Chapter 58
Striker
The rules we abide by keep us separate from the animals.
They keep us from slipping down that dark path that calls to us, beckoning us forward to embrace the parts of ourselves we keep hidden.
The damaged, broken bits we cover up with a mask to appear normal.
Yet underneath it all, that baser instinct lives.
Humans are still animals after all.
And some of us are born in darkness.
I was forged in it, raised by it, trained to wield it like a weapon. And that dark, primitive energy sears through my veins as I tug at the metal cuffs digging into my wrists. They clank against the concrete floor, the sound grating across my brain like nails.
Every instinct in me screams. Find her. But I’m chained like a prisoner, hands bound in shackles looped through a ring buried in the floor.
I am a prisoner. By Father. By my own thoughts and blind trust.
My gaze narrows in on 48 standing a few feet away, his gun trained on me. “Unlock these and I won’t snap your fucking neck.” I grit my teeth, my voice deadly calm. “You know damn well it’s going to end badly for you if you keep following his commands.”
His eyes dart to the soldier beside him. One I’ve never seen before.
One of the fifty—sixty?—who stormed the estate. Soldiers I’ve never seen until today. They have no identifying numbers. No names.
I have no idea who this man is.
The school was closed years ago. Or so we thought.
I lick my split lip, amusement bubbling in my chest. They may have overpowered us, dragged Reaper and me down here to the basement and chained us like dogs, but they have no idea what we’re capable of doing when one of ours is threatened.
And our girl is up there.
Alone.
“If Reaper doesn’t saw your fucking head off, I will,” I snarl, my vision blurring, stained red at the corners. I press my eyes closed, forcing out the images trying to gather in my head.
Delilah, terrified. Screaming. Being hurt, or worse, by these men we didn’t even know existed.
Father has a vast army of mercenaries he trained in the school, but the amount of new soldiers that invaded our home like a fucking parasite, goes beyond our knowledge.
“Shut the fuck up, bitch,” the new soldiers says.
He slides forward and spits. Saliva lands on my cheek.
“I heard you like sucking your brother’s dick.
” He grabs his crotch tauntingly. “Maybe if you’re sweet, I’ll let you suck mine.
” He steps up close, close enough. “Or maybe I’ll fuck you raw while you watch as that little black-haired beauty of yours chokes on every cock in this place. ”
A laugh tingles in my throat as a smile splits my lips.
“God, you’re so fucking fucked.” I jerk my head downward, and my forehead connects with his nose.
The crunching sound and his garbled grunt as he stumbles backward, curls satisfaction in my gut.
Air whooshes from my lungs as the butt of a rifle hits my stomach.
I bend forward, the chains on my wrists clanking as I double over.
My laughter spills out, choked but filled with menace. “I’m going to fucking kill you.”
“Quiet,” 48 warns, rearing back the rifle, threatening to hit me again. “Keep yapping, and you’ll regret it.”
I smirk, bringing my cuffed hands to my face, swiping away the wet spit, my gaze locked on the nameless sack of shit before me. This soldier, this sorry excuse for a man, will be the first to die.
He backs away, the arrogant expression on his face slipping, like he can see my plan. How I’ll kick his face in until matter and blood cover every inch of my boot.
Outside the door, the quiet, pop pop pop, of a gun echoes through the large room. 48 meets my eye.
“Told you.” I chuckle. “You’re fucked.”
The lock slides and the door flies open.
Reaper stalks in, blood splattered across his face and neck.
Purple already colors under his eyes from where he's been hit, his lip swollen, but he looks otherwise in tact.
He points the gun at the new soldier and fires.
Warmth hits my face, and glee spreads in my chest. He trains the rifle on 48, chin lifting in my direction. “Unlock him.”
48’s jaw tics. Slowly, he lowers his weapon, then unclips the keys hooked on his belt. He inches toward me and unlocks the cuffs, eyes fixed on Reaper. Before I can lunge, Reaper shoots. 48 stumbles back, and another bullet hits his forehead, then he collapses at my feet.
