36. Chapter 30
Chapter 30
Breaker
9 Years Ago, December, Age 19
M y hands tremble slightly. I shove them in my pockets, gathering the lining into fists as I pace the dingy room. I’ve already showered but I think I need to again. Scrub my skin, my mind, clean of the things I’ve done.
“Stop pacing,” Viper says. “You’re making me nervous.”
A laugh breaks free of my throat, raw and raspy. He should be nervous with me in the room. He now knows what I’m capable of doing.
Bing Crosby belts out a song from the flatscreen, making me wince. I hate these old movies. Cook used to love them, and he’d always have them playing on the small tube TV in the kitchen while he worked. Afterwards, he’d sit in the kitchen and drink his vodka at night until he stumbled to his room and passed out. Sometimes we’d find him in the morning, still in the kitchen, slumped over on the peeling vinyl floor, and we’d have to either wake him up before Fallon found him or Viper would drag him to his room to finish sleeping it off.
I don’t know why Viper constantly covered for him. The man was a drunk and mean as shit half the time.
“Haven’t you watched this a million times?” I ask Viper. He’s sprawled out on the hotel room floor, his back at the end of the bed. The only light in the room comes from the TV, casting him in blue shadows, outlining his chest and every single divot of his perfect stacked abs.
After he showered, he didn’t bother putting on a shirt, and my eyes keep gravitating toward him. Every time he brings the glass bottle to his lips, his biceps bulge, drawing my attention. He rarely drinks, but today was difficult. A lot of memories resurfaced.
His throat moves as he takes another long pull. Viper drops the bottle, licking his lips. My cock thickens in my pants, and I hate how aware I am of him. My gaze drops from the auburn stubble over his Adam’s apple to his chest and the large tattoo. We all got them after I turned of age. A skull for each of us, representing the hell we survived. The punishments, the endless training, and the years of torture that’s now etched into our bones—the very fabric of our being. The servitude, the absolute devotion to our Father, and each other.
We are Fallon’s soldiers. And we wear the evidence on our skin.
“TV off.” I kick his leg, irritated he’s not answering me. If anyone should drink, it’s me.
He looks up, aquamarine eyes slightly glassy, telling me he’s tipsy but not completely plastered. Thank god . I don’t want to deal with him tonight if he’s drunk.
His smirk has my stomach dipping. “And now it’s a million and one times.”
My eye roll makes him hoot with laughter. Idiot. “Will you turn that fucking movie off? I want to go to sleep.”
Not that I’ll be able to. Not with my head feeling like this. All electric and upturned, yet somehow hollow. Like atoms are pinging around my skull, fucking up my thoughts.
Between the cheap motel we checked into and the day we’ve had, I doubt any of us will get much sleep. Viper and I usually take a room together if we can’t get five separate ones, which is mostly fine. Mostly. Sometimes it feels a little weird, but I think it’s more me than him. He still won’t admit it. Possibly still doesn’t know I feel it too. Then again, I’ve never told him.
Tonight, though, I wish we weren’t in the same room. Tonight, I wish I’d have taken a room with Reaper, but he’s rooming with Hunter as usual, and Striker refused, saying he can’t stand mine or Viper’s snoring.
It’s just one night, I tell myself, then we leave in the morning.
“I’m not tired,” Viper says, although he turns the TV down as he stands, but then flops right back down on the end of his bed. “I feel….”
Yeah. I feel it, too.
Wired. Skin moving, itching. Like I have ants under my skin.
This wasn’t my first mission. My first mission was a few months back. It was simple. Be the lookout and support for Striker. Make sure he got out safely and unseen after taking out our target.
It all went beautifully.
So did the next and the one after that. The one to extract and hold for ransom was harder because the guy cried for two days straight, wailing and pleading to the point Viper gagged him and threatened to shove his dick in his mouth to keep him quiet. He shut up after that, but every time I brought him water, he’d wince and shrink back into himself, making my insides pinch with guilt. I wasn’t sure how it was going to end for the guy. But then we were told to return him, and we dumped him outside his office building, then waited for his associates to retrieve him.
He was lucky. I think Reaper was, too. Hunter, as well. It was a straightforward job in the grand scheme of things.
But this one, the one I completed today, was harder. It required my skills. And that meant Viper saw me at my worst. Or best, if you ask Fallon. Maybe that’s why he’s drinking. He can’t bare to think about what I carry inside me.
The thought sticks, making my throat close.
We got the information we needed, and Reaper finished the job for me. I was glad to hand it over to him. Some things are harder to stomach, and I don’t think I could dispose of our target. Extracting the information was brutal. Our target fought me every step of the way.
