Black Holes - The Mors Mortis Trilogy Book 3

Chapter Thirty Eight

The moment Jared got out of Brenton's room, he started shaking. He'd held himself together well enough in there—at least, he thought he had—but seeing his father like that, hearing the clinical, unapologetic confession of what Brenton had done to him, was panic-inducing.

Questions rolled through his head as he moved into the living room, plonking down on one of the sofa seats.

Had his father always been that cold? Had Jared not noticed because it was the only thing he'd ever known?

Cassandra and Zarah sat beside him, whispering soft and serious, but Alice and Leah stayed hovering by the door, both their gazes scorching him. He knew they were worried, that they wanted to help, but he didn't want to be analysed right now. Or questioned. Not when he couldn't define what he was feeling himself.

He rubbed his hands over his face, pressing hard enough to hide the tremor in them and mask his expression.

"What did everyone make of all that?"

Cassandra's voice was pitched low enough Brenton wouldn't be able to listen in, but before anyone could reply, there was a thud from the floorboards above their heads.

Jared dropped his hands from his face and looked up, eyeing the ceiling.

There was a long pause, everyone waiting to see if any other noises echoed down, but none did.

"Danny must've knocked something over," Alice said eventually.

Her voice was heavy, and Jared knew she'd taken everything Brenton said to heart; that she'd placed the burden of it all on her own shoulders.

And something about that made him want to explode.

"I'll check on him," Jared said, jumping up.

He was moving towards the door before anyone could reply, his expression warning enough that Alice and Leah shifted out of his way without argument.

He took the stairs two at a time, only hesitating when he reached the door to Danny's room. Moans were echoing from behind it once again and Jared let out a breath before swinging the door open.

Danny didn't look any worse than before, but he also didn't look better. The sheets around him were sweat stained and pushed back, the swollen, dark skin of his chest on full display. A bedside lamp lay on the floor near him, clearly knocked over, and Jared unplugged it and moved it into one of the cupboards out of reach.

He turned back to the bed, eyeing the bruises crawling along Danny's skin, the swollen flesh, and his stomach rolled.

That could've been him. Not now, but twenty years ago. Before he was even able to talk or walk. Brenton had decided immorality was work that risk.

"Fuck," Jared mumbled, bringing his palms to his eyes again, pressing hard enough that white stars exploded across his vision.

Brenton had sacrificed him all those years ago. The fact he'd survived it didn't really make any difference. His father had never cared about him, had never loved him. He'd only thought of him as a successful experiment.

"Jared?"

Jared flinched, his hands flying from his face as he blinked around the room.

Leah stood in the doorway, the sun streaking through the window casting half her face in shadow. He could see the tension in her shoulders though, and he knew he must look bad. She only stood like that when she was facing something unpredictable.

"Are you okay?"

Jared glanced away, clearing his throat.

"Yeah, I'm fine."