Breaker (Unmasked #3)

56. Chapter 50

Delilah

The clack clack, clack of Fallon’s footsteps thunder inside my head as he paces the room. A vaporous darkness seems to emanate from him, like his anger is thickening the air, turning it acrid. His three-piece suit a solid black-on-black and silver hair a contrast of light and dark, adding to his lethal aura.

“Is she still willing to cooperate?” Fallon asks, slowing his methodical pacing in front of Reaper and Striker. They’re both at attention, hands fisted their sides, not moving an inch.

We gathered in the large parlor opposite the library. It was big enough to hold all of us.

Because Fallon didn’t come alone.

Ten soldiers, much like Reaper and Striker, stand in the far right of the room, blocking the exit. They are dressed in all black—gloves, uniforms, masks—but they wear helmets and vests, with several guns and knives strapped to their belts, all of the men fully geared up and standing at the ready.

For what, I’m not sure, and that unknown makes my heart race.

The tension in the air is so thick, it feels like a heavy cloak, weighing me down. Fear stained with anger keeps me rooted in place, as I watch Fallon take turns glaring at Striker and Reaper, but it doesn’t stop me from saying, “Being I’m right behind you, you could simply ask me if I’m willing to cooperate.”

With the exception of a light twitch to his head, their father ignores me.

“You made it sound as if she was trained, son,” Fallon says, stopping in front of Reaper. A long, thin finger grazes over Reaper’s chest, smoothing the wrinkle in his shirt. Fallon tugs at Reaper’s mask like he’s inspecting his uniform, then taps his bare hand, taking note of his lack of gloves. When he shifts to stand before Striker, my stomach dips. Thankfully Striker’s in his black uniform, but he’s missing his gloves as well. Fallon pats his shoulder and lets his hand drop. “The woman behind me lacks in manners and discipline.”

“She is trained, sir,” Reaper says. “Delilah is prepared to continue with the mission.”

The urge to snap at him, tell him to fuck right off, that I’m not capable of killing my father, or anyone else for that matter, eats at my throat, but I bite back the words.

These men who are so strong and unified, a terrifying force to be reckoned with, are letting this man, their father, command them. Their father’s control over them is baffling, but there, nonetheless. I witnessed it first hand when he subdued Viper.

Viper.

Where the fuck is Viper?

“I’ve been made aware that your form of training—“ Fallon pauses, clasping his hands together behind his back as he looks toward the ceiling, ”—is rather unusual.”

Striker’s chest expands as he inhales.

“I can see none of the training technics I taught you have been implemented,” Fallon says, shifting slightly to look my way. “If they had been, the girl would know her place and not speak out of turn.”

My place.

That urge to scream returns but he’s wrong. I have been taught. I know how to deal with men like him and it’s not by mouthing off or showing my anger. So, I remain silent. Waiting, just like my father taught me.

“Did I not train my sons how to take control of their target?” Fallon gestures to me. “She doesn’t seem very controlled.”

Unease claws at the back of my neck.

“Tell me, Reaper, how have you managed to gain her submission?” he asks, voice growing colder with each word. “With your cock? Did you drive your control over her home every time you fucked her?”

The crass way he says it makes my cheeks burn. My hand presses to my face, feeling the hot anger and humiliation.

“Does Rune Gavin’s daughter feel like redemption when you sink into her cunt?”

My eyes drop to my feet, breaths coming out ragged. My hands grip my dress, hating that he’s making me feel so worthless.

“Does she whimper? Or cry out?” Fallon steps in closer, angling his head so he’s in Reaper’s face. The black eyes behind the melting skull stare straight ahead. “Is she willing? Or do you cover her mouth to stifle her screams and fuck her like the whore she is.”

“That’s enough ,“ Striker barks, stepping forward.

The second Fallon chuckles, Striker’s hands flex and he resumes his position. There’s a power play happening here, some sort of struggle to find control, and the men are losing. I’m not stupid enough to get in the middle of it, so I keep quiet, trying not to let his words affect me.

Though they do. Because as upset as I am at the realization of what Reaper told me I’m expected to do, I don’t think they want to ask this of me. I know they want their revenge for their brother. I know they want Rune stopped. I also know they don’t want me harmed.

