Vanishing Point (The Violent Oaths Trilogy #1)

Chapter 1

CHAPTER ONE

OREN

Art required finesse and a detail-oriented mind, but none of the men before me had it, and for the first time, I acknowledged that I would eventually be forced to remove my flower headband.

Dad stood stoic next to me, a resolute statue, because he viewed personality like a cancer—a tumor that threatened to ruin its host.

When I told him I was gay, he was silent, but harbored his ill intent internally.

When I told him I was pursuing a degree, he was elated for the potential opportunities it would open until I announced I was attending art school.

That moment solidified the trajectory of my life and bound me here, to one of his bases in the middle of fucking nowhere.

With enough resources to expend, there was no hiding from him. He pulled all funds from my credit cards, leaving me with a singular option—joining one of his personal squads to rectify my ‘mistakes’.

I’d mourned the outside world. I’d even worn black the day before at my farewell event. My friends had cried. Hell, I cried, and it was any less than a grand time, but today?

Today was a fucking shit show.

Trying to keep positive had worn me thin because no one here smiled or cracked a joke. I tried with the officer at the gate, but he scoffed and waved us along, earning me a sharp clap to the back from Dad as a warning.

No personality, only order—a testament to the plight he’d inflicted on me.

I’m sure he’d expected me to cry, to curse, to harbor hatred toward him, but nothing pissed him off more than the continual bubbly son he produced.

He despised happiness more than anything, and I had a shit ton of it left to give like a budding flower.

Were the men here even aware of what flowers were? They sure as hell didn’t smell like they knew, the stench of their sweat curling my face into an unpleasant scowl.

Deodorant would be wonderful. Cologne? It would be like champagne to them, and God, did I love fucking Champagne. Not the liquor, but the man down the street with the title Champagne, who I would miss performing at the local drag brunch.

Dad had chucked my suitcase—all that I had left—from the car minutes ago, narrowly hitting my toes that poked out from my Birkenstock sandals. He had no grace, but that was typical for a war general. I’d been stalling, and there was no way he didn’t know.

Clearing his throat, I adjusted the headband holding most of my blonde curls back from my forehead. My hair had grown longer in the past month, and I wasn’t sure it would survive much longer.

“Take the headband off.”

It was the first time he’d spoken to me since this morning. “Why? Afraid I’ll ruin your reputation?” I said and swiped my thumb across my gloss-painted lips. “Kinda late for that, don’t you think?”

His brows furrowed, but there was a glint of something hidden in the smile he unfurled. “Middle building.”

I grabbed the handle of my luggage, the wheels popping slightly as they hit the curb. “Sure, bye.” I didn’t turn back around because he didn’t know what it meant to be loved, and therefore, didn’t know how to love me. Why should he deserve a farewell?

Wheels rolled over concrete as I walked farther from the asshole.

The middle building was a striking beige, its doors opening and closing as soldiers flowed in and out.

My cross necklace bounced against my chest as I trekked through the nonexistent foliage.

I’m not religious, but it sure as hell worked to attract interesting people.

Hopefully, it’d do the same now as men paused, their glances sharpened to a point I’d grown used to.

I blew one a kiss, his nose wrinkling in distaste before I flipped him off. Sugar and spice combined; probably more seasoning than they were used to. A bit of color would suit this place, too, but damn, why did I have to be the one to paint it?

Ripped jeans accentuated my hips and ass, my sleek white shirt tucked into the waistband to highlight the muscles beneath.

I worked hard for this body, and like hell I’d hide it behind the uniform Dad wanted me to wear.

Someone would have to stuff it onto me before I’d willingly part with fashionable attire.

Fixing my headband one last time, I entered the building through the cracked door.

It was larger than expected, but not nearly as intimidating as the man standing in the back corner.

He was hunched over, eyes peeled to something far less important than me.

I couldn’t help but stare at the definition pushing through his shirt, sleeves cutting into his biceps.

The room was fairly empty, bland, and boring. Full of eye candy, sure, but sweets were better in moderation. This was like a jar filled with unwrapped pieces—one lick, and they’d disintegrate.

