Sacrificial Sinners (Blackwood Institute Book 2), page 1
SACRIFICIAL SINNERS
BLACKWOOD INSTITUTE 2
J ROSE
CONTENTS
Trigger Warning
Foreword
Preface
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Epilogue
Playlist
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Also By J Rose
Copyright © 2022 J Rose
Written & Published by J Rose
Edited by Heart Full of Reads Editing Services
Cover Design & Formatting by Books and Moods
First Paperback Edition January 2022
All rights reserved.
This is a work of fiction. Any names, characters and events are used factiously. Any resemblance to persons living or dead, establishments or events is coincidental.
This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used without the express permission of the author, except for the use of brief quotations in the context of a book review or article.
ISBN: 9798775992002
www.jroseauthor.com
This book is for all the victims.
May we see them.
May we hear them.
May we fucking believe them.
TRIGGER WARNING
Sacrificial Sinners is a why choose, reverse harem romance, so the main character will have multiple love interests that she will not have to choose between.
This book is very dark and contains scenes that may be triggering for some readers. This includes self-harm, suicide, graphic violence, sexual assault, psychological torture, and strong mental health themes including psychosis.
There is also explicit language used throughout and sexual scenes involving blood play, breath play, knife play, and mutual self-harming.
If you are triggered by any of this content, please do not read this book. This is a dark romance, and therefore not for the faint of heart. Additionally, this book is written for entertainment and not intended to accurately represent the treatment of mental health issues.
FOREWORD
‘Plenty of humans are monstrous, and plenty of monsters know how to play at being human’
V.A. Vale
PREFACE
I spent so long thinking I was the monster in my own story.
The master of my own downfall.
The storm brewing beneath my own skin.
All I saw was the person you made me.
A victim.
A broken human.
An empty space in the world.
I discovered that every seven years, the cells in our body are destroyed, and replaced anew.
It’s comforting to think that one day, I will have a body you’ve never touched. I’ll be the person I needed as a child.
Stronger.
Braver.
Unbreakable.
I’ll be free.
I wish that didn’t terrify me the most.
PROLOGUE
Lazlo – 1984
Secrets by Written By Wolves
“Who can tell me what Zimbardo’s aim was for the Stanford Prison Experiment?”
Staring out at the bright, hungry students latching on to my every word, I wave the book in the air like a preacher with his Bible, waiting for someone to answer my question.
“Anyone? What does this augmented reality mean?”
The anticipated silence stretches on. I take the time to meet each pair of eyes in the packed auditorium. All desperate for knowledge, minds open and ready to be filled with whatever I please.
“Come on, folks,” I cajole. “What do you get when you lock a group of volatile individuals up in a confined space? Give them assigned roles, make them feel like they’re in control… that they have power, however fickle it may be.”
A cute blonde sticks her hand up. “He wanted to investigate the origins of evil. Figure out if brutality is a result of the environment or something deeper. Hidden darkness buried inside our minds.”
I nod, pleased with her answer. “Correct. Zimbardo constructed a fake prison inside his university to make the volunteers believe that it was real.”
“How?” someone asks.
“Simple. The experiment conjured a whole new reality that was so convincing, they all inevitably fell victim to their own inner depravity. One by one, each participant was broken.”
Another hand shoots up as I take a swig of coffee.
“Um, Professor? I was just wondering… how can environmental factors make someone turn bad? Deep down, aren’t they just plain evil?”
Hopping down from the lectern, I take a seat on the stage. My captive audience leans a little closer, all succumbing to the sway and authority that any decent teacher deftly wields. Removing my glasses to polish the lenses, I offer the student a smile.
“We are all made up of an intricate tapestry—infinite combinations of traits and experiences that create the human mind. Every moment matters on a fundamental level. Evil isn’t simply born; it’s created by the world around us.”
I pause, flicking through the pages of a dog-eared book that features in every lecture, The Lucifer Effect.
“As Zimbardo himself said, if you put good apples into a bad situation, you’ll get bad apples. The power, ladies and gentlemen, lies in manipulating the human mind.”
“Why?” another student asks.
“Because the man who holds the secret to manipulating the morality of others is truly indestructible,” I answer.