Now I feel…
I don’t know what I feel. How I feel.
Dismantled, maybe, but not exactly broken up. Not exactly terrible inside, like the day I was named. Our target wasn’t a good man. Maybe that helps. But he wasn’t pure evil either. And I wasn’t driven by hatred or the need to hurt him, make him feel pain like he’d inflicted on another. It was a job. Just something I had to do because I was ordered to get the information we were paid to extract, by any means.
So, I did.
That’s what I find concerning. It was me chiseling away with no remorse, no emotions until I had what we needed. I tell myself at least I’m self-aware. I know I should feel more, but it just feels like I have a crater in my chest. A vast, open, inky black space that grew darker and darker with every act. Like every time I had to go a little harder and push the guy more and more, it cut parts of me out too.
Maybe my name is fitting. Maybe I’m broken inside. Nothing but cracked pieces and sharp edges.
I stop pacing and snatch the bottle from Viper, taking a gulp. The burn as it goes down reminds me I’m not completely dead inside. My body still works properly, even if my mind is fucked. Even if I’m nothing but the broken bits of the man I tortured today.
You’re a good, sweet boy.
I wonder if Hunter still thinks that.
When I hand Viper the bottle back, he shakes his head, looking up at me with those eyes that are the color of my every bad memory and my every desire. They fall to my chest, then down to my crotch before flickering away.
That look he gave me zins through me chest. Taking a step closer, my knee hits his. I’m taller than him now by several inches. Muscular thanks to my training, but he’s huge. Sculpted.
I wish he’d put his shirt back on.
He’s so chiseled, smooth chest and defined perfection. So unbroken .
Ripping my eyes from his body, I step back. “I’m taking a shower,” I say, setting the glass bottle on the cheap laminated table by the windows.
He stands, grabbing my arm. “You’ve already showered.”
I shake him off. The need to bathe again, get this sticky feeling off my flesh is too intense to bare, but I don’t say the words aloud. I don’t say I need to scald the last few hours from my mind, my body, my fucking soul , because then he’d try to parent me, and we’ll just end up fighting as usual.
“Break—“
“Stop,” I snarl, stalking toward the small bathroom.
“Will you just talk to me?”
I turn, shoving him away as I do. God, I’m so sick of him pushing me. Getting into my space. Forcing me to look at my emotions, and talk. Doesn’t he know I’m a monster with sharp teeth and anger issues?
“I don’t need you to fucking console me or tell me to use my coping skills. You’re not my caretaker.” I reach for the knob, but he grabs my arm again.
Goddammit .
My fingers curl around his throat before I’m thinking, whipping his body around and slamming him into the wall. He grunts but doesn’t fight me. He rarely does unless I go too far.
Which right now, I want to.
“Leave me the fuck alone.“ The words come out gritty, just like the warning. “You’ve seen what I am. Don’t push me.”
“That’s not you.” Viper’s face contorts, his brows knitting. “He made you that way. Monsters aren’t born, they’re created.”
My fingers tighten at his throat, anger bubbling over. “Stop lying to yourself. I am that way. A monster through and through. I always have been. And you know it.”
“Fallon brainwashed you,” he gasps out, struggling to speak as my hand squeezes. “You’re just a boy.”
I growl, pushing against his throat, harder. “Do I look like a boy to you?”
He winces, but still refuses to fight me. Irritation rattles through my bones like an angry beast wanting free of its cage.
“I earned my name. I wanted to fucking do it. I wanted to hurt that man,” I spit out. “Fallon didn’t force me to do anything.”
“Fallon coerced you. You were just a kid.”
Images flash in my mind, and I close my eyes, trying to sort through it all. The past and present bleed together, creating one grotesque nightmare in my head.
“I did what I had to do today to complete our mission,” I say through clenched teeth. “I got the information we were paid to get. Job done. You would have done the same thing.”
“I’m different,” Viper says, his voice dropping. Somehow, we’re closer together, and our voices have lowered, almost whispering. “I’m not good like you.”
His words only fuel my anger further. Viper sees me as this kid. This unstained lamb he’s always had to protect. He took punishments meant for me, kept me alive when I thought death was inevitable. He’s constantly protecting me, covering for me. But he doesn’t see the darkness that consumes me, the blood on my hands that will never wash away.
My grip tightens again, and I move in even closer, using my height to crowd him, so he’s forced to look up at me. His breath hisses out of him. “It’s not your fucking job to keep me from bad things.”
“Of course, I’m going to protect you,” Viper says, trying to shove me away. “You’re my brother.”
