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He’s a dark horse, Tino. He’s got secrets I couldn’t guess at.
My phone vibrates, and I glance at it to see it’s my father demanding an update on how it is going for me here.
I swipe my cell from the table and stalk out of the lunch hall, giving Mack a wink as I pass by. I grin at the girls walking down the hallway, and smile casually at two of the Vipers, before I push my way through the doors into the center of the quad.
Walking across the gravel, I keep my cool, giving the odd nod or smile at those I pass, until I turn right and find the quiet corner I need.
Then I sit and try to control my breathing. Seeing that word on my phone, Father, makes me sick and dizzy. I hate it. This weakness I have. This fear. Nothing scares me in this world except for that man, and my deepest, most shameful fear, the dark itself.
My father is a tough man who believes you can’t be Bratva unless you’ve suffered. “Son, the Russian soul is nothing but suffering. It’s what we are built upon. You must suffer in order to be strong.”
The beatings were not the worst thing. I carry with me physical scars from when I was as young as five, but I survived it. Harder to shake have been the internal scars.
My weakness.
Two things trigger it the most. Seeing his name on my phone, and the dark.
The motherfucking dark.
What grown man fears the dark? I hate it. Despite that, I can’t control it.
Thank fuck we have private dorm rooms here and not shared dorms, because my big secret is the fact I sleep with a low light on. Getting trapped is also a head fuck.
I re-read the message from the man who gave me this weakness and grit my teeth. I type a quick reply.
Grades are good, Father. So far, all A’s and one B. I will be fighting again soon.
The reply comes quickly, the three dots appearing, disappearing, and finally solidifying into text.
Make sure when the fight happens, you win. No one defeats the Bratva. Use any means necessary.
What kind of school sanctions physical, no-holds barred fights between its students? Verona Falls University, that’s what kind.
I look up at the looming building. This is a place built entirely on money made from blood. Its foundations are soaked in it. I’m surprised the river which runs around the outside of the western quadrant doesn’t run red.
The windows are mullioned, and at night they glow from the light of the lamps outside. My room faces inward, toward the courtyard, which sucks for me. If I had one of the rooms facing the front, I could simply leave my curtains open, instead of having to turn on my light.
Fucking pussy. My father’s disparaging tone rings in my ears. If he knew, he’d beat me black and blue, and he’d be right to.
With the sour taste of self-loathing coating my tongue, I shove my hands in my pockets and put my head down. I go back to the cafeteria to get myself some lunch.
The moment I enter the busy corridors, I snap back into my role. That of the scary Russian dude who will fuck you up, but also knows how to have fun. I grin at the right people, glower at the others, and generally put on a show.
Dom is the brooding, miserable one among us. Tino is the well-adjusted one, supposedly. Someone has to be the party animal who likes a good fight.
Not that we’re allowed to fight, until it’s our turn. In the ring.
When I enter the cafeteria again, Mackenzie is walking toward a table in my direct path, carrying a tray of food.
She glances at me, and her expression makes all the sticky shame I’m feeling coalesce into something else entirely. Her expression isn’t flirtatious, as I might have expected after last night.
It’s also not naked fear, though being a freak, I normally like people to be frightened of me. No, now there’s an added air of faint disgust in the way she looks at me.
Does this bitch think she’s better than me now?
Has one stupid night of sexy dancing with her given this girl the impression that I’m in any way to be toyed with?
Fuck her.
