Page 51 of Viper

I reach behind me to feel my back. The skin is mostly smooth except for a few welts and a long series of bandages.

“Doc says you’re lucky Father stopped when he did,” Breaker says. “That you’d have died of hypothermia if Reaper hadn’t stepped in.”

“What do you mean?” I ask, shooting upright, my gut churning. My hand catches the side of the monitor as my head spins. I breathe through it, then reach for Breaker. My fingers somehow feel numb, yet cold, like they are still covered in ice as they wrap around his uniform and tug him close. “What did Reaper do?”

His chin quivers. “Striker panicked when Father told him he was next.” He stops speaking and takes a deep breath as a tear slips out, so I shake him a little to get him talking again. His eyes go wide, and he says, “Reaper told Father to stop, because he was about to take the belt to Striker. So Father said Reaper was to take your punishment.”

Fuck. When I rip the cuff off and remove the sensor from my finger, the machinery screams. The noise blares through my head angrily, but stops the second I yank the plug from the wall.

“Keep talking, kid,” I spit out, looking around for my uniform. I spot it folded on the chair in the corner and lunge for it, nearly toppling to the floor. My palm smacks against the wall before I fall. “Where is everyone now?”

“We’re on lockdown.”

My shoulders ease as I slip my pants on under the gown. “If we’re on lockdown, how are you here?”

Breaker’s eyes fall to his feet. “Father said because I was the only one who followed orders, I got to see you.”

A chuckle slips out of me. Breaker is the last one I’d ever guess Father would reward for following a command. When I untie the gown at the back and slip it off and Breaker doesn’t look up, eyeing me—because the kid constantly looks—I sigh.

“Stop feeling guilty,” I tell him. “Be proud you followed an order for once.”

Those stark blue eyes meet mine. “I hurt you.”

I squeeze his shoulder. “Father hurt me, not you. Besides, I’m fine.”

As I lean over to grab my shirt, the faint slapping sound breaks through the fog in my head. It’s been in the background this entire time, blending with the faint hum of the radiator, but I was barely paying attention to it.

Thwack, thwack, thwack.

Slow, repetitive. Methodical. A minute in between each slick sound. It echoes through the school, bouncing off the walls as it travels down the dark, dirty halls.

I drop my sock, my insides freezing all over again. My breath grows ragged as everything around me slows as I turn to Breaker.

“Where’s Reaper?” I ask, my voice gravelly.

A rattling sob escapes, and he covers his face with hands that look too big on a twelve-year-old boy.

My shirt falls to the floor. A humming noise fills my head, the familiar sound from my past, scraping the inside of my skull with thin fingers.

I take one step toward the door, then another, stuck in slow-motion horror before the next harshslapcuts through the noise in my head and I break into a run.

My bare feet smack the vinyl floor. I crash into the wall, knocking my head against the rough concrete. My vision blurs, pain blasting through my temple, but I right myself and stumble forward.

Behind me, Breaker yells my name, his voice laced with terror, but I don’t stop.

I can’t.

Each stumbling step takes me closer, and the echoing cracking sound grows louder. With my hand out, catching myself on doors and corners, I run and skid to a stop at the start of the hall to our sleeping quarters.

Each door stands open so every boy hiding in his room can hear the reminder we are to obey. Follow his every command.

Father stands in the center of the hall, and as he draws back his arm, ready to release the belt yet again, I run forward, a scream ripping from me, and grip his wrist. With my other hand, I grab the leather, winding it around my wrist, and yank it free of his grasp.

“Fucking stop,” I grate.

Father turns my way, and the metal buckle clanks to the floor by my feet as I step back, taking in the mask of rage contorting his features. Something dark and twisted turns his lip into a cruel snarl. Turns his wintery eyes into a cold, desolate landscape. My eyes drop to the little red splatters on his vest.

My chest heaves. “Please. Stop.” I look down at the trembling body at his feet, and my fist flies to my mouth, pressing against my lips.