“Open,” Reaper orders.
Do everything I say.
I guess we’re doing this.
Trying not to glare in Fallon’s direction, I open my mouth and let him place food on my tongue. He makes sure his fingers don’t touch my lips, and I make sure to chew and swallow and reopen without being asked. My heart races, the tension in the room so thick, I can taste it with each bite. I’ve seen what happens when Fallon’s demands aren’t met, and I never want to experience that again. Even if it means I’m humiliated in front of him.
“Good girl,” Striker says, trailing a finger along my cheek.
My face heats, hating Fallon seeing him touch me, but know he’s putting on a show. Because that’s what this is. I’m not stupid. They are trying to appease him. Keep him from lashing out in that rage-fueled violent display once again.
How did they survive this? How is Striker so sweet? But then I remember the sting of the belt he took to my ass, the slightly cruel hint of the chase through the woods, the edge of pain to their teasing me on this very table, and know none of them are exactly sweet. They’re just as capable of cruelty as Fallon, but are maybe saved by their love for each other.
And their affection for me.
Fallon says nothing as I continue to eat, the room completely silent, except for the crunch of crackers, and Striker’s occasional praise. Tension spirals like a live wire, crackling and popping along my spine as each silent minute stretches into another. I keep expecting Fallon to order them to do something, but he remains still, just off to the side, watching our every move.
Reaper seems to grow tenser with each passing second, like he’s waiting too, and my whole body aches with how rigid I am. When he places the last bit of food in my mouth, Striker hands me a glass of water, and I take it, my hands slick with sweat, and say, “Thank you.”
He seems to relax, but I can still feel Reaper’s unease like it’s my own.
“Interesting,” Fallon says, and my focus shifts to him as he takes the chair across the table from me. He glances up at Reaper. “She’s a quick study.”
I’m about to tell him he can address me since I’m right here, but he’s right. I am a fast learner. He doesn’t need to remind me what happens when we don’t obey, or how quickly the men are put in place if one of them falls out of line.
And I’m now one of them.
“She’s highly motivated,” Reaper says, and he’s not wrong either. “What she lacks in skill, she makes up for in agility and intelligence.”
“Intelligence,” Fallon repeats, those eerily icy eyes assessing me. “I see you’ve all learned a valuable lesson. Do you now understand the consequences of disobeying an order?”
Fucking psychopath, I want to scream, but tuck it behind my teeth and smile at him.
“Answer me, girl,” Fallon says. “You’re allowed to speak when you’re asked a question, as long as you are respectful.”
I swallow all the disrespectful things I’d like to say and smile again. “You’ve taught me a valuable lesson,” I say, each word laced with just enough sweetness that it’s barely respectful. “I now know exactly what you are.”
He seems to like that answer because his hard, stern features fracture, and he smiles. It’s so breathtaking and such a contrast to everything I’ve seen from him so far that I shift uncomfortably in my seat. I’m reminded that Fallon was, still is, a breathtakingly handsome man, and just like every other psychopath in history, he’s more than capable of being charming. Probably drips with it when he wants to.
“You remind me so much of her,” he says, gaze dragging all over my face. “You have your father’s eyes, so blue and cunning. His black hair. His intelligence.” Fallon leans forward, placing his forearms on the table. “But you have her drive and her spark.”
My heart skips around in my chest as his words sink in.Her.My mother.
“You knew her?” The question slips out. I glance at Striker, who’s not looking my way, then up at Reaper beside me. I feel him tense even more than before, so I clamp my mouth shut, trapping the many questions before they tumble from my lips.
Fallon smiles again, but this time it’s colder. Darker. “Indeed.”
I sit upright, my heart no longer skipping but thundering. My mother was killed fifteen years ago. How far back he goes with my father is unsettling, yet I never saw him. I would have remembered seeing this man.
“I knew Sophia well,” Fallon says, and the way he says her name, how it slips out of his mouth, warm and smooth, creates little goosebumps along my arms. Like he can sense how I’m suddenly bursting with questions, Fallon smiles again, and it looks genuine this time, but still laced with a faint hint ofcruelty. “She was beautiful. Even more so than you.” An almost apologetic smile flashes across his face. “Your father was madly in love with her. He lost his mind after her death. Failed to see reality or listen to reason. I was forced to cut ties.”
Her death. As if she slipped gracefully into the afterlife. Like she hadn’t been shot on a sidewalk on my birthday.
“Murdered, you mean,” I say.
Fallon quirks one perfect brow and dips his head, agreeing.
I remember how my father changed after she died. He was harder, but then Cora came to live with us shortly after, and she was all I needed. She became my entire world.
