Page 57 of Owen (Storm Enterprises)

Mr. Varros chuckles deeply but humors me by slipping his hand into mine and squeezing as he shakes it, tilting his head and assessing me. “Nice to meet you, Owen.”

I deliver a nod but remain silent.

“Show Mr. Varros what we do to traitors, Owen.” My father’s steel gaze holds mine, testing me. His eyes say a thousand things while his lips say none.Don’t fuck this up, boy. Be the man I created. Let the darkness consume you like it does me.

Pulling my shoulders back, I step past him and stride toward the table where my father keeps his interrogation instruments.

Knowing he’s craving a performance, I select the scalpel, and like my father trained me to do, I fall into the depths of hell and move swiftly.

Using the man to pour out my anger over this fucked-up situation, I slice at his chest, stripping him bare of his skin while his howls of pain become background noise.

My mind becomes riddled with jealousy of my friends, their normalcy. I want to swim in Tate’s pool and party to the beat of the music he blares out.

Slice.

My grip tightens as each contact becomes deeper, deadlier. The beast inside me unraveling at a terrifying pace, if the victim’s pleads are anything to go by.

Slice.

To play tennis and celebrate the school holidays with a barbeque.

Slice.

My hand becomes slippery with the warmth of his blood, and I imagine it’s from sweat while training Mase at the gym.

Slice.

Loud chuckles erupt in the room, but I ignore it. As a chill runs down my spine, I envisage Shaw shoving ice down my T-shirt as I give in to the scenarios playing out in my mind, each helping to make this task more bearable.

Losing myself to the demons beckoning me, more bearable.

Slice.

Booms of clapping echo off the concrete wall, and my father’s firm grip pinches into my shoulder, then my shoulders sag.

“Well done, son.” He spins me to face Lorenzo.

My skin itches to rid it of the blood coating me, and I swallow back the bile in my throat.

Lorenzo scans me from head to toe. It’s calculating and forces me to gasp for breath. In that moment, I feel like he’s staring directly into my soul. He knows this isn’t me.

He knows I don’t want to be the monster my father is training me to become.

I want to be free.

His eyes soften slightly. “I’ll be seeing you, Owen.”

His words hold a haunting promise, and I tell myself to never become the man my father wants me to be.

When I have a family, I will protect them at all costs.

Do whatever it takes.

Because you protect the ones you love from evil, not expose them to it.

I tangle my fingers in her hair, holding her tightly against my firm chest while my cock remains stuffed deep inside her. Then I breathe in her scent, letting it encompass me, bringing with it the solace I so fiercely desire. Her acceptance.

She’s mine, I tell myself for the millionth time.

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