Page 116 of Viper

“Yet, you cry when you are frustrated,” Fallon says. “I’ve watched you for an entire week. And I’ve seen the video footage. I know how you work.”

My cheeks flame as my gaze darts to Reaper, my mind automatically conjuring up the image of us all together.

“Don’t fret,” Fallon says. “I haven’t seen past footage of you with my sons. I’d never violate your privacy in that way.”

“Just her safety and her life,” Reaper grates, eyes shooting daggers at his father’s back.

Fallon ignores Reaper’s outburst and continues as if he didn’t speak, “When you become overwhelmed, angry, or frustrated, you cry. To make this believable, you need to be consistent.”

I’m about to cry right now, thinking about Fallon seeing me in any capacity with the men, paying close attention to all the subtle signs of just how intimate we have become. Not just on a physical level but deeper. Knowing Fallon pays attention to the way Reaper is with me, how he touches me, makes me glad Cora isn’t here.

Cora.

I clench my teeth and meet his eyes.

This is for Cora.

All of this is for her.

For them.

I bite my lip and squeeze my eyes shut, picturing her beautiful face. Her mischievous smile. How she throws her head back and laughs with her whole body. I picture small boys trapped in a school with a quiet evil. Terrified and alone while the devil in a three-piece suit threatens to kill them. My breathing grows irregular. Tears sting my eyes, and I let a few fall. They trail down my cheek and hit my collarbone. My heart cracks when I think about the real possibility that if I don’t convince Rune, if I fail, I won’t make it out alive and I’ll never see Cora happy and free.

I’ll never see the men free from the sick control of the man before me.

I open my eyes. Fallon’s lip quirks into a devilish grin.

“Very good,” he says gently. “I can see you finally understand.”

***

I step out of the shower, snatching a towel from the rack, and dry off. My clothes hang on the metal rod along with a fresh towel, and the thought passes through my head.

Who does the laundry?

I imagine Reaper gathering dirty uniforms, and my dresses, and stuffing them in a washing machine, along with all their masks. A chuckle slips out, echoing in the bathroom, and I slump down to the floor, tears pricking my eyes.

I’m fucking losing my mind in this loneliness.

The weeks prior didn’t feel as desolate as this past week. Even stuck in this room alone for that first week after they took us, the isolation didn’t stick to me quite like it does now. I was too scared. Too unaware. Now I know too much, and I’m left to sit with all this knowledge, by myself.

Sit with all these expectations.

What if I can’t do it? What if the moment I’m faced with killing Rune, I can’t pull the trigger?

A loud knock on the bathroom door rips a scream from my throat.

“You have ten minutes,” a deep voice says. 33? I can’t remember. Every day, the two guards who escort me around the mansion change, and I don’t have enough energy to care to store away who is who.

“Chow time,” another says, and I recognize the voice. 48.

“I already ate,” I snap back.

“Looks like you’re eating again.”

“Hold on.” With a sigh, I stand and dress. It isn’t until I’m snapping my bra that I realize I forgot to grab underwear. I cast aglance at my sweaty leggings and undergarments and decide I’m better off without any, then pull on my socks and boots, tucking my knife away.

Another pound on the door makes my shoulders bunch as I quickly run a brush through my wet hair. When I open the door, the two soldiers step back, their eyes moving over me.