Breaker (Unmasked #3)

21. Chapter 15

Chapter 15

Breaker

15 years ago, June, Age 13

T he last time Fallon allowed us to go to the village was in the spring before we began training. We didn’t know it was the last time he’d let us travel there, so we didn’t take advantage of the trip.

Of course, Fallon doesn’t know Cook loads a few of us up every week to keep him company on the drive to town for perishables. So far Fallon either hasn’t guessed at these secret outings or he doesn’t mind.

I’m going to guess the latter because Fallon knows everything that happens in the school.

“I can’t wait to get my hands on those little cakes the girl in the bakery makes,” Viper says from next to me. He’s sitting up against the cab, near the window talking with Cook on and off as we make the drive. I’m next to him, both our legs spread out. Every time the truck lurches, I slide into him, our hips smashing together, and our boots collide. He doesn’t seem to mind so I didn’t scoot away the last time I slid his way. Striker’s at our feet, his back to the wheel well, face turned up to the warm sun. None of us are wearing our uniforms, and I can’t help but stare at the black t-shirt that hugs Striker’s chest.

So much so that I turn my attention back to Viper but that just makes me think about how his white t-shirt and tight gray pants look like the outfit Marlon Brando wore in the movie Cook likes so much. Something about a streetcar. He even sort of looks like him with the way his lips pout.

Viper’s been working out hard and his body shows it. Striker too, but he’s got nothing on the large muscles of Viper’s biceps.

I wonder if I’m going to ever grow as tall and large as him. This past Spring I grew three inches, but I’m still shorter than Striker. Almost as tall as Vipe, but I have a few inches before I get anywhere near as tall as Reaper. All my training this past year has given me some muscles, but I’m still scrawny.

I hate that word. Hunter says I’m a scrawny kid and it eats at me how he smiles when he says it. Like he’s trying to provoke me into hitting him.

Fallon says my temper is going to be the end of me, but he should know I keep myself in check. He’s the one who let it free. If I unleash what really lives inside me, I don’t think my brothers would look at me the same. And Hunter would think twice about provoking me.

“Are you going to go see your favorite girl?” Striker says. That knowing smirk on his face makes my fingers itch to punch it off his face.

“You mean the girl with the black hair?” Viper asks. “The one he’s always drooling over and dances around like a love sick puppy—ow shit!”

I scowl at him, pulling my fist back as he rubs his bicep where my fist landed. “I don’t dance around her.”

“Notice he’s not denying he drools over her,” Striker says, yanking his legs up to his chest to avoid my boot. “And, she’s not even that pretty. I don’t get why you like her so much.”

“No one’s as pretty as Breaker,” Viper says with a laugh. I slap his hand away as he tries to squeeze my cheeks. “No girl could ever match this pretty face.”

“She is too,” I snap, my face heating even more as I glare at him. I hate it when he teases me about being so pretty. Fallon says boys aren’t supposed to be pretty, yet my brothers tell me constantly I have the prettiest face they’ve ever seen. “She has beautiful obsidian hair, eyes like the midnight sky, and skin so soft it’s like satin.”

Cook’s cackle rings out from the cab. “Holy shit. Do you hear this kid? Like a goddamn poet.”

My chest tightens, a knot forming right in the center. Anger makes my face burn hotter and the slick, gross feeling I get whenever Striker calls me a kid in front of Viper, slips and twists in my gut.

“Boy thinks, he’s in love,” Cook shouts. The truck jolts as we hit a pothole, and the bed creaks loudly, jumbling his next few words. I all hear is,”—since he spends the entire time in that back room with her.”

Cook’s an asshole , I remind myself. He’s probably just jealous she gives me attention and won’t even look his way. He’s not handsome, not like Reaper, and certainly not like Viper and Striker. He’s plain, American I think, his accent is like those old black and white movies he loves. Even though he’s still young, there are wrinkles around his eyes and mouth. And he has an ugly nose. It looks like it’s been broken one too many times so it’s a little smashed to his face.

Viper told me once his real name was George, but Fallon told George and the other staff at the school they were to go by their titles not their names. That we didn’t need to know their names to eat the food they cook or learn the lessons from Teacher. When I asked Viper how he knew all this he grew quiet then just said Cook told him once when he was helping him clean the kitchen as punishment for eating an extra slice of bread.