“You’re hardly my brother ,“ I spit, releasing him from my grip.
He’s such an asshole. Refusing to admit what lives inside us both. This isn’t a one-sided thing. It’s not just me. Viper feels this forbidden pull, always drawing us together. He’s just too stubborn to admit it. I’ve felt the heat of his gaze, seen the agony written all over his face when I’ve caught him looking. The problem isn’t even Father. I think he suspects, though he’s said nothing. The problem is my age. It always has been.
Stepping further back, I grip my shirt and rip it over my head, tossing it to the floor as I head for the small bathroom, anger making each step rigid and hurried.
The stupid thing is, I’m only four years younger than him. That’s it. When we were younger, I could understand his hesitation, but I’m older now. Bigger than him, yet he treats me like I’m this small boy he has to coddle. He doesn’t realize that I’m not innocent. Far from it. My innocence was stripped away. My body may be untouched, but my soul was torn open and ruined a long time ago.
“Breaker.” His voice is still lowered. A whisper.
I pause, hearing the pain creaking out with my name. When I face him, I find that same, almost feral look in his eyes that matches how I feel whenever we’re alone and there are no distractions. When the lights are out, and no one can see that I want to touch him. In ways I’ve never touched anyone, simply because I listened to him all those years ago. No one should touch me unless they have my heart.
But then he averts his gaze.
Like looking at me with such heat is shameful. Like I’m shameful.
That look scrapes over me, making my blood spark with fury. Fuck him.
Before I’m processing what I’m doing, I’m stalking forward, one hand gripping his throat, the other at my belt. He finds me horrifying? I’ll show him how repulsive I am, and then he’ll have an excuse to look away.
Viper’s back slams into the wall. A breath huffs out as his head hits the surface hard, but I don’t let up on my grip. My belt clinks as I pull the buckle free. His eyes drop to my hand as I tug the leather loose.
“Can’t look at me?” My voice is made of sharp blades. I rip my belt from the loops. “Do you find me grotesque, brother ?”
His eyes flash with rage, but he doesn’t fight to remove my hand from his throat. Just fists his hands at his sides, letting me roughly handle him.
Releasing him, I step back, then grip the belt at each end, hooking it over his head, and looping it around his neck. I grip the leather tightly closed at his throat, causing the veins in his forehead to bulge. His eyes flash again, with shock and something else. Something that resembles heat and pain and desire as I use my entire body to pin him to the wall.
“I’m not a fucking boy ,“ I snarl. I feel feral, unhinged, that monster in me breaking free. “Boys don’t slice off skin and body parts.”
“Stop,” he whispers with a gasp, and faintly I’m aware he’s still not fighting me. He has one hand on the belt at his neck now, the other on my shoulder, but he’s not pushing me away.
Viper squeezes his eyes shut, and I feel it. The thick, hard press of his dick against my thigh. Shock makes my grip loosen. A curling heat traveling from the base of my spine to my cock makes my fingers tighten all over again.
I glance down between us. Millimeters separate our bodies, our only connection is his dick hitting my leg with every ragged breath. I suck in air, my chest expanding, brushing his warm flesh. The flickering blue light from the TV behind us deepens the shadows on his body, outlining every muscle and curve of his torso. Shadows his mouth and darkens the hue of his eyes. The urge to kneel before him and run my tongue over his abs makes my knees weak.
“Back the fuck off, Break,” he says between shaky breaths.
His cock hits my leg again. He’s so hard, I can see the perfect outline of his dick, the head, the entire shaft trapped against him. I dip my head low, so my mouth is near his ear and inhale, taking his clean, citrusy sent into me. It fills my chest, making that roiling, unclean feeling fade. Like he can cleanse me of the things I’ve done today.
My lips brush the shell of his ear. “Is that what you want?” His heavy exhales don’t give me an answer, so I squeeze the belt. “Or do you want me closer?”
“ F-uck ,“ he groans, hips jerking, almost involuntarily.
“Your cock is saying something different from your mouth,” I rasp. An electric shiver moves through him into me. “It’s pressing so hard against me, I think it wants out.”
A short, breathy exhale is all he gives. His eyes dart to meet mine.
You feel it. Just fucking admit it.
I grind my hips into him, letting Viper feel my cock trapped in my pants. Viper’s entire body reacts almost violently. Nails dig into my skin. A breath heaves out with a groan. His head angles back, eyes fluttering closed.
That’s what I thought.
“Take it out,” I grate. “ Now .”
The hand at the belt drops, fingers on my shoulder grip harder. My head swims when I hear the grate of his zipper. The fact he’s listening to me makes me so hard that I drop my free hand and pop the button on my pants. Those eyes I love flutter open.
