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And that’s it. It doesn’t matter what I want or what dreams I may have. As Control’s daughter, my job is to follow his orders.
Control reads the letter, and his fist clenches at his side. If I were a different person, I would cringe away from him. After all, I know how that fist feels when it hits me.
But the only thing worse than defying Control is showing fear in front of him.
As he steps around the desk and up next to me, I stand my ground, staring straight ahead.
His voice drops dangerously low. “You applied without asking me?”
I have an answer prepared for that. “I didn’t want to waste your time if I couldn’t even get in.”
I’m only seeing him out of the corner of my eye, but I can feel his gaze narrow and hear his teeth grind. The anger radiates off him in waves.
“So, you think you’re better than all this?” He waves his hand to indicate the club.
The answer to that is automatic. “No, sir.”
That’s been the accusation since I was nine, the first time a schoolteacher told Control I was “gifted”. Ever since then, I’ve been accused of thinking I was too good, of being too proud.
He tried to beat it out of me, but that only made me more determined than ever to be who I wanted to be. Because there is one thing Control and I share—we’re both unbelievably stubborn.
And it’s not that I don’t love the club. I do—most of the Heretics are pretty good.
But from the moment I figured out that it was possible to have a life outside the club, it’s all I’ve dreamed of.
Some of the guys have even encouraged me in that and told me they would support me.
One or two of them even approached Control about it.
He didn’t react well, to say the least.
Hell, if I were truly smart, I’d probably walk away right now. But despite what Control’s club members have always said about me, I guess I’m not that smart. Not even smart enough for my own good—never mind, too smart.
There is no leaving the Burning Heretics. Whether you’re born into it or pledge your loyalty to it, once you’re in, you’re in for life. I couldn’t run far enough to get away.
And don’t think I haven’t considered it.
The sound of crinkling paper brings my attention back to the moment, and I realize I’ve been drifting off in my mind, hiding from the reality of Control.
Sometimes that’s a useful skill.
Times like now, though? I need to be able to pay attention to what’s going on.
Slowly, Control wads the acceptance letter up into a ball in his hand, then tosses it into a nearby wastebasket. “College is a waste of time for girls like you,” he says.
His fist is still clenched, and I know if I say anything, he’ll use it.
So, I simply stare straight ahead.
He never even looked at my budget.
“Maybe we should get Rage in here to talk to you about it,” he suggests, his voice deceptively mild.
Rage is one of his enforcers. The only club member I’m truly afraid of. Control might hit me to make a point, but Rage would do it just for fun.
I make it a point not to be anywhere close to Rage unless other club members are around.
Control walks around me, and my stomach tightens further, sending nausea climbing through my throat. He only circles me like this when he’s got something particularly ugly planned.
