Chapter 17
Viper
Afamiliar sound winds through my brain. Distant at first, then it grows clearer.
Louder. A constant hum of a machine on top of a faint thudding sound.
Like when a brutal winter storm moves through, lashing the school with sleet, making the loose iron bars over the windows slam against the stone building.
Thwack, thwack, thwack.
But then I hear another sound, a faint whimper followed by a sniffle.
“Who the fuck is crying?” I ask, but my voice comes out raspy, almost hollow, like I lost it, but when I found it again, it was only half there.
“Don’t move,” a familiar voice says. Sweet, angelic. A little squeaky at the ends.
I pry an eye open, and that’s when the pain hits me.
Not just in my head from the bright white light overhead, but the fire that’s burning my back.
Did hell finally swallow me up? From the intense burn eating at my limbs, the tips of my fingers, and racing over my back like fire ants, I’d have sworn the devil dragged me to the depths with him.
But Breaker is here, so I’m still trapped on Earth.
A crackle and rumbling sound splits through my head. One I recognize. The useless radiators around the school that barely keep this place livable.
So not hell, but only a few steps away.
Pinching the bridge of my nose, I open my eyes again. My gaze locks on Breaker’s bloodshot eyes and tear-stained cheeks looming over me.
“Back off,” I grate, shoving him aside. The water-stained ceiling comes into view, and confusion swirls through me. Another attempt at sitting makes my head buzz, and more fiery pain shoots through my back, but I bite through it and place my bare feet on the cold floor.
“Stop crying,” I rasp, doing my best to remember why I’m in bed.
No, not just a bed. The infirmary. I catch sight of the cuff on my arm, the sensor on my pointer finger. The monitor beeping next to me, showing my vitals. I glance down at the faded green hospital gown and frown.
This isn’t the first time I’ve landed here, but it is the first that I can’t remember why. A broken nose and fingers, a fractured bone here or there from trying to show off, have Doc and me well acquainted. But he’s not in here, just Breaker.
“What happened?” I ask, attempting to stand but sit back down immediately when my head swims.
“Striker.” He swipes at a tear and sniffles. “He freaked when Father said it was his turn.”
“To do what?” The second the words leave my mouth, I remember. The bread. Icy cold and the rooftop. Father’s punishment. The belt and cutting pain. My brother’s expected to dole out Father’s violence on me as a reminder to obey his every word. “Shit.”
Another tear slips down Breaker’s round cheek. Stupid kid. Stupid me. I swear Breaker is going to be the death of me if he doesn’t stop acting out. Whenever he’s hurt or hungry, I can’t stop myself from protecting him. And I suffer every damn time because of it.
I reach behind me to feel my back. The skin is mostly smooth except for a few welts and a long series of bandages.
“Doc says you’re lucky Father stopped when he did,” Breaker says. “That you’d have died of hypothermia if Reaper hadn’t stepped in.”
“What do you mean?” I ask, shooting upright, my gut churning.
My hand catches the side of the monitor as my head spins.
I breathe through it, then reach for Breaker.
My fingers somehow feel numb, yet cold, like they are still covered in ice as they wrap around his uniform and tug him close. “What did Reaper do?”
His chin quivers. “Striker panicked when Father told him he was next.” He stops speaking and takes a deep breath as a tear slips out, so I shake him a little to get him talking again.
His eyes go wide, and he says, “Reaper told Father to stop, because he was about to take the belt to Striker. So Father said Reaper was to take your punishment.”
Fuck. When I rip the cuff off and remove the sensor from my finger, the machinery screams. The noise blares through my head angrily, but stops the second I yank the plug from the wall.
“Keep talking, kid,” I spit out, looking around for my uniform. I spot it folded on the chair in the corner and lunge for it, nearly toppling to the floor. My palm smacks against the wall before I fall. “Where is everyone now?”
“We’re on lockdown.”
My shoulders ease as I slip my pants on under the gown. “If we’re on lockdown, how are you here?”
Breaker’s eyes fall to his feet. “Father said because I was the only one who followed orders, I got to see you.”
A chuckle slips out of me. Breaker is the last one I’d ever guess Father would reward for following a command. When I untie the gown at the back and slip it off and Breaker doesn’t look up, eyeing me—because the kid constantly looks—I sigh.
“Stop feeling guilty,” I tell him. “Be proud you followed an order for once.”
Those stark blue eyes meet mine. “I hurt you.”
I squeeze his shoulder. “Father hurt me, not you. Besides, I’m fine.”
As I lean over to grab my shirt, the faint slapping sound breaks through the fog in my head. It’s been in the background this entire time, blending with the faint hum of the radiator, but I was barely paying attention to it.
Thwack, thwack, thwack.
Slow, repetitive. Methodical. A minute in between each slick sound. It echoes through the school, bouncing off the walls as it travels down the dark, dirty halls.
I drop my sock, my insides freezing all over again. My breath grows ragged as everything around me slows as I turn to Breaker.
“Where’s Reaper?” I ask, my voice gravelly.
A rattling sob escapes, and he covers his face with hands that look too big on a twelve-year-old boy.
My shirt falls to the floor. A humming noise fills my head, the familiar sound from my past, scraping the inside of my skull with thin fingers.