“You want my cock out?” I rasp. “I’m so fucking hard right now. Do you want to watch me fuck my hand?”
Viper’s eyes shift to my mouth.
“Use your words.” I lean in and whisper, “Be a good boy and tell me what you want.”
A light gasp of shock, then the next few words scrape from his throat raw and desperate, “Show me. I want to see you come.”
“That’s a good boy. Now take out your cock.” My eyes dip to watch as he uses one hand to shove his pants low enough that he can free himself, then grips his hard length.
The sight is so erotic, and feels so wrong, that I hurriedly drag my cock from my pants and wrap my hand around my shaft, slipping pre-cum from the head to the root.
“Stroke it,” I order, keeping my voice low, my eyes trained on his hand gripping his dick.
Another breath rattles out of him, but he does as commanded. Takes a long, slow pull from root to tip, then back.
“Harder, Viper. I know you like things rough.”
“Shit,” he hisses, but squeezes his cock and drags his hand roughly up and down. He pauses, eyes flickering with something, but it’s too late.
This is happening.
My chest heaves, fireworks sparking through me. “I didn’t say stop, naughty boy.”
“Fuck,” he grates. Licking his lips, he slowly strokes himself, his gaze locked on my mouth like he’s craving more filth to spill from between my lips.
I can’t deny him anything, so I say, “That’s a good boy. Stroke harder.” My hand matches his pace, fingers pinching the head of my dick with every brutal stroke. I lean forward, gathering saliva and spit on his dick.
“Jesus,” he groans, body going slack. I grip the belt, keeping him upright. He drags my spit along his length, coating it, strokes harder and faster now.
I release my cock and bring my hand to his mouth. “Spit.”
His eyes brighten, blue fire igniting in them. He spits and I hiss out a breath as my hips drive forward, my cock hitting his exposed waist. His head tilts back, hitting the wall, watching my mouth through his long lashes.
“Good, boy,” I rasp, drinking in the sight of his jawline, the way it flexes as he pumps. “Fuck your hand for me.”
His brows pinch together as he sucks in air, jerking off faster. My grip on the belt tightens as I bring the wetness to my cock and stroke hard, fast, my forehead against the wall above his shoulder, my eyes pinned to the long column of his neck. Our hands bump with each stroke. Every inhale drags his clean scent into my lungs. Every exhale feels like I’m releasing my demons onto him. They fan the side of his face and his shoulder with each hot breath. Touch his lips when he turns his face to me.
“Harder,” I grate, barely hanging on. “Fuck your hand.”
His raspy groan as he does as commanded sends firecrackers to the base of my spine, erupting into a liquid heat that shoots out, hitting his hip. I rasp out a moan as I come, my legs giving slightly, hips jerking as I fuck my hand harder, faster, riding it out, my head dropping to his shoulder.
“Oh, fuck ,“ he groans, and warm cum hits my arm. “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he rasps, rocking into me, the tip of his hot dick slipping over the back of my hand.
I open my eyes, watching his features contort and then smooth out. How he bites his lip as he pumps himself, eyes opening and locking on my mouth like he’s imagining my lips wrapped around him. How sexy he is as he rides it out. The urge to suck his lip into my mouth, taste the needy groans leaving him, makes me shift closer.
Viper slumps, breaths heavy, slick sweat on his chest slipping over mine.
He averts his gaze.
I release the belt, sliding it free.
The hand that was gripping my shoulder withdraws, and he uses it to swipe at the copper tendrils of hair that fell over his forehead.
I slink back, tucking myself away. He turns his back to me as he zips his pants. He glances down as he does, hand sicky with my cum. I glance at my forearm, the blueish lights making his cum glisten.
My heart skips, leaps as he faces me, but then it careens to the floor, crashing at my feet when he refuses to meet my eyes.
“Don’t ever tell anyone what just happened,” he says, then stalks across the room, grabs the bottle of vodka, and slams back a drink.
My foot slides back, then the other. I swallow, but it feels like shards of glass in my mouth as I do God, it’s fucking painful , so I grind my teeth to stop myself from trying to wash away this tight feeling in my throat. I shut the bathroom door behind me, collapsing against the dirty white door, hand unfurling weakly from the knob. My knees finally give. I slide to the floor, my eyes unfocused on the grimy black and white tiled floor.
An ache writhes in my chest, growing, pulsing, becoming a dark void that devours my every breath, cuts like sharp claws into my heart.
It’s no wonder my heart hurts. Viper just took an icepick to it and hacked at my most vulnerable parts with ruthless precision.