Page 30 of Striker

“If you shut the fuck up, I can,” Breaker hisses back, angling the butter-knife he stole at breakfast just right, and the door pops open. The sound rings down the dark, empty hall as loud as a gunshot, and we all turn to look.

“We’re clear,” I say, shoving at Breaker's back and pushing him into the office. Viper follows behind and spins to shut the door with a quiet click, then leans against the glass, chest heaving.

“Fuck,” he says, panting like he’s just run the circuit, but all we’ve done is creep down the hall and break into Father’s office. Maybe I should be panting and freaking out too, but nothing much seems to faze me anymore.

Then again, Fallon has made sure of that. Emotions are a weakness.

I glance at my watch and set the timer, giving us ten minutes. We are due for our midnight training with Commander soon and if we’re even a second late, we’ll all be punished.

Out of all the schooling and training, I hate the midnight run the most. With Reaper, Hunter, and Seeker gone for the final test, Maxim has been meaner. Sometimes I think I would rather be a dancer like the ballerinas I hear Fallon talk about sometimes. But then the way he speaks about them, maybe I don’t want to be a dancer. Their bodies don’t belong to them. Not after they are fully trained. At least I get to keep my body to myself, even if it’s bruised and beaten.

I point to the ornate wood desk at the center of the room. “Viper, you search the desk. Breaker, you look in the filing cabinet by the window.” I move to the large bookcase lined with thick leather-bound volumes and remove a large bound file folder held together with elastic. “I’ll search for the files here.”

“We’re so dead if he catches us,” Viper says, eyes locked on the door as he slips behind ourotets'desk and begins rummaging through the drawers.

“Commander won’t catch us if you hurry,” Breaker says, cleanly popping the lock on the cabinet. He glances over his shoulder at me, the beam of light from his flashlight on the top of the cabinet a white slash across his face. “What color did Cook say the file was?”

I close the ledger and place it back on the shelf. “Red.” At least I hope that’s what he said. Cook could have said dead files, but hopefully it was red or we’ll never find what we’re looking for.

“I think I got it,” Breaker says, spinning and holding up a weathered, thick file. He rushes to the desk, opening the folder. When I step over to inspect the top page, my heart jumps.

When I overheard Cook and the Commander talking last week, I thought it was impossible. But as I stare at the first page, Breaker’s toddler face staring back at me, I know now it’s true.

Our Father has a file on us all containing our histories. Where we came from and possibly even our real names. Not the names he gave us.

“Fuck, man,” Viper whispers, glancing up at Breaker, the flashlight lighting up only his chin. “You’re from France.”

Breaker picks up the pages held together with a paperclip, staring at the picture of the little boy with thick curls puffed around his head and gaunt cheeks. It makes sense he knew some French words. Some part of his brain must have remembered the language even though he was so young.

“And my mother died while giving birth,” he says, thumbing through the pages. “She was fifteen. Raped.”

She was the age I am now.My stomach dips as our eyes lock. His mouth turns down into a frown as he breaks eyecontact and flips the page. “I was placed into foster care for three years before I came here.”

Three. The small boy who Fallon placed in the cold room was only three years old.

Goose bumps break out on my arms as I watch Viper grab the next few pages. I catch the picture of one of our old brother’s who’s no longer with us. He holds up the first stack for us to see. A large red mark slashes across the top page stamped with the word DECEASED across the top. Nausea churns in my gut as Viper flips through the rest of the stacks.

This is what I needed to know.

We lost another brother last week. Whenever we’ve lost a brother over the years, Fallon has always told us he didn’t make the cut and was removed from the school. That the person who he removed wasn’t strong enough and didn’t have enough grit to graduate with his brothers. Being removed from the school is feared more than Fallon’s punishments. The thought that we may not have what it takes to stay with our brothers pushed us harder. No one wants to be removed.

No one wants to leave the others behind to go out into a world we know so little about.

In the last month alone, Fallon removed two of our brothers and when I overheard the Commander telling Cook, we lost another one, Cook responded with, “Another red mark in the red file.”

“Holy fuck,” Viper whispers, holding up a stack of papers. “I’m from Scotland.”

Breaker rolls his eyes, still reading his papers. “No shit.”

Viper frowns and says, “He didn’t list my mother and father. Says I came from an orphanage, but I already knew that.”

“Satan’s spawn,” Breaker says. “Like I’ve been saying.” He stumbles back, smirking as Viper shoves his shoulder.

“Strike, here.” Viper slides a stack of papers across the desk toward me.

I grip the edge of the desk and clamp my eyes closed before I can see the top page and the little square picture in the corner. The thought of learning about my past, filling in the blank spaces of my parentage, sends a shiver of dread down my spine.

Seems this is the only thing that can get under my skin.

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