“I’m teaching her French,” I yell into the window of the cab, though I know I don’t need to defend myself.

“Sure thing, Break.” Cook laughs. “I’m sure she’s teaching you all about the ‘little death’ as payment.”

Viper nudges my rib cage. “We’re just fucking with you. Her name’s Sasha or something, right? She’s really pretty and always wears those little dresses with the flowers on them.”

My chest constricts, not sure if I like that he’s noticed how pretty she looks in those dresses. She wears them a lot like Nanny used to.

“Didn’t know you had a thing for girls with the way you look at Vi—“ My boot hits Striker’s knee and he yelps but starts to laugh. “Fine, girl’s and dresses for Breaker,” he says, avoiding my kick this time. “Doesn’t matter, anyway. She’s too old for you.”

I want to tell them she’s not too old, but I keep my mouth clamped shut, digging my hand into my jeans to feel the little coins Cook gave me to buy my favorite candy. Little do they know that she likes me too. She has ever since I first saw her four years ago.

The first time I bought the red candies from the store where she works, she told me I could only have them if I gave her a kiss. It was just a peck on her cheek. She giggled the way girls do in movies, and her smile lit up her dark eyes. When she found out I spoke French, she wanted to learn, so now whenever I come to the village, we sit in the back room of the store, and I teach her words.

Sasha and I have been doing this all summer. If she didn’t like me, she’d not want to sit alone with me. And she’d not look at me with those dark eyes like she was wondering what my mouth tastes like.

I keep thinking about those dark eyes and her soft skin, and how her lips would taste, until the thin woods fade, and the open fields take over the landscape. The rows of potatoes and cabbage quickly turn to muddy patches dotted with livestock and barns, and the dirt road becomes cobbled streets patched with concrete. Each inhale brings the scent of damp earth into my lungs but then the faint smell of exhaust and engine oil mixed with the stench of sewers takes over as we enter the village. The buildings change from weathered wooden slats to stone with rusted metal roofs on some of them.

The brakes squeal as Cook stops the truck in front of the general store. After the cab door slams shut we all leap out, our boots slapping down on the wet street. Without a word, Viper heads toward the bakery with Striker.

“Back here in two hours,” Cook calls after them. Viper waves over his shoulder before they turn the corner and disappear.

“I’m going to pay for the weekly supplies.” Cook lifts his chin toward the large storehouse where we pick up our supplies as he pulls paper bills from his wallet. “Grab those white bars of soap and that big box of detergent Viper likes.” He waves to someone passing by on the other side of the street. “Oh, and the leather cleaner for your boots.”

I hold out my hand and he slaps the bills down on my open palm. “Anything else?” I ask hoping he’ll tell me to pick up some of that maple syrup he keeps in his room for when he makes pancakes. I miss that stuff.

I miss a lot of stuff Nanny used to give me. I miss Nanny, but she’s not around anymore. The one time I dared ask about her, Fallon told me she moved away after that thing we don’t talk about happened. Too many ghosts, I figured. Part of me is glad she’s living in a place she’s not haunted, but the other part of me feels so empty. I liked thinking about her close by, sitting in the little house I shared with her, missing me as much as I missed her.

But that was selfish of me, especially when I know how terrible being haunted by ghosts can feel.

I have many of my own.

“Nah,” Cook says, eyes darting to the old rundown building with the flickering neon sign in the window. “Just meet us all back here. I’ll leave—“

“Yeah, yeah,” I say, turning away. “You’ll leave my ass behind and I’ll have to hike back.”

“Don’t think I won’t,” Cook calls, but he’s already moving away, walking toward the storehouse.

I don’t have to watch to know that he’ll go and pay for the order he called in then head to the bar he visits every time we come to the village. I think that’s the only reason he brings us along. We load the groceries for him, then one of us can always drive back when he gets so drunk he can’t keep his eyes open.

The bell above the door chimes as I step into the store, my eyes moving immediately to where she usually sits behind the worn counter with scratched glass.

