My head rocks back and forth in a slow shake, because no way,no fucking way, and my heart’s in my stomach now,pulsing like I swallowed something slimy and alive, and I don’t move?—
But Kingston does.
“Father,” he starts. “This isn’t?—”
“Father, Father.” Luther whirls on Kingston, who retreats—automatic, a fencer’s reflex. “I shouldn’t have to spoon feed this to you. The same way I shouldn’t have had to constantly tighten the leash on your brother.”
Brother. In any other context, I’d make something of that word.
As it is…
“Twelve.” The command is unyielding.
And still, King doesn’t move. I watch his fist tense around the handle. “Kai’s learned his lesson,” he says. “This isn’t necessary.”
Luther just shakes his head. There’s ashunksound behind me I recognize as his automatic door lock.
“Take all the time you need,” Luther says. “But neither of you will leave until it is done.”
I swallow hard. And when I look up at King again, I realize.
This isn’t just my punishment.
You’re better than this.
Fuck.
He is. He is better than this.
This isn’t fair.
Quickly, so I don’t lose my nerve, I reach for the buttons on my shirt, tensing my hands so they don’t shake. I shrug out of the button-down, then pull the T-shirt over my head one-handed, and get a little grimace from Luther when he sees all the ink and metal adorning my body—what, a guy can’t mortify his own flesh?, I think humorlessly.
Then, with a hard exhale, I lean over and dig my fingers into the rug. Assume the fucking position.
“No,” I hear Kingston say. “Kai, I?—”
“Do it,” I grit out.
“Kai—”
“Do it!” I cry. “Just get it over with.”
I’ve had my ass beat before. Belts, wooden spoons, the odd sandal now and again if someone was feeling spicy. And good old fashioned fists and hands.
But this shit.
There’s no other reason this thing exists but to cause pain.
The first blow lands like a lash of fire. Rams the air out of my ribs and stings across my skin all at once.
Crack.
I clutch hard at the rug, biting my cheek and tasting copper. Bracing for another blow that doesn’t come.
“That all you’ve got?” I manage. Little dribbles of blood patter onto Luther’s carpet when I speak.
King hits me again.
