“Can I go now?” she asks timidly.
It feels like the lack of her physically burns my skin as I at last loosen my hold and let her do just that. As she pulls up her jeans and scurries off to her house, I wonder if this is the last time I’ll ever see her.
What will Tragen do to me when he hears I left in the middleof… whatever that was?
I don’t actually care what it was. I’m not the least bit curious. The only thing I’m worried about is Piper. If I get shot for disobeying orders, who will make sure that idiot girl stays away from Devil Tower?
Thursday
Chapter 6
Quill
I’m still not dead when my alarm rings at five a.m. on Thursday morning. I don’t usually depend on an alarm to wake up, because I don’t need much sleep. But last night, I barely closed an eye. I tossed and turned for hours, Piper’s weird, neither blue, neither green eyes haunting me, and I only fell into an uncomfortable doze about an hour ago.
Groaning, I stand up, take a quick shower, and tumble into my clothes. It’s far too early to go to school, but I have no desire to wait around and deal with Dad.
But just as I open the door to my room, I hear him call my name.
“Quill,” he barks. “Get down here now!”
I hiss out in exasperation and walk down the stairs as slowly as possible, unwilling to hurry for the asshole who raised me. If the termraisedcan even be used to describe the regular beatings I’ve been taking since kindergarten, and which only intensified after Mom left.
They’ve gotten less frequent since I started high school, and I’d like to imagine it’s because Dad reads the silent promise in my eyes each time his fists make contact with my skin.
I’m going to kill you. Someday, I’m going to kill you.
Dad and Tragen are tight, and I assume that’s why Tragen favors me. It’s also why Dad is the first to know when I’ve fucked up, and I guess I’m about to get a beating from him before I go to meet my fate at Tragen’s hands.
Sure enough, I’m greeted by a fist to the face. I don’t even thinkto duck, merely accepting it and tumbling to the ground, where I wait passively for him to get out his rage in the form of kicking me repeatedly in the sides.
I don’t actually care. Especially not this morning, when all my thoughts are on the girl I won’t be able to protect if I get killed by Tragen.
I know soldiers-in-training don’t usually get killed. Tragen’s definitely trigger-happy, but that fate generally awaits the full-fledged members of the society, those who are already accepting contracts, and have graduated from high school. Though I’ll be getting my first contracts soon, I’ll be stuck in teams until I graduate and can work alone.
I really fucking hate teamwork.
But that’s just how it is at Devil. I don’t actually hate being a soldier most of the time, though I do resent Dad for forcing me to join what he calls a prestigious secret society belonging to the most powerful company in the state. Whereas it’s really just a glorified group of hitmen.
It’s probably good for someone like me to have a safe, protected way of killing people. Of dealing with my urges, so that hopefully I don’t kill the girl whom I’m starting to realize I care a whole lot more about than I should.
“Do you have a fucking death wish?” roars Dad. “You just fucking walked away from training! Do you know what happens to soldiers who do that? Are you fucking insane?!”
I close my eyes, willing for the storm to blow over. Or at least, for Dad to grow tired of kicking me, so I can get up.
“Your mom was right to abandon you!” he growls at last. “You fucking pathetic shit! What have I done to deserve a son like you?”
Bringing up Mom is always the sign that he’s ending the physical part of the abuse, and switching to a verbal, low-energy form. But I’ve heard him say those words far too much to getaffected by them. I stand up, trying not to wince and show the jerk how much he’s hurt me.
“You’re fucking lucky Tragen doesn’t kill you,” he hisses. “He’s taken you off the team.”
“The… team?” I question, spitting out a bit of blood. But luckily, he punched my face only once, cutting the inside of my lip. It’s barely noticeable. Dad’s gotten very good at hiding the evidence of his beatings over the years.
“The prestigious team he wants to form inside the Devil soldiers,” he snaps. “You were going to have a bright career ahead of you, son. Everything was all set for you. You fucked it up.”
“Does that mean I’m not a soldier anymore?” I mumble, pushing my feet into shoes.
“Of course you’re a fucking soldier!” he barks. “Once you’ve started your training, the only way to get out is—”