“Are you good?” Reaper’s hand lands on my shoulder, grounding me. I suck in air, letting it fill my lungs as I gather up all my rage and pull it in tightly, keeping it restrained.
“Yeah,” I say, then grab 48’s gun. “Where is she?”
Reaper glances over his shoulder to the open door. “Don’t know.”
In the hallway, three soldiers lie in heaps on the floor, blood smearing the walls behind them. 55 kneels at the foot of the stairs leading to the kitchen, hands clasped behind his head.
“Don’t shoot him,” Reaper says as I raise my rifle. “He’s the one who unlocked my cuffs.”
I glance at Reaper, then move forward, taking the stairs two at a time.
When we reach the top step, we’re met with an eerie silence.
I lock eyes with Reaper. He senses it too.
The dead stillness. The missing piece. My jaw clenches as I surge forward, and sprint through the house, my heart slamming against my ribs.
The hallway to her room stretches impossibly long as I storm toward Delilah’s room, Reaper a half-step behind me.
I know, even before I open her bedroom door.
It slams against the wall as I burst through, my eyes landing on her empty, messy bed. For a second, the world narrows to just the sound of my breathing and the echoing silence.
Fallon’s taken her.
Sent her back.
The thought wrings me out. Strips every bullshit veneer away.
I stumble backward, my vision blurring, barely seeing through the dark tunnel of my own fucking stupidity. How could we let this happen? I let my guard down. We all did. Let need and hunger and greed drive us, just as we let the mission take over all humanity for far too long.
It was always the mission. Secure, extract, train. Every fucking time I, we, chose his orders over the suffocating need to just hold her and keep her safe, we failed her. We thought we could manipulate our father by feeding his ego like we’ve always done. But now Delilah is gone.
Sent back to Rune.
Exactly like we fucking planned.
A low growl from Reaper beside me, then he’s in motion, his grating voice echoing down the hallway, screaming for Fallon.
I stomp through the house behind him, rage pulsing in my veins.
The closer we get to the west wing, the closer I am to losing control.
When we reach the study, Reaper slams the door open so hard the sound cracks through the room.
Fallon doesn’t even blink as we stalk toward him, standing in front of the dark, empty fireplace like he had been waiting.
“Where the fuck is she?” I growl, dread eating my gut, making it churn.
“Gone,” Fallon says. “Now we pray she’s capable of completing her task.”
“He’s going to kill her,” I snarl. My fingers flex on the rifle, itching to end him. I set it down, not trusting myself to maintain control.
“If that’s her fate, then so be it,” Father says. “You knew the risks when we decided to do this.”
“That was before—” I slam my mouth shut.
Before she was ours. Before she was something we were scared to lose.
Reaper marches forward, and grabs Father by his collar. “She wasn’t ready.”
“She was never going to be ready,” Fallon snaps, attempting to shove Reaper back. “That girl was a tool. You are the one who let these useless emotions play into this.”
I laugh bitterly.
“You are to blame for this mess,” Fallon says, pointing at Reaper’s face. “You made the mistake of falling in love with your target. Of falling for the woman who destroyed our lives.”
“Your greed destroyed us,” I seethe.
Fallon rips Reaper’s hand off him, glaring at me. “That fucking woman has cost me enough.”
Reaper taps his chest, leaning in so close to Fallon’s face our father takes a step back. “If she dies, her blood is on your hands.”
“Her blood has been on your hands for fifteen years!” Father shouts. “That’s the cost of being marked by the devil.”
Reaper shakes his head. “No Father. That’s the cost of being your son. And you have cost me everything.”
I close the gap between us, my hands trembling with the effort to hold back the storm brewing inside me. “That woman is the only good thing I’ve ever touched. You better pray to any god who will listen that she’s alive.”
“Or what, my syn?”
“Or I’m going to personally send you to hell.”