“Back here!” she calls, her sweet voice carrying to the front from stock room. I grab a plastic basket next to the door, and weave around the isles, noting the new items. Last time we were here, a large truck had brought in supplies from the city and Cook stocked up on a bunch of things we rarely get.

My eyes lock onto the maple syrup. Before I can think, I place it in my basket then grab the other items Cook wanted before heading to the back. I shove the swinging doors open, setting my basket on the floor by the old crates holding supplies. Then I stop in the center of the room and just stare at her.

The dress she’s wearing today is blue. The color blue I don’t like, but when she turns my way and I see her face, all the roiling in my gut from the memories turns to ice.

“Why are you crying?” I ask, stalking forward. The urge to reach out and wipe her tears is strong but I don’t do it because I’ve not really touched her before. A kiss on the cheek, arms brushing as we sit and write letters, knees knocking together when she laughs, isn’t really touching her.

But now she’s crying. She’s the only girl besides Nanny and the nuns at church I’ve been anywhere near, so I’m not sure what to do. Anytime one of us cries at school, we either get called names or Fallon tells us to toughen up.

Soldat’s don’t cry he says.

But girls do and she’s really fucking upset.

She shakes her head.

“Sasha, what happened?” I say, wincing as I ruin the words. I’m terrible at Russian. “Tell me what’s wrong.”

She laughs as I butcher the last word and swipes her cheeks. “Just feeling sad. I was thinking about my mother.”

I step in close, raising my hand to touch her, but hesitate. Nanny used to rub my back as a boy when I’d cry, so I place my hand between her shoulder blades and rub in circles.

She gives me a watery smile, scooting in closer. “Do you miss your mother?”

I stiffen and drop my hand. We don’t talk about the school. No one does. We come to the village, gather supplies, everyone smiles and treats us well, then we leave. No one asks questions.

I overheard Reaper telling Hunter that Fallon paid to fix the old roads and the metal roofs on the big buildings and that’s why no one bothers to ask what he’s doing with us all up at the old prison. Hush money, he said. Like in those spy books Teacher reads.

“I’m sorry,” Sasha says and backs away. “I know better than to ask.”

“It’s okay.” My hand feels empty, now. I liked touching her. A lot. So, I do it again. This time I move my hand lower to the center of her back and make little circles. She bites her lip, and my insides heat and get jittery like I gulped down that nasty black coffee Cook drinks.

“You don’t look like anyone around here,” she whispers. “I really like your eyes.”

My insides turn electric, jolts of heat making my body spark. I’m taller than her, and she’s somehow moved so our bodies are pressed together. Her front to my front. My hand on her back. Her hands are now on my chest.

Now, one small hand with delicate fingers is moving higher toward my mouth.

“And these.” Her thumb presses to my bottom lip and I’m suddenly aware that my arm is around her and I’m still rubbing her back. Something earthy and clean invades my nose. Like right after it rains, but delicate and a little sweet.

I’ve never been this close to a girl besides Nanny. And I’m starting to wonder why.

“Is your hair dark?” she asks moving even closer, and then runs a hand over my scalp.

Shit.

Sasha’s eyes dart to mine. I attempt to back away so she can’t feel how much I like her this close but she stops me.

“It’s okay,” she whispers, pink lips pulling into a smile. That pretty smile she gives me when she says a word wrong, like she’s a little embarrassed. “I like you too.”

I lick my lips, because yeah, I like her a lot and she’s finding out how much since she’s pressed up against me.

“Have you ever kissed anyone?” she asks.

I’m about to tell her that I’ve kissed her cheek and Nanny’s, but that sounds pathetic. Admitting I’ve never kissed anyone sounds worse, so I say nothing.

When I don’t answer, she rises to her tip toes and her lips brush mine.

I must have decided at some point I was going to kiss her, because now we are. I’ve seen enough movies, those dirty movies Hunter found in Cooks room, and flipped through enough of those magazines Hunter stole from that run down store where we get gas, that I know what kissing should look like.

What it feels like is different. She’s soft and tastes like lemons and mints. Now that I have tasted her mouth, I don’t want to stop. She’s sweet and tangy. And her body is moving against mine, hands all over and then downward to—

“Oh shit,” I gasp. With a guilty glance I look back to the open door of the stockroom but close my eyes when her touch becomes too much.

