CHAPTER ONE
OREN
Art required finesse and a detail-oriented mind, but none of the men before me had it, and for the first time, I acknowledged that I would eventually be forced to remove my flower headband.
Dad stood stoic next to me, a resolute statue, because he viewed personality like a cancer—a tumor that threatened to ruin its host.
When I told him I was gay, he was silent, but harbored his ill intent internally. When I told him I was pursuing a degree, he was elated for the potential opportunities it would open until I announced I was attending art school. That moment solidified the trajectory of my life and bound me here, to one of his bases in the middle of fucking nowhere.
With enough resources to expend, there was no hiding from him. He pulled all funds from my credit cards, leaving me with a singular option—joining one of his personal squads to rectify my ‘mistakes’.
I’d mourned the outside world. I’d even worn black the day before at my farewell event. My friends had cried. Hell, I cried, and it was any less than a grand time, but today?
Today was a fucking shit show.
Trying to keep positive had worn me thin because no one here smiled or cracked a joke. I tried with the officer at the gate, but he scoffed and waved us along, earning me a sharp clap to the back from Dad as a warning.
No personality, only order—a testament to the plight he’d inflicted on me. I’m sure he’d expected me to cry, to curse, to harbor hatred toward him, but nothing pissed him off more than the continual bubbly son he produced. He despised happiness more than anything, and I had a shit ton of it left to give like a budding flower.
Were the men here evenawareof what flowers were? They sure as hell didn’t smell like they knew, the stench of their sweat curling my face into an unpleasant scowl.
Deodorant would be wonderful. Cologne? It would be like champagne to them, and God, did I lovefuckingChampagne. Not the liquor, but the man down the street with the title Champagne, who I would miss performing at the local drag brunch.
Dad had chucked my suitcase—all that I had left—from the car minutes ago, narrowly hitting my toes that poked out from my Birkenstock sandals. He had no grace, but that was typical for a war general. I’d been stalling, and there was no way he didn’t know.
Clearing his throat, I adjusted the headband holding most of my blonde curls back from my forehead. My hair had grown longer in the past month, and I wasn’t sure it would survive much longer.
“Take the headband off.”
It was the first time he’d spoken to me since this morning. “Why? Afraid I’ll ruin your reputation?” I said and swiped my thumb across my gloss-painted lips. “Kinda late for that, don’t you think?”
His brows furrowed, but there was a glint ofsomethinghidden in the smile he unfurled. “Middle building.”
I grabbed the handle of my luggage, the wheels popping slightly as they hit the curb. “Sure, bye.” I didn’t turn back around because he didn’t know what it meant to be loved, and therefore, didn’t know how to love me. Why should he deserve a farewell?
Wheels rolled over concrete as I walked farther from the asshole. The middle building was a striking beige, its doors opening and closing as soldiers flowed in and out. My cross necklace bounced against my chest as I trekked through the nonexistent foliage. I’m not religious, but it sure as hell worked to attractinterestingpeople. Hopefully, it’d do the same now as men paused, their glances sharpened to a point I’d grown used to.
I blew one a kiss, his nose wrinkling in distaste before I flipped him off. Sugar and spice combined; probably more seasoning than they were used to. A bit of color would suit this place, too, butdamn, why did I have to be the one to paint it?
Ripped jeans accentuated my hips and ass, my sleek white shirt tucked into the waistband to highlight the muscles beneath. I worked hard for this body, and like hell I’d hide it behind the uniform Dad wanted me to wear. Someone would have to stuff it onto me before I’d willingly part with fashionable attire.
Fixing my headband one last time, I entered the building through the cracked door. It was larger than expected, but not nearly as intimidating as the man standing in the back corner. He was hunched over, eyes peeled to something far less important than me. I couldn’t help but stare at the definition pushing through his shirt, sleeves cutting into his biceps.
The room was fairly empty, bland, and boring. Full of eye candy, sure, but sweets were better in moderation. This was like a jar filled with unwrapped pieces—one lick, and they’d disintegrate.
The main entrance featured a desk, a couple of chairs, and a TV screen showing propaganda for idiots to consume. Hallways diverged from the middle.
I was unfamiliar with it all. My father’s work had never interested me, and that’s part of the issue. He was a prideful man. Atraditionalman, but to send me here to rot was next-level shit.
Computers beeped, alarms sounding sporadically as I stood in the middle. It was the first time I’d been ignored, and it wasn’t a frustration I'd willed myself to uncover yet.
Grabbing the luggage handle, I headed to the nearby desk. A man sat behind it, typing furiously. The man I’d stared at was still preoccupied, but goddamn, he wasexcessivelytall, at least a foot over me. I thought my presence was large, but he’d swallowed it the second I’d entered.
I pressed my palms into the desk, leaning over to peer at the computer.
The clerk’s eyes flicked to mine, and his face pinched to a point. “Who the hell are you?”
“You don’t know me?” I reached into my back pocket, pulled out my wallet, and flipped it open to my ID. Not the best picture I’ve taken, but at least my smile was perfect. “Oren Valens.”