None of their promises were a manipulation to get my corporation like I was feared. I feel the truth in every touch. Breaker told me that night. They fucked up.

They weren’t supposed to care that I cried.

And Fallon just reminded them of their failure.

Ours to do with as we please. Like I was just a tool. A means to exact revenge.

Except they didn’t use me to do with as they pleased. Their father never gave them the order to meet us in Rune’s club that night. They did that on their own. They did because they wanted us.

They’ve wanted us to be theirs, to be with them, accept them, crave them, need them, this entire time. Now I do. And watching this cold, cruel man belittle them, cuts as sharply as a razor.

“And it seems not only have my sons forgotten their training, they’ve forgotten how to take an order.” Fallon turns to face me. My blood chills when his icy eyes land on my face. The color is so much like Breaker’s it’s uncanny. “Did they tell you what happens when an order is ignored?”

My teeth grind, and I keep my eyes locked on his, refusing to answer.

Adjusting his tie, he nods, like I’ve just confirmed something for him. “See, Delilah, I made a mistake with my sons, just as they’ve made a mistake with you.” Fallon takes a step toward me, the heel of his black shoe clicking hard on the wood floor, the noise so harsh and I’m so tense it cuts through me too. It takes every ounce of strength to remain still. I tilt my ankle, instinctively feeling for the little knife I stole from Viper but I’m not wearing my boots. I don’t have my knife at all.

I haven’t needed my knife because I haven’t been scared. The men don’t scare me. Not like that.

Their father does though.

Shit. Where is Viper?

“I believed if I took young boys, and trained them the way I had been, I’d ensure that I had perfect soldiers. But, I made one change. I thought if I gave them love, treated them as my sons, they’d follow me, respect me, love me enough to follow my every command.”

The words leave my mouth before I can think. “Is that what’s wrong with you? Your mommy didn’t love you enough?”

Fallon chuckles. It rolls out of him so stained with darkness it reminds me of Reaper. A cruel smile slices across his face. Then he’s a blur of movement, and pain erupts on my cheek. I stumble back from the impact, my hand flying to my face, eyes watering, nose stinging. Shock making me gasp.

He just hit me.

My angry snarl is muffled by a flurry of noise. Reaper and Striker both explode into movement, animalistic growls rumbling from them as they break their perfect stance and bolt forward.

The line of soldiers to our right march toward them. Reaper punches one, then kicks another, and then his hands are on me, shoving me behind his back.

“You lay another hand on her and I’ll fucking gut you,“ Reaper growls. The violence in his words grate though him, moving into my stinging cheek pressed to his back. I fist his shirt, breathing hard, fear making my knees weak.

“Gut me?” Fallon hisses, words snaking from his lips poisoned with rage. “My son threatens me?”

I was raised around violence, but it rarely touched me. Right now, the room pulses with it, and I cling to Reaper letting him put himself between the raging storm and me.

Striker moves in beside him blocking me from Fallon’s view as he brushes a hand over my back like he’s reassuring himself I’m there, safe. I flash on the day they took me. How my father and Clyde created a wall to protect Cora and me from these men and now they’re the ones protecting me.

“There is no need for this,” Striker says, letting me go. He straightens his back, squaring his shoulders. “We have her cooperation. We have it under control.”

“Control?” Fallon’s voice dips low. Deadly. “Fucking her is maintaining control? Breaker leaving and setting this mission into motion, is control ?”

Reaper’s hand tightens on my hip, and I move in closer, molding my body to his. The manic rage in Fallon’s voice makes my skin prick with fear.

“And where is Viper?” Fallon asks. “Did yet another of my sons defy an order?”

My heart leaps. I grip Reaper’s shirt, pressing my cheek harder into his back, tears stinging my eyes.

Viper went to her.

Emotions clog my throat. They’re doing exactly as they promised. They promised us we were theirs. That they’d always come for us. Even if they had to send her away, they’d never let her go.

“You’ve lost control of this entire mission,” Fallon says. I can’t see him, but I hear the change in his voice. “Take her.”

