“Go put ice on these,” Reaper says, his voice hard, verging on callous. So unlike the man who threatened to gut his father only moments ago. So unlike the man who kissed me in a brightly lit room while my entire world was in darkness.
My stomach sinks as the coldness of his words slips under my skin. Push, pull. Softness, then brutal slices of his hard edges. That’s all I get from him. Reminding myself to accept this doesn’t help the ache that spreads through me.
“I’m fine,” I say again, matching his tone as I turn to face him, but Striker’s already steering me toward the door. I try to jerk out of his grasp, but he stops, giving me a look that would have me shrinking back before. Before I knew him.
“Is that how he controls you?” The words taste bitter on my tongue. “By threatening to kill one of you if you step out of line?”
The muscles in Striker’s jaw jump. “They aren’t threats, Princess.”
A riot of emotions burst through me, making my heart tumble in my chest. Striker must see each one as they thrash their way through my heart because his features soften.
“Come on,” he says, reaching for my hand.
I wrench away, my fingers curling into fists. “That’s it?” The words scrape my throat. “He shows up, lashes us, threatens to kill us, and we just—what? Walk away?” My voice cracks, breaks. “We do nothing?”
“You do as we say,” Striker snaps, grabbing my forearm. His eyes flick to Reaper. “We will take care of Fallon.”
“Take care?” The words explode from me. “How?” I whirl toward Reaper. “Stop leaving me in the dark. You want me to follow your every command, but I know nothing.”
Reaper’s voice turns to ice. “You know everything you need to know.” He jabs a finger toward the doorway. “Now go.”
“Tell me.” Tears burn my eyes, a shudder wracking my shoulders.
In three strides, he’s before me, pulling me toward him. His fingers thread through my hair while his other hand traces my neck, cupping my jaw. I clutch at his shirt, bunching the sweat-dampened fabric between my fingers. His heartbeat hammers against my palm, beating hard. Alive.
His obsidian eyes scan my face, tanned flesh creasing at the corners. The dark and tired look swirling behind them makes my chest ache. I think this may be the first time it registers he’s truly just a man under that mask. He’s larger than life and holds such a power over me that I’ve built him up to some superhuman force. But he’s just human and just as breakable as me.
“Help me understand,” I whisper, searching his eyes, but they flicker away and he lets me go. “I need to understand why.”
I don’t understand. I can’t comprehend why they take orders from him. Why they are loyal. Why they are here and allowing all of this. They can stop at any time and refuse to follow any more of his commands.
But maybe they can’t. I’ve felt what it’s like to be controlled by a man who holds too much power. Rune kept me under his thumb my entire life.
They tried to keep Cora, but Fallon brought backup, overpowering them with ease. It is possible they all feel as trapped as I do. Trapped in their anger toward Rune and the need for revenge. Stuck with Fallon and stuck in the bitterness of vengeance.
“You won’t understand.” Striker’s voice snaps me out of my spiraling thoughts. His chest rises and falls as he stalks toward me, then cups my face in his hands. The slight tremble is still there. Fear. It’s still eating him from the inside out. “And we’re not digging into all that right now.”
“Would he have done it?” I ask, and the question hangs in the air, making the air thick.
“Yes.” Reaper’s response cuts sharply through me. Cold. Final.
Striker’s eyes fall closed as he leans down, pressing his forehead to mine. Like the truth is too heavy to bear. “Yes,” he whispers. “He would have done it just to hurt them.”
Them. Viper. Breaker.
Reaper.
Your favorite brother.
Striker backs away and pulls me toward the door. The movement reminds me that my body is just as bruised as my heart, so I let him guide me forward. I glance over my shoulder when we reach the hall. Reaper stands in the center of the room,eyes following me as Striker tugs me away and down the hall, and that dark feeling inside me grows even heavier. Angrier.
Fallon would have killed his own son to keep control over them.
My stomach churns with acid as the truth burns through me.
He uses fear to control them. And it’s the type of fear that makes people do terrible things. The type of fear that would make a young girl remain silent after the man who raised her turned on her. This is the fear that keeps strong men under the thumb of a man who, I think, may be just as evil as Rune.
Maybe even worse.