The main entrance featured a desk, a couple of chairs, and a TV screen showing propaganda for idiots to consume. Hallways diverged from the middle.

I was unfamiliar with it all. My father’s work had never interested me, and that’s part of the issue. He was a prideful man. A traditional man, but to send me here to rot was next-level shit.

Computers beeped, alarms sounding sporadically as I stood in the middle. It was the first time I’d been ignored, and it wasn’t a frustration I'd willed myself to uncover yet.

Grabbing the luggage handle, I headed to the nearby desk. A man sat behind it, typing furiously. The man I’d stared at was still preoccupied, but goddamn, he was excessively tall, at least a foot over me. I thought my presence was large, but he’d swallowed it the second I’d entered.

I pressed my palms into the desk, leaning over to peer at the computer.

The clerk’s eyes flicked to mine, and his face pinched to a point. “Who the hell are you?”

“You don’t know me?” I reached into my back pocket, pulled out my wallet, and flipped it open to my ID. Not the best picture I’ve taken, but at least my smile was perfect. “Oren Valens.”

“Valens?”

I sighed. “You know, ‘who needs valor when you have a Valens,’ Valens.”

His eyes widened as he stood, his hand extended in greeting. “Apologies. I didn’t know you were General Valens’ son. You look rather…”

“Breakable.” The rasped, deep voice interrupted, a large shadow devouring me alongside the singular word.

“Sorry, it sounded like you said breakable,” I said, twisting myself to glance at the man who’d spoken. I stepped back, lifting my gaze to his. Broody didn’t even begin to describe his vibe.

Based on the emblem on his tight-fitting shirt, I knew the man speaking down to me, quite literally, was a high-ranking Commander. The viper emblem etched just above his ranking gave me every answer I needed: Spec Unit six, which meant this asshole was my overseer.

Great.

While his personality could’ve used numerous sweeps of polishing, he was undeniably easy on the eyes, far easier than any man I’d found attractive before.

His slightly curled, dark-brown, near-black hair fell just past his ears, covering the continuation of the scar that marred his cheek.

The dusting of stubble attempted to coat the sharpness of his jawline, but if anything, it cast the perfect shadow for unwavering admiration.

Tattoos sprawled along the entirety of his neck, a patchwork of vines, crow wings, and some type of bird skull I was unfamiliar with.

It bled beneath his shirt, and I couldn’t help but wonder what else was covered in ink.

His lips were plump, lively, almost as if they were capable of uttering words of endearment and understanding—things I knew a man of his caliber would never be able to express without at least four drinks—personally, moans were my favorite.

As if sensing my wandering gaze, his honeyed glower met mine, dark brows lifting with anything but amusement. “Do you like what you see, cadet?”

I hooked a finger over the chain, turning the cross back and forth before swiping my tongue over my bottom lip.

I attempted to haul myself back from the state of desperation I’d almost succumbed to.

However, it didn’t mean I couldn’t have fun, and he seemed the furthest from the word. “Did you want me to?”

“Ah, rather chipper, I see.” He smiled, two sharp canines welcoming my rather sinful thoughts. “Good. I’ll be interested to see how long you can fly before I break your wings.”

My brows furrowed as the cross settled against my neck. “Wings? I prefer walking, well, strutting actually.”

Not even bothering to address my mockery, he folded his arms over his chest, gesturing toward the door with his chin.

“Unsure if your Daddy informed you, but this is where you part with all of your belongings.” A deep chuckle rolled from his chest as he cocked his head to the side.

“And with the squadron you’ll be joining, that cross you keep toying with as if it’ll somehow save you from your damnation will be useless here. ”

“Oh, delightful,” I muttered as I rolled the luggage to the man behind the counter.

“Who’d need a ten-inch dildo anyway with your pleasant attitude?

I think I’ll be fine to part with it,” I said with a smile, hoping it irked him just enough to add another layer to the tension already spreading across his shoulders.

Didn’t he like fun? Shit, this was more amusing than art school, at least. “The cross? I’ll keep it. Religious freedom and all.”

He moved faster than I breathed, his hand coiling around my throat as he shoved me into the wall.