As the bell rings and they all file out, I glance down at the pages clasped in my hand. Highlights and notes reigning chaos through my desperation to soak up knowledge during my many years of study. Even now, a decade later, as a world-renowned psychiatrist, I haven’t forgotten the topic that stole my heart.
“Professor Lazlo?”
I meet the eager eyes of the blonde girl from before.
“Jenny, right? Good answer earlier. You’re clearly keeping up with the course. It’s a difficult topic at times.”
“It’s fascinating,” she admits, gnawing her lip. “I was wondering if I could run an application past you? Since you know what you’re doing and all.”
Straightening my bow tie, I swipe a hand through my hair and offer Jenny a charming smile. “Of course. I’ll check my schedule and pencil you in.”
She thanks me before she flees the room. I turn to pack up my things, feeling rather smug. These college girls are easy prey, begging for attention. I bet she’ll let me nail her over my desk just for a few pointers.
“Ahem, Lazlo, is it? Professor of Psychiatry?”
The door to the lecture theatre slams shut as a man enters. I frown, taking in his pristine black suit, polished briefcase, and nondescript features. My skin crawls immediately. This isn’t the first time I’ve had other universities trying to poach me.
“I’m not interested, I already turned Oxford and Cambridge down. Don’t bother.”
The man smirks, helping himself to my papers and scanning the scrawled notes. I try not to feel violated, despite the obvious intrusion.
“I represent an organisation that is interested in recruiting you. My name is Pollark.”
“That’s not a real name,” I point out.
“That’s the only name you’re getting.”
Shaking my head, I gesture towards the door. “Get out of my lecture hall.”
Pollark snaps open his briefcase, sliding a slim file free. He offers it to me, gesturing to the thick, expensive paper attached. My gaze falls on a cheque boasting more zeros than I’ll likely ever see in my life.
“Is this some kind of joke?”
“Not at all. My employer is keen to recruit you. I can assure you this project has deeper pockets than you’ll ever know. There’s plenty more where that came from.”
Gesturing for him to take a seat, I quickly scan through the papers, my eyes widening in disbelief. The attached proposal immediately captures my interest, however ambitious it may be. Not to mention immoral, against every oath I took as a clinician.
“This is ludicrous.” I laugh.
He refuses to budge, raising an eyebrow in challenge.
“You will never get funding or clinical approval for this kind of venture. Are you writing a movie or something? Is that it?” I guess, waiting for the penny to drop. “Because my time is far too precious to waste with this kind of nonsense.”
Pollark opens his suit jacket, careful
“I can assure you this is very real,” he informs me. “We have a location and funding secured from the private sector. All we need are clinicians that share our… goals, shall we say, and who want to be involved in cutting-edge psychiatric research.”
I gape at him for a few seconds, looking back down at the intricate proposal. Despite everything, my mind buzzes with excitement. He’s caught my interest. It’s almost too good to be true, but two tantalising words refuse to be ignored. Free reign.
“Is the salary negotiable?” I ask, playing down my eagerness.
“Put it this way, professor. You’ll want for nothing for the rest of your days if you agree to join our organisation. My employer is nothing if not accommodating. Your efforts in this endeavour will not go unrewarded, should you choose to accept.”
I look back at the battered book peeking out from my bag. Pages telling tales of experiments that wouldn’t be allowed these days, a mere ten years later. Science is now beholden to the rules and regulations of civilised society, preventing any research with actual promise from taking place.
“Might I ask what the regulatory bodies think of your proposal?”
Pollark leans closer, flashing a cold, emotionless smile. “The organisation I represent has approval from the highest level in the land. Our investors are quite persuasive, not to mention well connected.” He raises his thick eyebrows at me. “Are you in or not? I need your answer before I can tell you anything else. You’ll need to sign an NDA, of course.”
My fingers skate over the intricate crest in the upper-right corner of the page, an initial mock-up of what looks like an official emblem.
“The name?”
Pollark’s smile widens.
“Blackwood Institute.”
CHAPTER
ONE
Brooklyn
Nightmare by The Veer Union
My fingers graze the mirror, smooth beneath my touch. The harrowing truth stares back at me, undeniable in the cold light of day. Sallow eyes. Dark circles. Gaunt skin. I look like a corpse reanimated back to life.
I’m dead.
This isn’t real.
I fucking died.
