CHAPTER FIVE #3
A single pull backwards in those flimsy fucking pyjamas and he’ll be scarred for life.
Lachlan can either knock him out, ideal, or he can reason with him.
The latter seems impossible but Lachlan’s not sure he can land the angle of blackout punch in such cramped quarters, so he takes a deep breath and says, ‘Julian, you have to help me now, OK? Mimi is screaming for you. She’s terrified. Please don’t make her suffer anymore.’
He blinks, frowning. ‘Huh?’
‘You’ve been up here for three days,’ Lachlan lies to his face.
Julian’s eyes widen with genuine fear. ‘What?’
‘She thinks you left her behind,’ Lachlan tells him, still pulling slow and methodical to hopefully negate any bites should the kid draw his arms back to ease the pain of being dragged. ‘Please.’
The seventeen-year-old looks truly afraid. He nods shakily and starts helping Lachlan to get them both out. ‘What’s this wet stuff?’
Lachlan grits his teeth. ‘My blood.’
It’s only thirty more seconds and then they’re out, emerging from the unlocked access point where Rook is waiting with a medical team for Jules, all of whom rush to help him and ignore Lachlan.
When they’re both clear, Lachlan drops to his knees, pulls off a shredded, bloody t-shirt that used to be black, and then removes the protective materials to assess the severity of the damage.
Only Blaire comes to help him. Clara arrives, phone to her ear, relaying the situation in quiet tones, neither helping nor condemning.
Lachlan has no doubt who’s on the other end of that call.
‘That was very stupid,’ Blaire tells him, quietly fierce.
‘No shit,’ he utters, feels faint, but tries to smile anyway.
Blaire, at least, doesn’t seem afraid of blood.
She wraps his chest in a bandage roll after she pulls out one of the teeth that apparently broke off in him.
She holds one of his hands high above his head to stop the flow where his inner wrist caught a few bites.
Lachlan’s forearms and knees have taken the worst of it, but aside from his face and neck, there’s almost nowhere on his body that didn’t get slightly chewed up.
On the plus side, the teeth are a fantastic proven deterrent.
On the negative side…
‘Mr Penhalyx is flying back tomorrow,’ Clara informs him when the call ends.
Behind her, he sees Julian’s navel has a little blood on it, a few of the teeth snagged him for real, but the kid isn’t focused on his own wounds, he’s just staring wide-eyed at Lachlan, who admittedly looks like something a great white spat out.
‘Heard,’ Lachlan says, lets Blaire help him to his feet.
?
The next day, Lachlan is covered in antiseptic and sterile wrap for the worst of it, but he’ll have sandpaper scars for life.
The entire Estate comes sharply to attention at the arrival of Alistair Penhalyx, whose helicopter lands ten minutes early.
Julian hasn’t spoken a word to him nor mentioned the lie about Mimi. Lachlan hasn’t spoken to him either, only kept watch like always. He’s already contacted Jolene to install new separate access and detection alarms at all entry points of the ventilation shafts, but the damage is done.
Julian, Clara, Lachlan and Blaire wait outside Alistair’s office until called in. The older man has an entourage with him, and he seems to be working while meeting with them.
Lachlan stays standing but Julian sits when directed.
‘You two leave us,’ Penhalyx dismisses to Clara and Blaire, waiting until they’re gone before finishing his work. ‘Now then,’ he says, gaze lifting to his son. They have the same light brown eyes. ‘Julian. Tell me why I’m here.’
The kid crosses his arms and shrugs. ‘Because I got stuck.’
‘And where did you get stuck, Julian?’
‘Where do you think?’
‘I am told,’ Penhalyx says, rising from the chair and going to the window facing the Estate gardens, ‘that you crawled into the ventilation shafts.’
‘So what?’
‘Lachlan,’ Alistair says calmly. ‘Strike my son across the face, please.’
It takes a lot to surprise Lachlan.
This does.
He hesitates, unprepared.
The kid doesn’t move, shows no surprise whatsoever.
He’s glued to the chair.
Lachlan parts his lips to speak, the refusal poised.
‘Section four point seven. Directive Compliance Requirement. “The Protector shall act exclusively in accordance with the Principal’s interests. Moral objection carries no mitigating weight. Non-compliance, including passive non-action, shall constitute direct insubordination and may be treated as breach under the Morality Clause.” Strike my son across the face, Lachlan. Don’t split his lip, please.’
It's been a while since Lachlan had to follow an order that turned his stomach, but he steps forward, raises his hand and carries it out. The blow is nowhere near as hard as it could be, not even as hard as he’s sometimes fantasised about, given the nature of this absolute fucking brat, but it’s a hard smack.
He knows it hurts the kid and he’ll never forget the red stain of his own hand on a seventeen-year-old’s face.
