the master of ceremony announced.

I hated not being able to see what was going on, but did I really want to see the man before me die? I quickly figured out by my placement that I was going to be player number five. Not last, not first… was there really a good spot to be in? The luck of the trigger pull could end with the first man.

I heard the click of the trigger being pulled and then nothing.

No gunshot, but instead the loud exhale from what I assumed was the man who had put the gun to his head and hoped there would be no bullet.

Player number one was still alive.

“Player number two, it is now your turn,” the master of ceremony announced.

This was a sick and twisted experience. I didn’t want to hear the gunshot go off because it would mean a man just died. But then at the same time, I held my breath desperately hoping the gun would go off because it would mean my turn would never come, and I would be alive. To have to sit at a table and wish for another man’s death turned me into the living and breathing Devil—evil, sinister, and a pure monster.

The click of the gun, but no gunshot.

Player number two was alive.

“Player number three, it is now your turn,” the master of ceremony announced.

I waited, wondering what poor Makayla was doing right now. Was Rhett standing by her? Would he be able to comfort her if the chamber was full on my turn? Had I made the right decision?

The click of the gun, but no gunshot.

Player number three was alive.

Three more players and one bullet remained.

I had a one in three chance of living.

I sat in between player number four and player number six.

One of us was going to die.

Player number four was close enough to me that I could hear the revolver be placed in front of him. I could hear his breathing. I could smell his body odor, and all I could do was wait.

“Player number four, it is now your turn,” the master of ceremony announced.

The man fumbled with the gun, and his elbow bumped into me when he raised the revolver to his temple.

The sound of the revolver firing, the loud echoing bang, the sound of death was one of the worst and one of the best sounds I had ever heard.

Wet, sticky blood splattered all over my face. Thick, metallic, signs of death were dripping off me. Chunks of human flesh and brain matter fell from my cheek, but I couldn’t help but sigh in relief. My ears rang from the close range gunshot, but I could still hear gasps, cries, and the thank god whispered next to me by player number six.

Player number four was dead.

Not sure I would be able to lift my hands to remove my blood-soaked blindfold, and feeling bile build in the back of my throat, I thought of Makayla to give me strength. She would need my comfort. No doubt the stress, fear, and then mortification as she had to watch the man die right before me was all too much to take. I had to be strong for her, even though I felt about as far from strong as I could be. With shaky hands, I removed my blindfold and tried not to focus on the dead man lying facedown in a pool of his own blood. The other men at the table had blood splattered on their pale faces as well, but each man eventually stood with heavy shoulders. I knew they felt the same way I did. Relief and guilt. Happiness and shame. Alive and not dead.

“This concludes the ritual for the evening,” the master of ceremonies said as if the fact that a man had just shot himself was completely normal. “Until next year, my brothers.” Then walking over to the dead man, he placed his hand on his back and recited, “Te, Dómine, sancte Pater, omnípotens aetérne Deus, supplices deprecámur pro anima fámuli tui. N., quem de hoc sǽculo ad te venire iussísti; ut ei dignéris dare locum refrigérii, lucis et pacis. Líceat ei portas mortis sine offensióne transíre et in mansiónibus sanctórum et in luce sancta permáneat, quam olim Abrahæ et eius sémini promisísti. Nullam eius ánima sustíneat læsionem, sed, cum magnus dies ille resurrectiónis et remuneratiónis advénerit, resuscitáre eum (eam), Dómine, una cum sanctis et eléctis dignéris; dimíttas ei ómnia delícta atque peccáta, tecúmque immortalitátis vitam et regnum consequátur æternum.”

Each man with a cane hit the floor loudly six times, and I knew the ritual was complete.

The nightmare was over, and we could all finally leave the plantation and act like nothing happened. It was the way of The Iron Colt Brotherhood. It was the way of the ritual. It was like some long fucked up dream occurred and if anyone dared speak of the ritual, you risked having to sit exactly where I was moments ago for the next ritual.

No.

We would leave.

And we would never so much as think of putting our name with a stone into the urn again. I would make damn sure Rhett knew this.

I somehow got my feet to move even though I worried my legs would fold beneath me and made my way to Makayla. She was crying, terrified, but I saw her eyes light up when we made eye contact. Right now was just about her.

Makayla.