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Heat pumped through Leo. It was rage in its rawest form, and it tasted acidic. “I’m not going to touch anyone—”
“YOU WILL!” George’s shout was so sudden, and while Leo’s heart thumped like a jackhammer, he remained unmoving. The tension in the car morphed to menacing dread. His father’s power radiated out of him, demanding results. “You will go in there, and you will pick a girl, and you will put thatgutter ratbehind you—”
“No,” Leo whispered, grinding his teeth to stop from shouting back. “I won’t do it.”
From his peripheral, he saw his father’s hands clenching into tight fists as he shuffled closer to him. He felt the anger like an arctic blast as he retorted, “If you don’t go in there in the next ten seconds, I will take you to the Dungeon and I will make you watch what those sick men do to those defenceless women…” The threat continued. George told him in sick detail what Leo would confront this time around, the horrors he would not be able to shake from—horrors he had yet to see. “Pick your poison, Leo.”
This time a shudder tore through Leo. He felt his stomach bottom out. Felt…another piece of him fray, about to flee from his soul forever.
He held his breath, knowing if he expelled it, it would come out shaky. That he might even cry. His father always successfully managed to dig under that marble surface he had perfected, slithering into his being where he sheltered himself from the horrors he had constantly been forced to witness—
His hand shakily rested on the door handle.
He would go—
He had to.
His chest burned, demanding reprieve.
But Leo continued to hold it in, continued to force the weak feelings inside of him so they would not spill out before his father.
To touch another girl?
He didn’t want another girl.
He didn’t want his father to get his way with this, too.
“You’re taking everything from me,” Leo let out now in a sharp whoosh. “You keep fucking with my head! You keeppushingme.”
George’s heavy stare felt penetrating. “Get. Out.”
If Leo got out, his father would keep doing this. Another victory under George Itani’s belt. How much more of his son did he want to take before he was nothing but an empty shell?
He couldn’t—fucking wouldn’t let him have this.
Letting go of the door, Leo turned to look at his father, his expression empty, his voice cold as he said, “You can keep taking me to that Dungeon. You can keep breaking me down and rebuilding me into what you want me to be. You can continue teaching me to lead, to make the tough calls, to learn the business so that one day I may join the High Table.”
His nostrils flared as his voice hardened. “But what you won’t do is tell me what to do with my body, or my cock. You won’t taint every fucking piece of me.I won’t allow it.”
In his almost seventeen years of life, Leo had never seen his father speechless. Not in this way. With his eyes widened. His mouth agape. His brows pushed to the top of his forehead.
That moment—short, perhaps, barely a few seconds—would always linger in Leo’s mind for years to come. He had never stood up to his father, never told himno. Not in such a cold manner that brooked no argument.
Leo didn’t know it then, but this moment would be pivotal. The strength that would come of this would be key later on.
“Alright, Leo,” his father said gravely, his expression loaded with dark promise. “The Dungeon it is.”
This time, George Itani would be certain Leo came out of that Dungeon scathed and destroyed.
More broken pieces pounded into dust.
The horror…
The fucking horror.
*
He didn’t go to Skye.