I take one step toward the door, then another, stuck in slow-motion horror before the next harsh slap cuts through the noise in my head and I break into a run.
My bare feet smack the vinyl floor. I crash into the wall, knocking my head against the rough concrete. My vision blurs, pain blasting through my temple, but I right myself and stumble forward.
Behind me, Breaker yells my name, his voice laced with terror, but I don’t stop.
I can’t.
Each stumbling step takes me closer, and the echoing cracking sound grows louder. With my hand out, catching myself on doors and corners, I run and skid to a stop at the start of the hall to our sleeping quarters.
Each door stands open so every boy hiding in his room can hear the reminder we are to obey. Follow his every command.
Father stands in the center of the hall, and as he draws back his arm, ready to release the belt yet again, I run forward, a scream ripping from me, and grip his wrist. With my other hand, I grab the leather, winding it around my wrist, and yank it free of his grasp.
“Fucking stop,” I grate.
Father turns my way, and the metal buckle clanks to the floor by my feet as I step back, taking in the mask of rage contorting his features.
Something dark and twisted turns his lip into a cruel snarl.
Turns his wintery eyes into a cold, desolate landscape.
My eyes drop to the little red splatters on his vest.
My chest heaves. “Please. Stop.” I look down at the trembling body at his feet, and my fist flies to my mouth, pressing against my lips.
Reaper kneels, one hand on the floor, arm shaking, barely keeping him upright. Blood coats his tanned skin, and thick slices mar his back from the belt carved deeply into his flesh. Several lashes hit his shoulder and biceps, oozing wet scarlet.
“Jesus,” I whisper, ripping my eyes from Reaper to look at Father. “What the fuck is wrong with you!”
Those cold eyes burn into me, and he grips my shoulder, his hand drawing back.
“Why do you hate him?” I yell, wincing, bracing for his hit.
Father drops his fist. “I do not hate him!” he screams, the madness in his tone bouncing off the walls. “He is my son!”
Reaper’s arm quivers, but he remains upright. We need to get him to Doc, but I’m too scared to move.
“But this constant interference has to stop.” Father’s scream tears through the hallway, and I flinch.
Father is controlled and precise. Now he’s wild and enraged, a terrible monster on a warpath to remove any signs of weakness from us all.
“This affection he has for all of you, it is a weakness. Love is a weakness!”
It’s like he hears his words, the absolute madness in his tone, echoing back to him, and he takes a step back, smoothing down his shirt. “Reaper was born to be strong. Bred to be a soldier. I made sure of it. But he’s the weakest of my sons.”
Father takes another step away, and my body eases. I dare a glance around and spot Cook at the start of the hall, but realize Hunter is nowhere to be found. He wouldn’t be in his room, standing by while Father unleashed his fury on our brother. He’d be a snapping dog trying to stop him.
The realization he’s not here sends a dark, creeping terror slipping under my skin. With a subtle movement of my hand, I gesture for Cook to come closer.
“Father,” I say, keeping my tone even. Like if I speak slowly and clearly, he won’t slip back into a fit of rage. “Where is Hunter?”
A cutting laugh slips out of him. He motions to the last door in the hall. Hunter’s room. “Locked away,” he snarls. “He tried to take half of the punishment. Half.”
Of course he did, I think as my shoulders drop, tension unwinding a fraction. That’s what they do. What we all do.
Father trained us to obey his code. We are a unit, yet every time we stand together, try to protect one another, he goes into a rage. Like the bond he ensured we created with one another, is traitorous. Because we care more for each other than for him.
My gaze slips to Reaper as his arm gives and he leans over, placing his forehead on the dirty floor. A deep ache rattles my heart, seeing him so wounded. In pain. Once again trying to protect us.
I sense Cook coming up behind me. Taking a chance, I lean down, keeping an eye on Father as I brush Reaper’s sweaty hair away from his face. Tears prick my eyes, and everything in me screams to take care of him, but I have to calm Father down. Redirect him.
Reaper turns his head to look my way, teeth gnashing together as he winces. Blood slips over his back from the open gashes, gathering at the base of his neck. His black eyes meet mine, and an icy dread climbs down my spine.
Father has left us brutally bruised, skin laced with cuts, but the violent rage it took to create such deep slices in Reaper’s skin is like something I’ve never witnessed from him. The monster Father keeps tightly leashed was just freed, and Reaper got caught between its teeth.
“We need to get him to the infirmary,” I say, my tone controlled. “These will get infected, and we can’t lose our strongest soldier.”
Trying to use logic on a wild tiger may well end up with me tied back to the pole on the roof, but I’ll do anything at this point to get him away from Reaper.
When I stand up, Father looks down at Reaper, and I swear I see a flash of remorse. He turns to Cook, who’s keeping me between him and Father. “Get him to the infirmary. He just needs a few stitches.”
I curl my fingers into my fist, staring down at the criss-cross lines over Reaper’s back and arms. He’s going to need more than a few.
I help Cook drag Reaper to his feet, my pulse skipping when he staggers. I grind my teeth, pressing my eyes closed at the sight of him. At the horror of what our father has done.
Father jabs a finger into my chest, drawing my focus back to him. “One day you will learn that to love is pain. Because the one you love will always, always betray you.”