Page 75 of Brazen Defiance (Brazen Boys #4)

Trips

M y father’s backhand is still good, although I have a feeling it’s got more to do with the extra rings he’s added over the years rather than strength.

Now that I know what to look for, I can see how much smaller he is, how weak and damaged.

His fear of the future makes sense. And I take a morbid kind of pride in being a snag in his plan for his legacy.

Trevor fucked up his part all on his own. But I fought to get out. I haven’t made it, but it scared Father enough that he’s going to all this trouble to force the future into the shape he wants it to be. And even now, I’m working against him.

I try to keep that pride from my gaze as I meet his eyes, this marking the third day of spontaneous aggression. It’s telling me more than it should.

Falk shifts behind me, his hold on my arms looser than it used to be. But I don’t take advantage. If my father’s hitting me, he’s leaving Clara alone. For now.

“It’s not the action, Archie, it’s the timing,” he states.

“No offense, Father, but I’m not really a fan of fucking in front of an audience.”

His eyes turn to steel. “Don’t lie to me, boy. That girl has three other boys at her beck and call. Like you haven’t fucked in front of her little harem.”

I hold my tongue. He won’t believe that we hadn’t had sex. He’s decided it’s the truth, and that’s that.

With a sigh, he turns away from me and stomps across his office. “How about we make another deal?”

Fuck. “What kind of deal?”

He pauses, staring at the decanter of scotch. “Privacy in exchange for proof.”

“What kind of proof?”

“Visuals after the fact.”

I can’t help the disgusted groan that escapes me. “That’s fucked-up.”

He turns, dragging his gaze from the liquor. “You’re lucky I’m even offering another deal.”

“Why would you?”

He takes his time to settle behind his desk, the motions so familiar that a few of my long-healed bones ache in anticipated agony.

“Because as much as you hate it, you’re my son, Archie.

More than Trevor will ever be. Some part of me must have recognized that from the beginning, giving you my name instead of him.

You and I, we fight against being forced into something.

And my actions have only provoked that tendency.

So, instead, I’ll offer you one last compromise.

I get my grandson, and you get to fuck your girl in private. ”

“And if I don’t take this deal?”

“Then you get the supervision you obviously don’t want.”

“You trust me that much?”

“No. Not at all, more’s the pity. But if I want you to play, I must give you a turn as well.” He looks up from his papers. “You know there are worse things I can do than I have already done. Much worse.”

That doesn’t require a response.

“You and your girl do as you’re required, and I may even give you more freedom in the house.

Your guards have told me neither of you show signs of running, nor have those other boys made an appearance.

You’re being good enough on that front. Do this one thing, and you might even get a bed more than occasionally. ”

If he expects me to thank him, he’s delusional. I refrain from glancing at Falk.

RJ might have been disguised, but I know the man behind me is smart enough to have clocked him giving me the bag with the birth control. Which might explain why he left us together that morning—to pass off the mystery bag. If that was his plan, well, the result must have been a surprise to him.

But he’s been watching us together, and it’s clear he knows we’re up to something. He knows she’s more than what she shows to Father. And he knows I defer to her.

This is her plan.

And it’s my job to mitigate the risks in it as much as possible.

“Tomorrow night, we’re going to the orchestra. No visible marks on the girl, please, son. That bruise on her neck makes her look like a whore.”

Rage bubbles up, but I swallow it down, letting Falk usher me out before he cuts me free of the zip-ties around my wrists. Because my father’s fear of me has this physical manifestation. I’ll be proud that my father is this scared of me when I’m not in the middle of this mess.

Falk glances at his phone. “You’re okayed to use the gym four days a week.”

I scoff, and he looks at me, something in his eyes that I can’t read. “Let’s get you changed.”

When we make it down to the gym, he leans next to the door. “Warm up,” he instructs.

Curious, I let him boss me around. He’s working up to something.

It’s been long enough since I last exercised that my heart-rate spikes after an easy start, sweat dripping down me like I’m doing something twice as difficult as a slow jog and some calisthenics. “Fuck. I’m out of shape.”

“I’d say you should get your ass to the gym more, but it’d probably be salt in the wound.”

I snort. “Definitely. Midnight push-ups hardly count.”

Once I’m limber, I eye the heavy bag in the corner. But after a few steps, Falk gets between me and the bag. “How about we spar?”

“I’m not sure that’s fair.”

“What, because you’ve got fifty pounds on me?”

“No, because you’ve got a decade of training on me.”

He laughs, and it’s like I’m looking at a different man. “Might make it a fair fight.”

“I fought you. I lost. Brutally.”

“You won, and with a single good hand.”

“Thanks to my roommate and a bag of kitty litter.”

Another bark of laughter comes from the man. “That’s what got me? Shit. That’s embarrassing.”

We’ve wandered to the sparring mats across from each other. “No head shots?” he asks.

“And leave the junk alone, too.”

“Your dad would kill me if I went for the baby-maker,” he replies, but the joke falls flat. We both know that’d be the likely outcome.

Then, with no notice, he’s on me.

It doesn’t take too long to figure out he’s testing me, finding my strengths and weaknesses, attacking and pulling back like an adaptive fighting simulation.

Or like a coach. Not that I’ve ever had one of those.

All too soon, I’m getting sloppy from exhaustion, but at least Falk broke into a sweat too, and I’ve identified a spot on his ribs that makes his eyes water. My father is at least consistent in doling out his punishments.

We break apart, and I go grab some water, watching the security guard shake out his arms. His laugh earlier made me realize that there’s a lot I don’t know about this man. “What’s your first name?”

Falk freezes, then laughs, once again looking less like wallpaper and more like a person. “You don’t know my name?”

I shrug, wishing I didn’t feel like an ass. “Nope. You’re just Falk.”

“Shit, kid. That almost hurts. I’m Hunter, Hunter Falk. And just so we’re clear, that’s one of the most rich-kid things I’ve heard from you.”

Sadly true. “Were your parents psychics or something? That name’s a little on the nose.”

“It’d be better if my mom was. No, she was just really into astrology. December meant I was a Hunter. I’m just glad I wasn’t born in July. I don’t think ‘Crab’ suits me.”

Turning away with a huff, the joke’s so unexpected that I debate letting him in. But without knowing what my father has on him, I can’t guess how far out on a limb he’d go for me and mine.

Not yet. I’ll have to find a way to tell RJ to look into him. “Thanks for sparring,” I say instead.

He stretches, starting his cool-down. “You’ve got potential.”

“Potential doesn’t take your ass down.”

He smirks, once again looking like a different man. “Sure as hell doesn’t.”

The walk back to the white room is one of the most comfortable I’ve had in a while.