Brutus studies me for a long moment, his eyes giving nothing away.
Then he smiles.
“You’ve got fire, Lance Calloway. We’ll use it to forge you into greatness.”
He extends his hand.
I stare at it. At the manicured nails and the expensive watch and the palm that’s probably signed off on things I don’t want to imagine.
Then I take it.
His grip is cold and firm. It’s like shaking hands with a corpse.
“Welcome to the family,” Brutus says.
“I don’t want to be part of your family.”
He chuckles and releases me, moving toward the door, Freddy falling into step behind him. Freddy pauses just long enough to press a card into my palm. I glance down at it and see the wordsBadon Hillin cursive script.
“Get some rest, birthday boy,” Freddy says. “I’ll be in touch tomorrow. We’ve got a lot of work to do.”
Then they’re gone, and the study feels like a tomb.
My father rises from his desk without a word, straightening his cuffs like this was just another business meeting. Like his son didn’t just sell himself into something none of us fully understand.
He locks his cold gaze on mine. “Nobody finds out about this, do you both understand? Not even your mothers.”
I grit my teeth and nod, and Art does the same.
“Good. Then I’ll give you both a moment.” He walks out, and the door clicks shut behind him, and then it’s just Art and me.
The silence is suffocating.
Art’s staring at me like I just stepped in front of a bullet for him. Which, I guess, I kind of did.
“Lance.” His voice breaks on my name. “I’m so sorry. I’m so fucking sorry. I never would have done this.”
“I know.”
“I’ll fix this,” he says, grabbing me by the arms. “I swear to God, I’ll find a way to get you out. I’ll talk to my dad, I’ll get the money somehow.”
“Art.” I grip the back of his neck, forcing him to look at me. His eyes are wet and red rimmed. “Stop.”
“But, you just…”
“Listen to me.” I hold his gaze, steady, even though everything inside me is screaming. “I’m not gonna fail you. Not in this. Not ever. You hear me?”
He shakes his head, tears spilling over. “You shouldn’t have to do this, Lance.”
“That’s not how this works.” I pull him in, the way we used to do when we were kids and the world felt too big and too mean. “You’re my brother. Blood or not. And this is what brothers do. They take care of one another. Silver Spoon Survivors, remember?”
He’s shaking against me, his breath coming in gasps, and I hold him there until he stops.
“I’ll get you out,” he whispers. “I promise, Lance.”
I force an easygoing smile and move away, patting him on the back once like it’s not a big deal. “It’ll be fine, dude. You heard him—a year. Two tops? I can handle that.”
Chapter 8
