Chapter 3
CHAPTER THREE
OREN
Icried.
Fuck, I cried at the reflection in the mirror, hair buzzed short as hell. The one resemblance to my mother was gone, shaved and swept away by the barber. I knew he was just doing his job, but I didn’t think he was used to men sobbing in his chair over their hair.
The worst part? He handed me a dirtied towel with my hair clippings stuck to it, as if it’d make it right. As if it’d ease the ache of her not being here to see the monster I’d become.
She enjoyed dressing me up as she was a performer in her melodramatic ways. Her one rule? Persona is everything, and nothing screams important like your outward appearance. If she saw me now, she’d scream, but it’d be kind of hard since she’s six feet below concrete.
That’s when Dad spiraled into work and removed himself from my life.
Maybe I reminded him too much of her, and that’s why he wanted to change me.
Her love of art, music, and theater clung to me, sticking to the crevices of my heart because, without it, where would her mark on this earth go?
If I didn’t uphold her desires, she’d be erased—a forgotten treasure turned to decrepit bones.
With a half-smile and a mumbled thanks, I ran my hands over my face to muddy the redness I knew was still brewing there as I left the barber.
The last thing I needed was Thorne Graves to find me crying.
Hell, any ounce of weakness with him would be exploited to filth, and I wasn’t in that kind of business. I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction.
If my dad couldn’t break me, this Graves asshole sure as fuck wouldn’t do it. I refused, especially after the way he treated me. Was everyone just a number to him? A property tag labeled with their skills as worth?
Except he was at least somewhat human. I managed to crack him at the mention of deaths, which wasn’t reassuring for me. If he was the best, why had that statement rendered him useless? If he were going to train me, would I survive? What man went silent after a simple question?
I didn’t want to die, and unfortunately, it looked like Dad stuck me with someone ill-equipped. I doubted he’d switch me to a different Commander if I called, which wouldn’t really matter. I wanted out, and if I rebelled long enough, surely they’d kick me out, right?
The hallways were mostly bare, void of the artwork I’d grown to love at the university I wanted to attend.
Now it remained a distant memory, a calling I’d never fulfill like mom wanted me to.
You’d think her passing would get easier as the years accumulated, but I found it harder than ever to avoid thinking of her.
Eight years is too long a chapter without her in it, and it only ever continued to increase.
My fingers scraped against my scalp, a habit that was going to be hard to break, because such a simple thing brought me comfort—comfort in the form of how she used to rake her fingers through my hair until I fell asleep.
A soft groan left my lips as I wandered the hallways for the room this key belonged to. It would’ve been nice if the asshole told me where to go, but then he’d go against his mannerisms.
I guess it was still true that all assholes are hot.
I wished he were the exception, but he was exactly the type I’d seek out at the bar.
Hell, even the way he clocked my cross necklace as nothing but a farce was exceedingly perfect.
Unfortunately, his personality, or lack thereof, didn’t make up for his chiseled jaw and biceps.
He looked good, but there was nothing worth an ounce of my time beneath the surface.
I’d almost had enough of this guessing game when the rusted key clicked into place, the door groaning its reply as I shuffled across the threshold.
Three cots, a tiny ass room, and nothing but a simple sheet served as my bedding. I bit my lip to keep it from trembling because what is this? Did they enjoy ripping necessities such as comfort away?
Two were occupied, uniforms neatly placed at the edge of the bed.
I walked over to the last one, tucked in the back corner, and picked up one of the two uniforms on my bed.
It was a plain black T-shirt and camo pants, like the ones you saw in every commercial.
I wanted to vomit, but with no way out, I changed into them.
At least the shirt was tight-fitting, accentuating the contours of my chest, and the pants hugged my ass. If my friends saw me, they’d laugh at the style, but at least I still looked good.
Boots secured, I collected my old clothes and brought them to the front desk. I slapped them on the table and departed without a word. Was I already changing into an asshole, too? I was never this… tense, but this atmosphere had a way of drawing it from me.
I needed to talk to someone civil, someone who was at least level-headed and decent. With no plans except making myself look like everyone else here, I decided to explore the base.
Conference rooms, a dining hall, and a gym were the main areas filling the place. Stopping at the gym seemed like a great idea to blow off some steam as I headed over to the set of weights.
The weights were blocked by a man an inch shorter than me, though equally if not more buff. His hair was shorter than mine, and his coffee eyes were set to the weights he was placing in an odd order.
I would’ve kept observing if he didn’t turn around, a stupid grin etched on his baby-doll-like face. Talk about innocent.
“You’re new,” he stated matter-of-factly, his brows raising as he examined me.
His eyes swept across my chest, finding the viper emblem I wished nothing more than to rip off.
“Spec Unit six. Lucky for you, pal, you sniffed two of your squad mates out of a gym full of limp pricks and testosterone-hungry man-children. Name’s Simon, by the way. ”
“Oren,” I replied, the first genuine smile appearing on my face. I held out my hand, and Simon clasped it firmly. “So you’re on the unit and someone else?” I scanned the area, limp pricks indeed flooding the space like wannabe gym rats.
