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“And I was talking to dear old daddy here,” Ryker shoots back.
“Almost. We need a few more sessions,” my father replies.
“Well, in that case, I have more Reapers,” Ryker grins, sliding a slip of paper across the conference table to my father. “Remember, you’re not released until he’s 100%.”
Snatching the paper from the table, my father nods and grunts in response as he stands.
“Let’s go Travis. Now.”
Three more days. Three more men.
The number of days I’m put to work. The number of men I torture and kill. Stoically, I hose the blood, small chunks of muscle, and brain matter down the drain in attempts to clean up some of my own mess this evening.
Zoning out, I observe the water and blood swirling together, creating a muddied shade of pink that washes down the drain. I didn’t feel anything tonight. I don’t remember much either to be honest. The session came and went in waves, and I don’t know how I feel about that.
I was able to disassociate for the first time. It was me, but at the same time, it wasn’t. I retreated to the back of my head and instead, I watched it from a distance. It felt like a movie playing out before me. None of it was real.
I didn’t hesitate tonight, or let my conscience win, I just gave in. To be honest, I don’t know what that says about me. More quickly than I’m comfortable admitting, my father is creating me in his image. Cold, unfeeling, and indifferent. Callous about taking a life.
Tonight, the screams didn’t even bother me.
Instead, I was calm.
The now deceased Reaper, could give us no more information other than Havok Hills Reaper leader Karson Hayes, had his second in command sent to prison. I’m not sure why Ryker or my father give two shits about this information. Ryker himself just said that he wasn’t looking to start a war right now; but given the number of Reapers we’ve had to bury this week alone, his actions tell me something entirely different.
I understand they’re our rival gang. I even understand the desire for power, it’s human nature. But Ryker’s power hungry ass is going to get us in trouble with them. If not them, it would be someone else though. Something tells me he lives and breathes for trouble.
While I may be excelling at becoming what they need me to be, I am not ready to die. Not for this organization and damn sure not for Ryker Underwood.
I’ve officially done what was required of me though. I learned the ropes of the business, along with my role. I’ve done the time here that my father said needed to be done. It’s been two whole weeks since he ripped me away, and I’m ready to go home.
How do I go back and not be outed as a changed man though? Because I am changed. I’m hardened. I’m angry. I’m vengeful. My life isn’t even fully taken from me yet, I still have a couple weeks with her, and I intend on making them count. Every last fucking minute.
Sighing, I turn the hose off and dial the number my father provided me for the Brotherhood’s “cleaner”. He confirms the location, and I hang up, walking up the steps and out to the parking lot.
Chapter five
Spencer
Travis has been M.I.A. for two weeks. Two weeks since he has crawled through my window. Two weeks since I’ve seen a light on at his house. I don’t even think Mr. Price is there. I tried calling his cell phone, but it goes straight to voicemail every time. He promised he wasn’t going to leave me, that I wouldn’t be alone, so where is he?
It’s been just me and Uncle Evan for the past week and a half now, and things are… strange. Tense. I feel like I’m always being watched, even when no one is in the room with me. I swear I can always feel eyes burning into me. It’s like I’m never alone.
He goes to work, comes back, usually orders dinner, and insists that we sit to have meals together. We exchange forced pleasantries at the dinner table like a makeshift family, but he is a virtual stranger. One that’s far too invested in my personal life. One that asks questions that make me feel uncomfortable to say the least, like whether or not my boyfriend and are intimate and if we are "safe".
I’ve caught him in my room two more times too. Creeping in the corners. Watching me. Touching himself. I can’t breathe and I damn sure am not sleeping. Aside from the obvious, something is very, very wrong.
The more I think back on it, I don’t have family memories of this man. Only random occasions where he would stop by, that always ended in a tense argument behind closed doors with mom. Arguments that typically left her in tears.
I’ve called dad so many times, hoping to convince him to come home, but he’s so cold toward me.
Sometimes I think he’s angry with me because I look so much like her. A spitting image of Dina Maddox, down to the loose blonde curls and bright green eyes. I used to love that we looked so much alike. Now I’m just a living reminder of all that we’ve lost. He sees her when he looks at me.
I see her when I look at my reflection.
With my cheek resting on my fist, I stare at my plate, twirling the pasta around with my fork like a picky toddler playing with their food. My appetite is completely gone, but Uncle Evan actually cooked a meal tonight instead of ordering take out, and I’m afraid to push it away. Not sure how he would respond.
“Is there something wrong with your dinner Spencer?” he asks between bites.
