RAZE (Fighter's Den, #0.5)

Chapter Eight

"Stop!" Father barks at me.

My shoulders tighten at the menace in his voice and I stop my hand from going any further, letting it drop instead of opening the door. Impatience like I've never known it knocks into me and I allow my jaw to tick before clearing my face of any emotion, turning around to face him. His face is reddened with anger and he jabs a finger toward his office, a silent command to follow him.

I glare daggers into the back of his head while he leads us. As the days go by I despise him more and more. I despise my life and everything about it. I'm caught in the hold of the shackles he's placed on me since birth. He has always made me believe that this is where I belong. It wasn't until Laura that I truly questioned it and now that I have, the answer has never been more clear—I do not want this life anymore. I don't want anything to do with my father or his way of life. I've always forgiven his wrongdoings, looked the other way even when I knew he was a dangerous and vile man, but it's becoming harder to ignore and I can't keep doing it.

What makes a man this way? What makes a man feel powerful in the presence of the fallen? It's cowardice at best yet my father believes he is strong. What's worse is he has all of New York believing it, myself included.

Deception is a funny thing. It makes you believe that lies are truth and truths are lies. That's why the world looks new when you realize you have been fooled the whole time. And I have been such a fool.

I close the door behind me while Father takes a seat at his desk. He's practically foaming at the mouth, eyes narrowed on me when I make my way to stand in front of him. That look—as humiliating as it is to admit to myself—used to terrify me. I've always thought of my father as untouchable. Now? Not so much. Not at all, even. I merely blink at him, not the least bit undeterred. He notices, if the flash in his eyes is any indication.

"What do you want?" I break the silence with my words. They're spoken casually, lacking the usual respect I give him.

Father's face contorts. "You will watch the way you speak to me, boy. It is not wise to get on my bad side."

As if any goodness exists in him. "I have somewhere to be."

"Don't you always?" He mocks. "I've been watching you. You disappear for hours at a time, neglecting your duties as leader. There is nothing more important than your loyalty to the South Bloods. Nothing. Yet you've made this family a second priority and I will not stand for it. Come clean while I have the patience to be lenient with you."

Or what, I want to say. I bite the side of my tongue to stop myself.

"My duties as leader will always be your business. But what I do on my own time is not your concern."

"Enough! Now, you listen—"

"You listen!" I smack my hands on the surface of his desk and he just barely jolts in surprise. "You are a suffocating man. You are unbelievably selfish. This is exactly why Mother drowned herself in a fucking bathtub to escape the nightmare that you are. I will not suffer the same fate! I complete the duties required of me but that is all you get. No more."

His eyes narrow on me, jaw ticking at the mention of Mother. It is the first I've spoken of her in the ten years since her death. I can see his anger increasing tenfold.

"Are you planning to betray us?" He inquires. "Working with another gang perhaps? Don't think I won't find out. Don't think I'll stop at anything to figure out."

"You do that." I straighten up, raising a brow. "However, I do wonder what the others might think if they found out Abram doesn't have control over his own son. What would they think of you or your leadership? Do what you must. Send our men to follow me. Have them wire my clothing. But at what cost?"