Page 50 of Viper

She still is.

And this motherfucker sent her back to marry Zane. This cruel, cunning man, who hurts his sons to keep control, who took a belt to my back to punish them.

“It’s a shame Clyde chose to stay with Rune after he went mad.” Fallon keeps his focus on me, gauging my reaction, but I do my best to give him nothing. “He chose the wrong side for a long time, but I understand why he stayed.”

I bite my lip, taking a deep breath. Reaper not-so-subtly let me know Clyde is their source, so this doesn’t come as a surprise. What does is that Fallon’s so openly speaking to me.

“May I ask you a question?” I say.

“You may,” he says, smiling again, almost fatherly. It sends a weird shiver through me with how genuine it feels. “Whether I choose to answer will be determined.”

“Fair enough,” I say, noting his relaxed demeanor. It’s easy to see how he could charm someone into believing he’s nice and kind, covering up his cutting brutality with layers of charm and honey. Like he is now. Smiling reassuringly as if his violent outburst and death threats were merely caused by our actions,not his demented cruelty. “What did you do to my father that he murdered your son?”

Fallon’s eyes narrow slightly, his shoulders stiffening. Appears he doesn’t like this question, and just when I think he’s not going to answer, he says, “The real question isn’t what did I do to anger Rune. The real question is, what didn’t he do?”

The screech of his chair moving back as he stands screams through my mind almost as loudly as his words. I attempt to stand, ready to ask him what he means, but Reaper’s hand slams down on my shoulder, keeping me in my seat.

“Tomorrow,” Fallon says, gesturing to me, but looking between Reaper and Striker. “Her training begins.”

Chapter 17

Viper

16 years Ago, December, Age 16

Afamiliarsoundwindsthroughmy 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, afractured 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. Stupidme. 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.