“Do you like that?” she asks softly. Breathing is suddenly really difficult. I nod. “Let me see.”

Another glance over my shoulder, my body buzzing for several different reasons. “Right here? Now?”

She giggles. Then cool hair hits my skin.

“Wow,” she says looking down between us.

My throat starts to feel tight. Not in that way like it does with anticipation, but in a way that feels like I’m swallowing stones.

“Do you know what girls like?” she asks, moving away. My hand drops as I watch her sit down and lift her dress up.

My heart thunders but I’m frozen in place, something weird in my stomach making it difficult to move or breathe, much less think.

“We have time,” she whispers. “Come here.”

Several things happen at once.

There’s a booming roar from behind me like a wild animal crashed into the room. I’m shoved, somehow both backward and to the side, and Sasha is screaming, trying to stand but the man has her by her hair, his arm pulled back like he’s going to slap her and then I yell, “Viper stop!”

She crashes to the ground, and he turns on me, chest heaving. His eyes fall to my zipper. I fix it, my heart pounding, as a primal growl rips from his throat right before he says, “Go out to the truck! Now!”

“Let her go,” I yell, marching forward to grab Viper’s arm before he actually hits her. I know deep in my gut he’d never hurt a girl, but I’m starting to doubt that feeling with the murderous fury turning his eyes dark and hateful. “We weren’t doing anything wrong.”

He spins on me, eyes flashing with violence. “ You weren’t doing anything wrong, but she was.“ He turns back, glaring down at Sasha but then stalks to me and grabs my arm. I look over my shoulder and see her scrambling to her feet, but she doesn’t come after us.

“Fuck off,” I yell at him, trying to shrug off his grip, my face so hot it feels like it’s on fire.

Viper shoves me through the store, then out the door. I trip over the entryway, and he catches me by the arm. He rips the passenger door to the truck open so roughly I’m surprised it doesn’t tear from the hinges. “Get in the truck,” he growls.

In all the time I’ve known him, I’ve never seen him so angry. Shame floods my cheeks, makes my heart skip. I wasn’t doing anything wrong, nothing that he hasn’t already done, nothing that Reaper or Hunter haven’t.

“You’re just jealous,” I snarl.

My back slams into the truck bed as he pushes me away, then yanks me by my collar, dragging me closer. “I’m not jealous of her.”

“Yes you are,” I snap. “You wanted it to be you.”

His brows knit, eyes darkening strangely, but he knows exactly what I mean.

“She likes me, and I like her and you can’t stand it.”

“You’re a fucking child,” Viper grates. He points back at the store. “That is a woman, and she never should have touched you.”

“She’s the same age as you,” I tell him.

Viper backs way, running his hands through his hair. His cheeks burn red, mouth set into a grim line. “And, I’m too old for you.”

“Four years isn’t that much older,” I tell him.

“It is when you are a thirteen-year-old boy and she’s practically a fucking adult.” Using the collar of my shirt, he shoves me in the truck cab. “Stay right here while I get Cook and Striker.”

He turns, casting an evil glare at the store, breathing in and out heavily like he’s debating going in there and slapping her anyway. I slam the door shut and cross my arms, my teeth grinding as I watch him. When he turns back around, he is a tad calmer, but there’s a line between his brow and his jaw’s clenched.

Viper leans against the truck door, resting his hands on the open window. The stormy sea in his eyes calms and my stomach settles.

“I’m not jealous, Breaker,” he whispers. “I’m angry. The person to touch you like that should be someone closer to your age. Someone who loves you, not someone who gets off on taking things from innocent boys.”

“What the fuck do you know about love?” I grate out. “You’ve never even been in love.”

“That’s not true. I love you.”

“You’re my brother,” I say. “You have to love me.”

I’m surprised when he smiles. “You’re so innocent it makes my chest hurt.”

“I’m not innocent,” I snap. Viper has no idea what I did to earn my name. I’m filthy from the things I’ve done. Stained, permanently in my soul, from the things Fallon told me were okay to do.

“Stupid, beautiful boy,” he whispers and backs away. “I’m so glad you don’t even know what I mean.”