Chapter 5
Dash
“ Where are you now?” Titan ’ s voice breaks through the static, piercing the heavy atmosphere inside the helicopter.
I adjust the noise-canceling headphones, pressing them tighter against my ears before muffling the microphone with my hand. “ In Dad ’ s damn helicopter, heading to this new school,” I grunt, the frustration evident in my tone.
My leg throbs relentlessly, a cruel reminder of my folly. Dad ’ s stern voice echoes in my mind: “ No pain meds, Dash. You got yourself into this mess; now deal with it.” So I grit my teeth and endure, swallowing back the pain along with my pride.
There were no heartfelt goodbyes, no tender farewells. Just his assistant ’ s curt call, informing me of my impending departure to this godforsaken new school.
I glance down at myself, the absurdity of it all hitting me like a ton of bricks. Scrubs. I ’ m dressed in scrubs, for crying out loud! If it weren ’ t for the nurse ’ s pity, I ’ d probably be parading around naked or wrapped in a hospital sheet. The struggle to dress with this damn cast is humiliating, the pants haphazardly cut into uneven shorts just to accommodate the plaster prison encasing my leg.
“ I ’ m screwed. I can ’ t even dress myself,” I mutter under my breath.
Dad told me not to trust Titan or Damian fully, but that ’ s a word of advice I ’ ll never swallow. The three of us will always have each other ’ s backs, no matter what. That ’ s what separates us from my dad and his brothers.
“ I…” Fuck, I ’ m scared. I feel like a boy again, put through one of Dad ’ s tests. Only back then I knew there was a small part of him that tested me because he loved me.
This time, it ’ s different. I ’ m fighting to make a man proud who doesn ’ t love me, or at least he can ’ t verbalize it anymore.
If you can ’ t speak the words, do they exist? Did my father ever love me as his son, or was I just a valued gift my mom gave him, a gift whose shine has worn off?
“ I ’ m scared,” I whisper. What ’ s the point of hiding now? This might be the last phone call to my cousins.
“ Listen to me!” Damian ’ s voice cuts through the air, laced with fear that mirrors my own. He doesn ’ t want to lose another person he loves. It ’ s his weakness.
I close my eyes, which makes the vibration of the helicopter rattle through me.
“ You need to make friends, Dash, and fast,” Damian begins. “ People are going to try to fight you so they can claim they killed a King.”
I can ’ t help but offer a sarcastic quip in response. “ Well, I ’ ve got a crutch as a sword to fend them off with.”
Titan ’ s reprimand follows swiftly. “ Dash, this isn ’ t a joke. We ’ re talking survival here.”
“ Survival of the fittest. I ’ m one leg down.” I snort.
“ Then find another. Find a crutch,” Damian growls. “ Find someone you can trust. Make them fear you. Use them, bend them.”
“ You make it sound like I ’ m a Jedi who can summon the force. Like you said, everyone is going to want a piece of me.”
“ So give them a piece. Play smart and think for once, Dash.” Titan snaps impatiently.
I feel the weight of his words; they tumble onto my shoulders, each letter carrying significance. He ’ s got a point.
Use someone. Break them after I use them so they can ’ t gossip about my weakness.
A king doesn ’ t simply claim a throne with a smile. He needs an army, spies, and, most of all, muted morals.
The hand that helps you? Well, sometimes you have to sever it, or that same hand can stab you in the back.
I need to find a hand that I can easily break when I ’ m done using it.
“ I ’ m going to turn into him, my father,” I ashamedly admit to them. A disgusting laugh slips from my lips, “ We ’ re all destined to become the men we hate. Do you think our sons will feel the same way?”
Silence. Truth has a way of doing that. Shutting everyone up.
“ We have each other to make sure we don ’ t become them,” Damian finally replies. “ I will never be my father, and if you see me turning into him, then you better kill me.”
“ We have each other, and that will never change. No matter the distance or pain. We will always have each other ’ s backs,” Titan assures me. He's always been the leader of our group. The voice of reason that can penetrate Damian and me when the noise in our heads tries to consume us.
“ We love you,” Damian admits wholeheartedly. "You're my brother, and I refuse to lose you."
If his dad heard him utter such words, he ’ d kill him on the spot. Kings don ’ t love. It ’ s the one thing we can ’ t afford.
“ A King ’ s love kills, Damian. You know that better than most.”
“ Dash,” Titan warns me. “ Don ’ t think that making us angry will make us turn our backs on you. We do love you, and I know you ’ ll survive this. We all have tests ahead, and in the end, we will survive. Promise us right now you will never stop fighting; do it for us."
I know what he's begging me to do. Titan wants me to fight so that one day, the three of us can take down our fathers.
"I won't give up again," I mutter.