I turn the tap on with shaking hands and splash water on my face. Fear coats my tongue, poisoning my every thought. Memories continue to assault me, but they’re all blurred and foggy. The words are lost like ashes to the breeze.
“How long has she been in there?”
“Take a breath, Hud. We’re not patrol officers. Lay off.”
Their concerned voices float through from the bedroom.
“Two days ago, she was inches from falling to her death. How can you trust her right now?”
“Because it wasn’t her. Don’t you see that yet? He took her up there. Open your eyes to what’s going on around you.”
My forehead presses against the glass, seeking any sensation to ground myself with. I feel like I’m drowning, set adrift with nothing to hold on to. A fist hammers on the door and I nearly jump out my skin as my heart threatens to rip free from my chest.
“Brooklyn! Open the fucking door; I said five minutes. Don’t push me.”
“She just woke up, seriously you need to back off. Are you trying to scare her?”
“I’m trying to keep her safe!”
The voices continue to filter through, still sounding detached and faraway. I must be imagining them—I fell from that roof, and this is just a dream. I’m not alive, I can’t be. This isn’t real.
“That’s it, I’ve had it.”
With a violent smash, the door crashes open. Splintered wood flies like lethal daggers through the air. My knees give out and I cower in the corner, squeezing beneath the sink to hide from whatever monster has found me.
“Brooklyn?”
Clasping my hands over my ears, I curl up as small as possible. Smaller and tighter, like an imploding star that collapses from within.
“Look what you’ve done now.”
“Shut the hell up, I’ve got this.”
I jumped. I died. This isn’t fucking real, I mentally chant. Warm skin meets mine, fingers rough and insistent, attempting to pull me back no matter how hard I fight against it. A very life-like hand cups my jaw and tries to gain my attention, but I burrow deeper into myself.
“Blackbird? It’s me. Don’t be scared.”
I manage a tiny shake of my head.
“Come on, baby. I’m right here.”
His fingers press my face, like he’s trying to probe the broken mind within. I fight instinct as long as I can, eventually succumbing as my clenched eyes open. Two brilliant jewels stare back at me, turquoise flecks swimming in the crushing depths of the ocean.
“There you are.”
“Hudson?” I murmur, my mouth impossibly dry.
“Yeah, it’s me. I’m here.”
Brows furrowed and face carved in concerned lines, he looks more like a demon than an angel. I must be in hell—after all, I was always destined to end up here.
“Where are we?”
Hudson frowns at me, real fear entering his crystalline eyes. “We’re in Kade and Phoenix’s bathroom. You just woke up a little while ago.”
“No,” I shake my head at him, “I said where are we?”
Something moves behind him, causing me to flinch back further. Another figure appears, although this one definitely looks like an angel. All shining blonde hair and tangible hope, not a scrap of doubt in sight. He attempts a comforting smile.
“Brooklyn? It’s Kade. You’re in Blackwood.”
I shake my head again, this time more aggressively.
What am I missing? Why are they here?
“I escaped Blackwood,” I tell them, glancing down at my tightly bandaged arms, the steady ebb and flow of pain confusing me. “I… died. This isn’t real.”
Hudson curses, taking a step back to gather himself. I watch him go with wide eyes, the rejection stabbing my chest. Kade quickly takes his place, falling to his knees.
“It’s okay. You’re going to be fine, love. I promise.”
His voice brings it all back. Screaming at the top of his lungs, telling me not to jump, the others slowly inching closer. I wince at the sudden realisation in all its alarming detail. Someone was there to catch me in the violence of the storm. Eli. My silent saviour.
“Kade,” I whimper.
“Shhh. I’ve got you, you’re okay.”
He grabs my body and gently draws me out from under the sink. Strong arms wrap around me as I’m pulled into his lap, enveloping me in reassuring warmth. Burying my face in Kade’s shirt, I inhale the familiar scent while Hudson silently watches.
“This is real?”
“It’s real. You’re real,” Kade confirms.
Hot tears sting my cheeks. The truth runs away from me as the room blurs, hidden behind a curtain of despair.
“What happened on the roof?”
Kade doesn’t answer at first, continuing to stroke my hair. I try to grapple with the fog clouding my mind, but it slips through my fingertips. All I remember is Rio leading me up the stairs to my death. Every step I took towards that moment… he wanted me to. He baited me in my lowest moment.