Julian accepts the punishment with dull passivity.
‘Good,’ Alistair praises blandly. ‘Now, Julian,’ he adds, turning around. ‘Show me the damage from your escapade.’
‘No.’
‘Shall I have Lachlan strip you bare before me?’
Lachlan’s not looking at the kid’s face but he’s praying he just lifts his tee and shows his father the scrape, which he thankfully does.
Alistair comes around the other side of the desk to investigate fully, bending low, a slight frown between his eyes.
‘It looks shallow,’ he comments. ‘Medical informed me they don’t expect it to scar, but his skin was still torn and his blood was shed.’ He rises to face Lachlan. Up close, he’s older than he seemed. Wrinkles deep set, skin greying with time. ‘Your lack of foresight indirectly caused this.’
Lachlan says, ‘My apologies, sir.’
‘I am formally reprimanding you and docking a full week’s pay. My son’s blood will not be shed again, no matter who is responsible.’ The older man glances at his child. ‘He already knows the consequences of what would happen should he be the one to damage himself.’
Julian stares blindly ahead.
Soldier stare, Lachlan knows it well.
‘That being said,’ Alistair remarks, tapping the inset glass screen to life, and it rises fluidly to float in the air, no visible wires, ‘I am genuinely impressed by the tungsten innovation. Clara has kept me fully apprised of the improvements. This minor blip notwithstanding, you will proceed as you were. Julian, you are hereby confined to your room for one week as punishment for your remarkably well-constructed attempt to see your bodyguard dismissed for indirectly harming you. If you speak to me like that again,’ the older man warns, focus on the glass display, ‘I will have Lachlan drag Jessamine in here and strike her while you watch.’
Julian visibly pales. ‘Yes, sir.’
‘There is much I accept about you, my son. I consider myself a generous man in terms of what I allow. You know what I could implement until your twenty-first. The technology has advanced greatly.’ He sighs, shaking his head.
‘Lachlan is here for your protection. I know you will fight me every step of the way, but please remember there are limits to what I will tolerate. Poor manners are utterly unacceptable. Is that understood?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Very well. Any requests while I’m here?’
‘No, sir.’
‘Good. I’ll see you next quarter.’ Julian leaves and Lachlan moves to go with him, but the old man quietly calls him back.
Julian is already gone.
Lachlan stands before the desk.
‘Take a seat.’ It’s not a request, so Lachlan sits. Alistair looks over steepled fingers, light brown eyes gleaming with interest. ‘What do you make of him?’
Lachlan doesn’t hesitate to answer. ‘Your son is incredibly intelligent, sir.’
‘I’m well aware. Tell me what you make of him. This is off record and beyond reproach, I assure you.’
‘He seems to me,’ Lachlan answers, a little slower, ‘to be very frustrated and rebellious, perhaps under-stimulated.’
‘Under-stimulated?’ Alistair echoes curiously. ‘How so?’
Treading carefully, Lachlan says, ‘I wouldn’t presume to tell you anything about your son that you don’t already know—’
‘Beyond reproach, Lachlan. I want your insight. Your opinion.’
‘Then, in my opinion, he’s bored, lonely and isolated.
When he sneaks out, he’s going to find friends, people, experiences, not danger.
’ He left out the part about pimple-tache from his report file.
‘Having been present for some of his schooling, it’s a superb education, but he’s already very smart and it’s not enough, in my opinion, to stimulate his mind. ’
‘What might you suggest?’
Lachlan already knows any suggestion for freedom, for Jules to have friends, to be allowed out of the Estate will be shot down. ‘I feel that he’d benefit from field training.’
Alistair cocks his head like a confused dog. ‘Field training?’
‘Within the Estate grounds, of course. Most children in his sphere are given some degree of martial arts training, but the reason I suggest field training is that it might make him less…’ Cooped up. Imprisoned. Miserable. ‘Stifled.’
Seemingly amused, Alistair sits back in his chair. ‘Explain.’
‘Structured physical drills outdoors,’ Lachlan answers evenly. ‘Obstacle work, controlled sparring, stamina runs, supervised climbing, basic fieldcraft. Nothing dangerous. Just enough to burn off energy, build confidence and give him a sense of movement and space within safe boundaries.’
‘To what end?’
‘To stabilise him,’ Lachlan replies. ‘Regular outdoor exercise improves mood regulation and gives him a controlled way to burn off excess energy before it turns into defiance. It teaches discipline, builds confidence, and gives him a sense of momentum instead of confinement. Physically it would strengthen him. Mentally it would calm him.’
‘You don’t think you’d be making your own job that much harder if my son can scale walls?’
‘I’m good at my job, sir.’
‘So your proposal is to subject my son to military correction?’