"Our fathers think breaking us allows them to mold us, so let's let them think that. We'll break, but we will sculpt our molds, not them. One day, we will have the power. Live to see that day," Titan adds with a hunger in his words.
The pilot ’ s voice interrupts the call, blasting through the headphones and announcing my imminent landing.
“ I've got to go,” I tell them. “ I...” I want to tell them I love them too, but I ’ ve only ever told one person that, and they ended up dying. I think confessing my love is a curse of death. So instead, I say, “ I miss you both.” Before they can reply, I end the call.
I still clutch the envelope my father left for me when I entered the helicopter. As we begin our descent, I rip it open.
A photo slides out. Five lifeless faces stare back at me, a silent accusation in their eyes. I recognize them, the ones who shattered my leg, the ones who gave me what I asked for.
I read Dad ’ s note,
If you feel guilt over this, you ’ re still thinking like a man. I need you to think like a King. Hurry up; power waits for no one. Your actions have repercussions, and remember, you are not just responsible for yourself, Dash; you have to consider others now.
Dad ’ s note is a cold reminder of the ruthless world I ’ ve been born into.Guilt is a luxury I can ’ t afford, not if I want to survive. He must be referring to my cousins; I wouldn ’ t put it past him to threaten Titan or Damian; he and my uncles have done it before.
With a deep breath, I steel myself for what lies ahead. Titan is right. I can play the long game and suffer through the tests my father throws my way. I just have to keep the goal in sight: controlling my future and my father. Power waits for no one, and I refuse to be left behind.
***
“ We will have doctors, nurses, and a full physical therapy staff here on campus for you. Your leg rehabilitation has been added to your class schedule. You'll be up and running in no time. Here at Silverstone Preparatory, we desire to make our students comfortable, well-educated, and—”
I stop listening. If I hear “ Silverstone Preparatory” one more time, I ’ m going to purposefully break my leg again so I can get the fuck out of here.
Per Titan and Damian ’ s request, I ’ m trying to play it safe. I ’ m exposed in my current state, and now I ’ m being tossed to the wolves.
I think my dad planned this. He wanted to see if I could survive while injured.Yes, I am a King, but when you ’ re at the top, you have a never-ending revolving door of enemies lurking. Titan, Damian, and I have been raised to have each other ’ s backs, but as Dad said, I need to have my own back.
“ We have a student here to help orient you, per your father ’ s request.”
That calls my attention back to whoever this lady is. I narrow my eyes, feeling a surge of suspicion. “ Why?” I ask, my voice tinged with caution.
The old lady pauses and looks confused. “ Why?”
I grab my crutch and adjust it against the chair I ’ m sitting in. “ Why did my dad want a student to orient me?”
Is it a setup? Surely, Dad doesn ’ t mean to send me help.
“ Oh, well,” she shoves the enormous glasses up the bridge of her nose. A nose that clearly can ’ t function because her office smells like cheap apple spice air freshener. If Silverstone Preparatory is so posh, then why not spring for a Jo Malone candle?
“ He requested them to be your guide. He wanted your schedules to be mirrored so you ’ d be together,” she replies with admiration. “ Isn ’ t that sweet?”
Sweet? I arch an eyebrow. Ricin can taste sweet, but it will kill you. Kings don ’ t do sweet; we ’ re more savory.
Two words she spoke stand out: “ Be together.” My pulse quickens as the realization hits me—it ’ s a setup. I remember his note mentioning I would be responsible for others.
A knock at the door has her jumping up. My brow raises. I didn ’ t think a lady her age could jump.
“ Come in,” she cheerfully shouts, waving as if the newcomer can see through the door. Her eyes light up with excitement as if she ’ s expecting Santa Claus himself to walk through the door.
I ’ ve got news for you, lady. All I ’ m getting is coal.
“ Here she is, now,” she says with a smile.
She?
I was expecting a dude that was either going to make my life a living hell or kiss my ass.
Oh, shit! Now, it makes sense. Contrary to what Dad thinks, I figure things out very quickly. I know why Dad requested this specific girl to show me around campus. It ’ s my arrangement. I always knew my dear old dad would handpick my future. That included my future wife.
Does it matter that I ’ m not even eighteen? Hell no. By then, people would have already claimed all the good ones.
Fuck you, Dad. Fuck you!
A girl slips inside the office. She ’ s short, verging on the need to carry a ladder around. If you blinked, you ’ d miss her presence like dust on the wind, barely scathing your skin. A tight bun, which looks painful, holds her brown hair up.
She must like sadomasochism; no one would twist their hair that tight if they didn ’ t like pain.
“ Hi, Miss Hawthorne,” the girl greets.
Oh, so that ’ s the old lady ’ s name.
“ Mila, this is Mr. King,” Miss Hawthorne proudly beams.
