“Calloway, before we adjourn to the viewing room, I just wanted you to meetmybrothers,” Lucian declares, effectively drawing my eyes to the three men beside him in a snap.
Hisbrothers, meaning one of these men ismyfather.
It’s the second time he’s caught me off guard in the last five minutes, and by the smile on his face, he’s reveling in it.
Regardless, I log information about our sperm donors as both a matter of confirmation and information. The more I know about the men who decided not to raise us, the more ruthless I’ll be able to be when I destroy them.
Tall, intimidating, and sickeningly unbothered, my father is immediately recognizable. But of course he is—I, unfortunately, am his spitting image. From our hair to our posture, to the slightly outward camber of our feet, we are of the same blueprint.
He greets me with a jerk of his chin and zero relational warmth, and I return the favor with a look of disgust. The inside, evidently, is where the similarities run dry.
And then helaughs. “I don’t know, Lucian. I know you said he’s mine, but I don’t really see the resemblance,” he mocks, actively ignoring my matching brown hair, blue eyes, and sharp jaw for a chance at a low blow. “Looks like any other poor fuck playing dress-up in fancy clothes to me.”
“Please, Cassian, practice some decorum, I beg of you,” Lucian chastises, though his anger falls well short of his eyes. “This isn’t the setting for uncivilized behavior.”
Good news? I now know my father’s name is Cassian. Bad news? He’s a fucking piece of shit.
Cassian just keeps laughing, and the two other men—one blond and one dark-haired—laugh right along with him. They don’thesitate to look in my direction the entire time. They want me to feel uncomfortable. They want me to know they think I’m the butt of the joke.
And when the blond and dark-haired men’s faces turn up in all-too-familiar smiles, the unbearable news of Rook’s and Kane’s fathers—and their also shitty personalities—confirms itself too.
Wherever my brothers are, I hope to fuck they’re not being subjected to this kind of mental warfare.
“A spade has no problem being called a spade,” I eventually say, shrugging an unbothered shoulder. “Which is why I’m sure you don’t blink when people call you a prick.”
My uncle, the crazy asshole, laughs like he’s somehow proud of the reply, heading off my father’s angry steam before it can escalate. “Good. Now we’re even on the jabs, and we can move on.”
The other three, however, take much more offense. They were hoping to crawl under my skin and root there—but it’s hard to bully someone who doesn’t give a shit.
I only care about the opinions of people I would trade places with—and I wouldn’t trade places with these fuckers for a hundred billion dollars.
“I wanted all of you to meet so we could act as a welcoming committee of sorts,” Lucian goes on to explain. “If Calloway is going to assimilate among us, he needs to have some stewards.” He points toward the dark-haired asshole. “This is Nathanial.” And then he points to the blond-headed fuck. “And Ronan.”
Neither man offers a smile or their hand.
“Good luck, kid,” Cassian—my fucking father—spits. He eyes me over his glass of bourbon before snorting in disgust and downing his drink. “You’re certainly going to need it.” He turns hard blue eyes to Lucian, spilling his evil out for the world to see with no filter. “If I’m his steward, he’s dead. How about that?”
Lucian sighs as Cassian walks away, and Rook’s and Kane’s fathers snicker among themselves.
“Nathanial? Ronan?” Lucian eyes them pointedly. “You owe me this.”
“Fine, Luc.” Nathanial nods, his mouth set in a firm line, and it’s almost uncanny how much Rook looks like his father. “But don’t expect me to do it nicely.” He shoves into my shoulder as he walks away, and Ronan is the only brother left to consider me.
He shakes the ice in his glass and runs his tongue across his teeth. “My boy look as much like me as you look like Cassian?”
Kane might as well be his fucking mini-me, but I shake my head. “Nope,” I lie. “Not even a little bit.”
Without so much as another word, Ronan leaves the room to head for the observation space, and my jaw works itself over with the effort not to break in two.
It’s one thing to meet your father. It’s a whole other thing to come face-to-face with a man who sells and tortures innocent women for sport, knows you’re his son…and thinks you’re better off dead.
“Come on, Calloway. Let’s get moving,” Lucian encourages, moving on from the fucked-up family reunion as though it never even happened. “You’ve got a room of women to see.”
I don’t say anything—because I can’t.
Nothing,and I mean nothing, short of burning this whole place to the motherfucking ground will do.
I walk on wooden legs as my uncle escorts me out the door, past a couple of security guys, down a long hallway, and up a grand set of red-carpeted steps. At the top, we make a left and enter a pair of double mahogany doors into a ballroom with a wall of floor-to-ceiling windows along the entire left side.