Boots thud in unison against the wood floor. Reaper shoves me back, and I stumble, landing on my ass. Just as one of the black-clad soldiers reaches him, Reaper swings, catching him in the chin. Next to him, Striker shouts, hooking an arm around another soldier’s neck and slamming him down, but there’s too many soldiers and only two of them.

“Stop!” I scream, as one of the men kick Striker’s feet out from under him and he lands hard on his stomach, arms bent at an odd angle behind his back. One jabs a boot at the back of Reaper’s knee, and he goes down, one soldier gripping one arm, another holding his other, until he’s kneeling.

Fallon stalks forward as I scramble to my feet, but two of the other men grab me under my arms, dragging me until we stop in front of Reaper and Striker.

“Father,” Striker says, voice low, sounding strangely like a plea.

My eyes meet Reaper’s, and I see the stormy chaos swirling in them. See the subtle shake of his head. How his chest heaves and for the first time since I laid eyes on him, he doesn’t look arrogant, or powerful. He isn’t commanding the room and the very air in it.

Fallon is.

I still, no longer fighting, but the two solders keep me between them, their hard grip on my biceps a reminder I’m utterly helpless.

Fallon stalks forward until he’s between us, his body angled so not to block me from their view. He grips Reaper’s jaw. Even from several feet away I see him flinch. “You lost control the second you touched the enemies daughter.”

He releases Reaper, shoving him back as he does. He pins me with a glare. “Loyalty. Courage. Duty. Honor. Discipline. Respect .“ The last words leave him like a hiss. “That’s what I taught my sons. Respect for themselves, for each other. For me .”

Terror snakes a path down my spine. Fallon steps toward me and I shrink back, but the soldiers on either side keep my locked in place, grips tightening.

“She is quite beautiful,” he says, cupping my jaw. I jerk back, his skin scalding me with his evil.

“Don’t fucking touch me,” I snarl, unable to stop myself.

He shakes his head. “I’m afraid this lesson will hurt me the most.”

“Father,” Striker snaps, his voice rising sharply as he struggles to free himself. “She has done nothing wrong.”

Fallon turns, marching toward Striker. He leans down, so he’s face to face with him. Striker flinches. “What one does, you all do.” He stands upright slowly, gesturing to the men holding me.

Before I can protest, one has my sweater in a tight grip and shoves it down my shoulders, pulling my arms free. I stumble forward, but they grasp my wrists yanking my arms up, until they’re outstretched. I jerk, trying to move my arms but they just pull harder. I wince, holding back a shriek of a pain.

“It’s my fault,” Reaper says. My gaze snaps to him. His chest moves, like he’s dragging air into his lungs, but he’s deadly still, eyes tracking Fallon as he moves toward me. “I am in charge of this mission. It’s my failure, and my lesson to learn.”

“Have I taught you nothing?” Fallon’s voice booms though the room. “This lesson is for all my sons.”

“I’ll do it,” Striker says. “I’m just as much to blame.”

Fallon points at him. “You’ve already proven you don’t have the stomach for this.”

“I’ll do it,” Reaper says, but it’s like every word is ripped from him. “I’ll fucking do it.”

Fallon marches toward and for a moment, I think he’s going to strike him, but he stops, and instead of hitting him, Fallon unbuckles his belt and pulls it free, the sound of the leather slipping through the belt loops snapping thought the space. “You don’t think I didn’t see?” He shouts. “How you look at her? How you touch her? Boy who can’t stand living in his own skin, has it bad for the daughter of the man who murdered his brother.”

Fallon gestures to one of the silent soldiers and he stalks forward, pulling a knife from its sheath. When he nears me, I shrink back, but he marches behind me. I twist, trying to see over my shoulder, terror gripping my stomach in fist. The back of my dress tugs away from my body and I feel the knife slice through the dress, the whispering sound of the blade slicing through fabric, tearing through me.

There’s a snarled curse then movement. Reaper shoulders the man to his right and Striker kicks behind him, but the sounds of them struggling is cut off with the distinct click of a safety being released.

I recognize the sound now.

“It appears my son has forgotten his place.”