I don ’ t bother standing. Mila ’ s eyes look at my broken leg first. She gulps, and her wide hazel eyes fill with pity.
Good. Maybe I can use that for my benefit.
“ Hi,” Mila mutters.
What did she snort sugar for breakfast? Who has a voice that sweet?
Mom did.
“ Mr. King is new and, as requested, you will be his student guide. We made sure you both shared classes, all except ballet. Unless you ’ d like to learn, Mr. King?” Miss Hawthorne says with a giggle.
“ Fuck no,” I hiss as I keep my eyes on Mila. Her full gloss-covered lips part in shock.
So she ’ s a ballerina. I want to vomit. I hate stuck-up chicks.“And my name is Dash. Mr. King is my prick of a father.” I correct the old lady.
Miss Hawthorne clears her throat but knows better than to correct me. I glance back at Mila. Ballet, eh? Well, that explains how thin she looks.
Is she in on it? Does she think she nailed a King for a husband?
She looks so innocent, just blinking back at me in shock. Wide eyes, freckles, a delicate and graceful ballerina. There is no joy in seeing me, no fear either. I ’ m a stranger to her. She ’ s clueless as to what her future is. She has no sense this is a setup.
One word feeds my desires. Corruption.
I want to taint her. I think I will.
Dad thought he was picking some tutu-wearing princess to be my wife. I ’ ll show him.
“ Can you leave us, Miss Hawthorne? I ’ d like to ask Mila some questions.”
“ Oh, absolutely,” she nods and leaves, just like that.
What the serious fuck? When will a teacher stand up to me and tell me to sit the fuck down and listen? I ’ m not my father, not yet. Sometimes, power gets boring. I want a challenge. Maybe breaking Mila can fulfill that request.
Mom would have never put up with my shit. Dad does; he just deals with it by sending me away.
Silverstone Preparatory is pathetic. It ’ s just another sandbox we fortunate-unfortunate kids get to play in until we ascend to higher roles.
I push to stand, grab my crutch, and swing it forward so I can take a step. Mila flinches.
Well, that ’ s interesting. Did she think I was going to hit her?
I look down at her creamy, pale skin. Has she been living in a cage? She ’ s so pale, so… untouched by fire. Then I see it: two small bruises in the shape of fingerprints on her bony biceps. Her eyes chase mine, looking at the bruises before she tries and fails to cover them.
I place the crutch under my arm and take a step, feeling like my leg weighs as much as a dead body. “ Do your parents beat you?” I deadpan.
“ What?” she gasps, taking a step back. She looks like a church mouse whose tail is trapped under the claw of a cat.
I close the distance, and all the while, she steps back until her petite back hits the door. She ’ s so thin she can ’ t even make a thud sound when she hits it.
Your mistake was running, inciting the monster in me to chase.
If I'm destined to remain alive in my world, then I'm going to do everything I can to fuck up my father's plans, starting with little miss perfect here.
Up close, she ’ s very pretty, like a dove whose wings I ’ m going to break.
I reach up. Again, she flinches. “ Who hits you?” I question. My eyes look back at the faint marks, and something stirs. My stomach feels full of dry leaves, those marks like a flame igniting something in me I have never felt before.
Her gulp sounds like Mount St. Helen erupting again.
“ Tell me,” I demand.
Why do I care? There is only room for one devil in her life, and it ’ s going to be me.
“ Do you like it? Like the feeling of someone trying to break you, Mila. Or does it irk you because someone has taken control over you?”
What ’ s your weakness, your desires? I need to know so I can bend you to my will.
No normal teenager thinks like me. No normal teenager has been forced to sit in on his ruthless father ’ s meetings, some of which used verbal forms of manipulation, whereas others used physical.
How normal is Mila ’ s world? Is she just another rich kid, or has she been forced to witness the kind of darkness that robs you not only of childhood but of freedom?
Do her demons control her?
Do you want to see inside someone ’ s soul? Break them, then fill those cracks with glue.
That ’ s what I have to do to Mila. I need to make her my puppet. I have to break her, heal her, and then, when I ’ m done with her, break her again.
And I hate myself for it.
I do because it makes me closer to the image of my father.
I ’ m sorry, Mila. You ’ re a casualty in this war, and you have no idea. But I have to survive. Not for me. Fuck myself, it ’ s for my cousins, Titan and Damian.
Mila ’ s face pales, reminding me of death. Right when I think she ’ s going to be boring to break, she surprises me.
“ Fuck you,” she hisses, then she kicks the crutch out from under me.
I get it, Dad. You picked someone who is smoldering. There is a fire in Mila, but she hides it. It ’ s my job to either smother it or help it grow.
I ’ m not sure which I ’ ll choose; both will certainly break the ballerina. One break will allow her to rise up from the ashes; the other will force her to become the ashes.