Chapter 58
Striker
Therulesweabideby keep us separate from the animals. They keep us from slipping down that dark path that calls to us, beckoning us forward to embrace the parts of ourselves we keep hidden. The damaged, broken bits we cover up with a mask to appear normal. Yet underneath it all, that baser instinct lives.
Humans are still animals after all.
And some of us are born in darkness.
I was forged in it, raised by it, trained to wield it like a weapon. And that dark, primitive energy sears through my veins as I tug at the metal cuffs digging into my wrists. They clank against the concrete floor, the sound grating across my brain like nails.
Every instinct in me screams.Find her.But I’m chained like a prisoner, hands bound in shackles looped through a ring buried in the floor.
Iama prisoner. By Father. By my own thoughts and blind trust.
My gaze narrows in on 48 standing a few feet away, his gun trained on me. “Unlock these and I won’t snap your fucking neck.” I grit my teeth, my voice deadly calm. “You know damn well it’s going to end badly for you if you keep following his commands.”
His eyes dart to the soldier beside him. One I’ve never seen before.
One of the fifty—sixty?—who stormed the estate. Soldiers I’ve never seen until today. They have no identifying numbers. No names.
I have no idea who this man is.
The school was closed years ago. Or so we thought.
I lick my split lip, amusement bubbling in my chest. They may have overpowered us, dragged Reaper and me down here to the basement and chained us like dogs, but they have no idea what we’re capable of doing when one of ours is threatened.
And our girl is up there.
Alone.
“If Reaper doesn’t saw your fucking head off, I will,” I snarl, my vision blurring, stained red at the corners. I press my eyes closed, forcing out the images trying to gather in my head.
Delilah, terrified. Screaming. Being hurt, or worse, by these men we didn’t even know existed.
Father has a vast army of mercenaries he trained in the school, but the amount of new soldiers that invaded our home like a fucking parasite, goes beyond our knowledge.
“Shut the fuck up, bitch,” the new soldiers says. He slides forward and spits. Saliva lands on my cheek. “I heard you like sucking your brother’s dick.” He grabs his crotch tauntingly. “Maybe if you’re sweet, I’ll let you suck mine.” He steps up close, close enough. “Or maybe I’ll fuck you raw while you watch as that little black-haired beauty of yours chokes on every cock in this place.”
A laugh tingles in my throat as a smile splits my lips. “God, you’re so fuckingfucked.” I jerk my head downward, and my forehead connects with his nose. The crunching sound and his garbled grunt as he stumbles backward, curls satisfaction in my gut. Air whooshes from my lungs as the butt of a rifle hits my stomach. I bend forward, the chains on my wrists clanking as I double over. My laughter spills out, choked but filled with menace. “I’m going to fucking kill you.”
“Quiet,” 48 warns, rearing back the rifle, threatening to hit me again. “Keep yapping, and you’ll regret it.”
I smirk, bringing my cuffed hands to my face, swiping away the wet spit, my gaze locked on the nameless sack of shit before me. This soldier, this sorry excuse for a man, will be the first to die.
He backs away, the arrogant expression on his face slipping, like he can see my plan. How I’ll kick his face in until matter and blood cover every inch of my boot.
Outside the door, the quiet,pop pop pop, of a gun echoes through the large room. 48 meets my eye.
“Told you.” I chuckle. “You’refucked.”
The lock slides and the door flies open. Reaper stalks in, blood splattered across his face and neck. Purple already colors under his eyes from where he's been hit, his lip swollen, but he looks otherwise in tact. He points the gun at the new soldier and fires. Warmth hits my face, and glee spreads in my chest. He trains the rifle on 48, chin lifting in my direction. “Unlock him.”
48’s jaw tics. Slowly, he lowers his weapon, then unclips the keys hooked on his belt. He inches toward me and unlocks the cuffs, eyes fixed on Reaper. Before I can lunge, Reaper shoots. 48 stumbles back, and another bullet hits his forehead, then he collapses at my feet.
“Are you good?” Reaper’s hand lands on my shoulder, grounding me. I suck in air, letting it fill my lungs as I gather up all my rage and pull it in tightly, keeping it restrained.
“Yeah,” I say, then grab 48’s gun. “Where is she?”