The soldiers holding Striker down, drag him up to his knees, the gun pressed to the back of his head. A clear warning not to fight. He stays still but his eyes flare with trembling rage and absolute terror.

“Don’t make me do it, Reaper,” Fallon says. “All I have to do is give the order and your favorite brother dies.”

Reaper’s entire body goes rigid, his only movement the slow, ragged breaths making his chest heave. He closes his eyes briefly, like he’s trying to calm himself and when they open, he pins them on me.

Fury and fear eat at my gut. I don’t know what’s happening, but I keep my eyes on Reaper, only letting them drift to Striker long enough to see he’s completely still. I clamp my mouth shut, too terrified to say or do the wrong thing and anger Fallon even more.

He pats Reaper’s masked cheek. “Good boy. I knew you didn’t want any more deaths on your hands.”

Fallon faces me, belt dragging on the floor as he stalks my way. Fear eats up my middle, clawing at my throat when he stops before me, so close I have to tilt my head back to see his cold, dead eyes. “When you disobey an order there are consequences. You are a unit. What one does, you all do. If one of you breaks and order, defies a command, fucks up a mission, you all must learn from your mistake.”

His fingers brush over my cheek where he struck me. Bile rises in my throat. He’s absolutely terrifying. The softness of his voice contradicts his violent actions, and the gentle caress of his hand makes my heart thrash against my ribcage like a terrified, trapped bird, desperate to escape.

“Beautiful, beautiful girl,” he says gently, stroking my cheek. “With bright eyes and delicate skin. We’re going to turn you into a fierce soldier.” Another gentle stroke. “We’ll make you strong. We’ll remove this weakness in you. You’ll know your place. We’ll harden this delicate skin and turn you into a perfect weapon.”

His lips brush my forehead, and a shivery fear makes my body tremble.

“He’s not even going to see you coming,” Fallon says, every word laced with malice. He steps back, walking behind me, and I feel his eyes on my skin, moving over me like a predator, settling on my bare back. “Count my sons. One for every time you’ve failed me.”

My chest heaves.

Lesson.

Lesson.

Lesson.

I suck in a breath, my stomach knotting. I jerk sideways as understanding floods me.

When you disobey an order there are consequences.

I’m about to suffer the consequences, except this lesson isn’t for me.

“Father please!” Striker’s scream is cut off by the sharp sound of leather hitting bare flesh. The sound registers before the pain, but when it does it slices through me so cruelly, my knees give.

A breath sucks in, back bowing.

The soldiers stretch my arms out, pulling them taunt keeping me upright.

I hear my name, but then the belt lands again across my back and I hear, feel, exist in nothing but an agonizing burn. Then there’s another, then another.

My eyes drag to Reaper. His own close but then they open, fixing on mine.

The next hit lands so harshly I bite my lip to stop the scream from ripping free, refusing to give him the satisfaction of making a sound. Coopery warmth hits my tongue.

“You’re not counting,” Fallon yells.

No, no, no. This is not their fault. They aren’t monsters like him. Striker is my soft and strong safe place. His affection is blazing heat and heart and scary precision. Reaper is my cold, but passionate shadow. My violence and revenge.

He will not make them a part of this.

“Six,” I hiss, and I swear if it weren’t for the soldiers holding Reaper up, he’d crumble. “Seven,” I scream as another lands. My gaze flickers to Striker. His shoulders slump and he drops, leaning back on his heels. The gold of his eyes are molten with rage. Highlighted with pain. “Eight.” My knees give.

The belt drops to the floor with a loud thud and my head is jerked back. Fallon’s hot breath hits my face, looming over me like a vile monster. The soldiers release me, and he shoves me to my knees. I fall forward, agony tugging the skin on my back.

The shiny tip of his shoe hits my ribs. Pain explodes in my bones, my marrow, stealing my breath. I cry out but it’s caught on that pain lacing around my ribs and I curl into a ball.

“She better be worth it,” he says.

The rhythmic thud of boots hitting wood in perfect unison as the soldiers file out are the last thing I hear before the searing pain and mind numbing fear take over and I burst into tears.