think about it, unbuttoning them and pulling it out of my pants. I jerk it off and toss it to the floor, unconcerned for the mess I’m making. I move towards my bedroom and grab a black pair of track pants and black hoodie and head for the shower. I run the water full blast, and while waiting for the water to warm, I take in my reflection, staring hard at Claire’s name above my heart. It appears so very foreign on my body. I have tattoos on my arms and back, but those were all chosen by me, and none on my chest. The tattoos are there for one reason and one reason only, to cover up the scars from the whippings I received from my dad, because in his eyes I was a weakling and still am. He thought if he beat me enough I’d become more of a man, but what I became was a great actor. I’m not stupid, I know he has cameras in the cell Claire’s in. I lift my hand to my chest and slowly trace her name that now lies there, feeling a jolt as I do. Stepping into the warm water, I let it rain over me as I sort everything out and how the hell I’m supposed to break the news to Claire. What I regret is that she saw the part of me that I don’t allow people to see. Most only see the dark side of me, the torturer side, and they don’t ever live to tell about it.
Claire, oh God, when I first saw her I knew I would have to pull my act together and make her see the evil that I am. I find myself wondering how I can I have a bond mate that’s considered the enemy and not even a full vampire? The things my father has done to her, and the things I said to her, may cause her to never feel safe with me as her mate. I feel disgusted with myself and slam my fist into the shower wall, making a huge dent. I instantly feel the pain of my broken fingers and watch as they slowly heal themselves. My anger isn’t appeased. I want to feel more pain—no, I need to feel pain. Unfortunately, I have to see my dad, and I can’t take my anger out on him, no matter how badly I want to. I step out of the shower and open a drawer. I grab a knife, gripping it in my fist and slide it across my chest, over her name, and watch blood flow down my chest. I enjoy the relief it gives me for a few minutes and then watch as my skin heals itself. Sometimes I hate the fact that my skin heals itself. Griffin uses his silver knife, his weapon of choice that creates scarring. He likes seeing the scars he creates, and he’s also a sick bastard.
Before meeting my dad, I stop by the basement and locate the guards who are playing poker in a smoky room across from Claire’s. I glare at them when they fail to notice me. I walk to the table where they have everything laid out and knock the thing over. I am satisfied at the loud sound it makes crashing down, and the guards jump to their feet and stand at attention.
“Good, you’re paying attention. No one but me is allowed in there,” I say, pointing at Claire’s door. “Not Griffin, not anyone but me. Should anyone else be allowed in, I will take great pleasure in killing each and every one of you.”
They look up, startled, but know better than to question my orders. They’ve been trained not to question anything. If they question orders, they are dead.
Leaving them, I rapidly walk through the basement up to the area of the house where Griffin resides. The ornateness of the living room is so ridiculous, I think as I walk under the huge chandelier Dad had imported from France. I slow down once I get to the family hallway and notice a guard standing at attention. I nod towards him in a cocky manner. I manage to keep my mouth in a straight line and look at him in the way that I do to bring true fear to his eyes. So far it’s the only way I’ve survived this long. If I show weakness, I will be staked by Griffin without a second thought.
I stroll into Griffin’s office without knocking and let the door shut behind me with a soft click. I find him going through papers, and I wait for him to glance up at me. It’s so
Robert Chazz Chute, Holly Pop