Cook points at me. “Let Viper do it. He’s still got to make up for the jars of peanut butter he broke.”
“No.” Father’s tone goes glacier-cold on Reaper before he points at him and Striker. “You two. Training yard.” His gaze shifts to Breaker. “You wash dishes and then join Reaper and Striker in the yard.” He looks at me, and then points to the door. “You follow me to my office.”
My shoulders slump as I sigh. I slide off the stool reluctantly and follow him down the hall, our boots echoing through the nearly empty school. There’s only a few of us left, and Seeker and Raid keep to themselves, so the four of us are together most of the time. With the threat of the wilderness trail in two months, everyone is on edge. Only two come back, and I have a feeling Hunter and Reaper will make damn sure it’s them at all costs. Even if it’s their humanity.
When we reach Fallon’s office, he pulls the large set of keys from his pocket and unlocks the door and then walksthrough, leaving it open after he enters, expecting me to follow. I do. We all do.
“Sit,” he says, shoving the keys back into the pocket of his sleek charcoal pants before sitting behind his glossy desk.
I do, slouching just to piss him off. At the edge of the desk sits wood frames with photos of people I’ve never met. Hunter swears they’re Father’s friends, but it seems impossible he has any. Men like Father don’t have friends. Especially not handsome men with beautiful wives and a pretty little girl with raven-black hair. Hunter even told us their names. Said that he and Father went way back.
“Son.” Father’s stern tone cuts through my thoughts and rips my eyes from the perfect family, wondering how it would feel to have that. A mom who didn’t get eaten up by cancer and a father who was nice and made us smile like that little girl.
Father adjusts his chair and folds his hands on top of his desk. His cold eyes turn even icier, and I sit upright, my spine stiffening with dread.
We’re going to have this conversation again. I just know it.
“I had hoped the last time we discussed this, we’d not have to talk about it again,” Father says. “Need I remind you that your behavior is unacceptable?”
“I volunteered,” I remind him, even though I know that isn’t what he’s talking about. “You’re the one who refused—”
His pointed look has me shutting my mouth.
“It’s inappropriate,” he says, and my cheeks grow hot. “Do I need to be concerned?”
“No, sir.” Avoiding his disapproving glare, I focus on his mouth. When it turns down into a frown, I know what’s coming. “It’s a sin, my son.” The whispered disappointment makes the embarrassment already flooding me turn up a million degrees.
I swallow, dropping my eyes to his hands.
A sin.
Not mine, but mine because it touches me.
I clear my throat. “It is.”
Father sighs, leaning back in his seat. “I feel like I may have failed you.”
I shake my head, clenching my teeth.
“Is it because of what happ—”
“No,” I snap, a little too loudly.God.Why does he alwaysdothis? Bring it up? Like that part of my past means I’m forever fucked up. Maybe I am. I meet his eyes. “Is that what you think of me?”
His shoulders slump, and he looks a little taken aback. Nobody questions him, but this conversation makes me sick every time we have it. “Of course not. But this part of you, this…” He lets his voice trail off, his silence saying what he’s too cowardly to voice.
I don’t know why I let it bother me, or why I crave his approval. He’s a cruel, selfish man who has spent years training us, nearly killing most of us.
He’s our father. Our Commander. Our fucking waking nightmare, and yet I still want to please him. Make him proud even when I know deep down just me being me is a disappointment.
If we’d been raised outside of this dark, hellish place, would I be what Father deemed normal? I don’t think so. Some things just live in us, things we’re born with, and I doubt we’d be created that way if it truly was a sin.
Pushing up from the chair, I adjust my uniform. “I am full of sin. I get it. May I leave?”
“Has he said something to you?” Father searches my face, brows knitting. “Made an advance of some kind?”
That’s why I want his approval. These rare moments when he actually gives a shit make me forget he’s a monster. Like that day all those years ago when I was given my name.
“No, sir,” I say. “As I said before, he’s done nothing wrong.”