The ground became nonexistent beneath my feet as he lifted me with sickening ease to meet his gaze—an easy foot over my 5’7” stature.

Leaning forward, his lips brushed against the shell of my ear, his utterance doing something to me that I couldn’t quite comprehend.

“Oh, darling, if you’re looking for religious freedom here, get on your knees, for I am your fucking church.” Each syllable contained an underlying growl, making me question everything about this man. “I have no issue devouring pretty men like you, believe me. I rather like the taste.”

I coughed, the pressure releasing slightly as I pressed my fingers into the wall for stability. “You, uh, normally choke on the first date?”

His other arm rested just above my head, caging me in as he lowered himself to close the gap between us, his nose coming to rest inches from mine.

“It depends on whether the one I’m entertaining seems to have an experienced tongue.

Given how much you love to run your worthless mouth, it appears you may be the epitome of someone fond of seeking attention.

What? Me wrapping my hand around your perfectly fragile throat wasn’t the attention you were seeking? ”

“Worthless? Then tell me why you keep staring at my lips?” I cocked my head as much as I could, angling myself flush against the concrete. “If you want to break me, maybe you should get in touch with Dad…” I trailed off, not realizing who this man’s name even was.

“Sweet little dove,” he crooned, his grin only growing. “I am well-acquainted with your father. Though I don’t know if I should be honored or offended that he didn’t warn you who you were reporting to. Considering he’s the one who reached out to me.”

There was no way to hide my shock as I stilled. “He reached out to you?”

Dad would do something like this—keep secrets about precisely what I was here for. As far as I knew, he’d sent me to train, but a commander? Seriously?

“Shocked?” His golden gaze sparked with something unreadable.

“He mentioned you have a thing for lashing out, that you blanket your insecurities with anything that will earn even the slightest glance. Your attire. Your demeanor. Your humor. And well, I just so happen to be the best option at his disposal to remind you just how much of a waste you are in this world. How worthless you truly are when all of the masks you’ve created for yourself crumble into a state of nonexistence.

How long do you think you can keep smiling before I break you, Oren Valens? ”

“Sounds delightful,” I added, ready for the conversation to be done. “Do I at least get a room here on base?” I couldn’t wait to relax away from him, from everyone, for as long as I could.

“I’m so glad you asked,” he hummed, dropping me without a moment of contemplation.

Shoving himself from the wall, he pivoted, choosing to face me no longer.

“Once you hand over all of your belongings, you will be given a key to your bunker. A space of which, might I add, you’ll be sharing with two other recruits.

You are to dress in uniform every day, nothing more and nothing less.

Your days of self-expression end here, and I’d highly suggest you obey the chain of command.

I’d hate to damage your pretty little face more than I have to. ”

I unclasped the cross and set it on the counter. “Key?”

The young man behind the desk cleared his throat, pointing to the headband that had shifted in the commotion. I placed it next to the necklace before running my hand through my mess of hair. The slap of a key tore my gaze from the asshole as I curled my fingers around it.

“And when should I report back to you?” I’d played this before with assholes. They expect you to crack, to break, because they love the thrill of watching something imperfect snap, but that wasn’t me.

I was perfect.

“Tomorrow morning in the eastern wing, six o’clock sharp.

” His reply was monotone, losing any hint of his snide personality.

I nodded, turning on my heel, but he cut me off before I could walk away.

“Oh, and Oren, don’t forget to stop by our barber beforehand.

Cutting hair with a knife isn’t really my forte. ”

Great. Roommates, short hair, and an asshole. A triple threat I couldn’t wait to indulge in, but at least he couldn’t take away my personality. “Can I at least have a name to praise in the morning? Too early to call on Christ,” I said with a shrug.

“Thorne,” he responded indifferently. “Thorne Graves.”

“Thorne Graves?” I chuckled, stepping back with a little more pep. “What an interesting last name. Bet with one like that, you’ve honored it. How many people have you put in the grave?”

Silence. Unearthly silence.

No reply. Not a word.

His quiet startled me, the first round I think I’d won. “Only asking to make sure I stay alive, ya know?”

Seconds ticked by, and without a reply, I rubbed the back of my neck. Later. I had roommates to win over after all.