Is he insane? I glare at him. “Working with Jarod Cross, The Grateful Project—is that your vision of the world?”
“Everything I do, I do to earn what is rightfully mine.” Reaching out, he whispers, “But more importantly, I do what I do so my family can be restored.”
I pull back.
Kurosaki barks out a laugh. “Even now, after all I have done for you, you still look at me as a monster.”
“You’re a criminal.”
“I amyour father.”
“You’re a sperm donor,” I growl.
I see his hand coming at me, and I remain in place, waiting for the sting of his palm.
But it never comes.
Kurosaki’s hand stops a breadth away from my cheek. His chest heaves, and he drops his hand slowly while looking at the gnarled tree. “She would not want us to fight. Not here, in front of her.”
My breath escapes faster as chaos roils in my chest. The man has more reverence for the dead than the living.
I press forward, seeing a crack in his armor. “Was my mother kind?”
“A bleeding heart.”
I use the knife he’s given me and plunge it in. “You traded scholarship students to politicians. Would she be pleased by that?”
His back stiffens. At least he has some kind of shame, particularly when it comes to my mother.
She was his conscience.
“Your mother believed in my vision.”
“What kind of vision sacrifices the innocent?”
“Innocent? They were lured by their own greed.”
“They were powerless and you exploited them.”
“Leaders have to make hard choices. When that moment comes, and itwill,you will both understand me.” His eyes stray to the tree again.
“That day will never come. You and I are not the same.”
“You think kindness will save you? A heart that bleeds for everyone protects no one.” He pauses and stares at me for a long time. “You are so brilliant, yet so utterly naive.”
“We are all monsters. All of us.” Kurosaki points at me. “Even you, who feel yourself morally superior. You have everything.Everything!The world at your fingertips and yet there is no joy in your eyes. You have been searching for meaning, searching for purpose. And you hide it. You use your brothers as armor. You shield yourself in indecency and debasement to quiet the cries of your ownwastedpotential.”
His mouth tightens and his eyes rake over me. “Whether you like it or not, you are myson.Deep inside, something calls you to greatness. Something calls you toaction. This life that you’ve built of shallow adoration and ease—it is not enough for you. Youlongfor more. You long to feel alive.”
I shake my head, rejecting his words with everything inside me. But a tiny voice in the darkest, deepest corners of my mind whispers that he’s right. My life as Jarod Cross’s son gave me everything and nothing, all at the same time. Maybe this is the path I need to follow to finally feel alive.
Following Kurosaki means killing and hurting people. Is that the excitement I need?
Kurosaki’s eyes fix on something in the distance. It’s one of his lieutenants.
“Is it ready?” Kurosaki asks.
The man responds in Japanese. I normally don’t understand anything when they speak in a different language, but I immediately recognize the words “Cross.”