“There’s only five of us, well six now including you. Graves is pretty selective with who gets handed his believed badge of superiority. He always runs his units far smaller than the rest.” He flashed me a cheeky smirk. “I’ve been here for a little over three years.”
Gesturing toward the weight rack, he hinted at the other squad mate he’d mentioned. “Lovely Liam over there has been here for about two years.”
I peered at Liam, immediately catching the length of his hair.
“You said two years?” But Thorne made it sound like a shorter hair style was a unit expectation.
Was I being fucked with by this guy? I wouldn’t put it past this place to mentally screw me over.
“That guy?” I pointed at the broad-chested man, his dirty blonde hair nearly covering his brows.
Simon dipped his chin. “Don’t let his demeanor fool you; Liam is about as soft as they come. Well, so long as you can break through his hardened exterior. Though correction, and never repeat that I told you this, but his ‘hardened’ exterior is flimsy at best.”
“Yeah, yeah,” I said, “but his hair is long.” I didn’t give a shit about his personality at the moment.
“Yeah?” Simon glanced from Liam to me a handful of times before his brows lifted. “Oh.”
“You mean…” My voice trailed off as the weight of what Graves had done solidified. It didn’t have to be cut. It didn’t fucking have to be cut.
“Our unit has what you’d call…special privileges.
” His tongue danced over his teeth, attempting to lap up the wrath his reply would undoubtedly stir within me.
“You must’ve started on the wrong foot with Commander Graves because cutting our hair like the other squadrons isn’t a requirement.
He only does it when people mouth off; hence,” he pointed at his buzzed head, “my short hair. But as spiteful as I am, I elected to keep it that way to prove a point.”
“I’m gonna fucking kill him,” I muttered, biting the inside of my cheek to keep from screaming. Shouting would resolve nothing, but plotting? Planning? He’d fucked with the wrong person, and I’d make his life hell.
Clearing my throat, I nodded, hoping to seem civil once more. “The hairstyle suits you,” I settled on.
As if he could somehow read my internal monologue, he nudged me. “Not a fan of our lovely overseer?”
“Fan? Does he have fans? The man is beyond unpleasant and probably carries his size in his ego,” I added. “A perfect man-child.” I found myself continuing to talk and hoped it wouldn’t bite me in the ass.
He proved he was trustworthy with a laugh that became the very definition of contagious, a sound that confirmed he enjoyed my humor.
“Believe it or not, there are people who bow down and worship him as if he were some type of god. And while I would never, because of how off-putting he is, I won’t deny that he is good at what he does. He’s earned his title.”
“At least I’m not alone in thinking about his pleasant disposition.
” It was more reassuring than he thought.
“I’ll see about him being good. My father’s hand is up his ass, so it’s hard not to picture him bending over backwards to please him.
” That was the truth. If Dad had set this shit up with Thorne as his instigator, there was no way he wasn’t pleasing him on the side.
Dad loved an able body, someone who was easy to mold.
“Lucky for you,” the shifted timbre came from behind me, “tomorrow morning is our scheduled sparring session with the Commander himself.”
Pivoting, I turned to glance at the man who’d spoken, the one who Simon had introduced as Liam.
His coffee-colored gaze found mine, light brown brows coming to rest over it.
Up close, it became clear that, even though his hair was long, his beard was freshly trimmed.
Our height difference became more apparent as the gap between us closed.
But where he lacked in height, he had size, and I wasn’t even ashamed to admit that his chiseled body had caught my attention.
“6:00 a.m., I’m aware,” I said through a grimace. “I’ve never been alive at that time before, and with him already putting a target on my back, I’m sure it’s going to be worse than hell.”
“Oh, it is,” Simon responded, his palm slapping my back before he squeezed my shoulder as if we’d known one another for far longer than we had. “Graves is ruthless when it comes to training, so my one piece of advice to offer is: don’t eat a big breakfast.”
A groan escaped my lips, but maybe it wouldn’t be so bad with the two of them there. Simon matched me line for line, and Liam, well, he seemed chill enough to mind his business. I’m sure we’d bond eventually.
“I don’t think I’ll be able to eat anything,” I answered. I didn’t even want to think about tomorrow, and I needed a distraction like I always did. “Other than training, what else is there to do, like for fun, or does that word not exist in this place?”
“Believe it or not, on the weekends, we go into town. Hit the bars. Indulge. Do whatever the fuck we want.” Liam bent down, snatching a towel off the top of his bag.
Wiping the sweat from his face, he continued.
“Weekdays? Patrol routes. Sparring. Training. Practice interrogations. The list goes on.”
God bless, I wasn’t stuck in these walls. It just depended on—“What types of bars?” How did I word this in case they weren’t open? “Is there a good variety?”
Solid. Fucking solid, Oren.
Simon chuckled, glancing out of the corner of his eye at me. “Oh, buddy. If you’re asking about gay bars, you’ve undoubtedly met your match.”
A chuckle escaped me, and I rubbed at the back of my neck. Shit, I really did struggle to hide myself. “Oh, good to know.”
I could survive a week of beatings until the weekend, right? Probably—especially—if I got a good fuck in.