Page 123 of Breaker

We became immune to the violence and the nagging fear. Although sometimes it would creep in late at night, and sleep was impossible. There’d be times I was so overcome with fear I’d leave my room and slip into Viper’s. He’d let me take the top bunk, and I’d finally be able to fall asleep. The few nights I found his room empty, I’d try to sleep on his top bunk, alone in his room, but the fear lingered. When I couldn’t shake the nagging panic building within me, I’d find myself knocking at Striker’s door, seeking any form of comfort I could find. He’d give me an exasperated sigh, but point to the top bunk, and fall back into bed and be asleep within minutes.

Sometimes the fear and anxiety would appear in odd ways. Like a jittery, itchy feeling in my hands or legs and I’d have to tap things to get rid of it. Sometimes even the tapping didn’t work, so I’d try to say the Lord’s prayer that had been drilled into our heads, muscle memory kicking in as I did the sign of the cross as if to ward off those bad feelings.

Or maybe trap that monstrous fear inside my chest with all the other bad things I’d done.

But over the years, I noticed all that darkness and fear warped. I wasn’t as nervous as I was before. Instead, any tension I felt turned inky and thick inside me. Like the unease I felt twisted around my lungs, and the only way I could rid myself of that slick unease was to pour that uncomfortable feeling into something else.

Break it free of me by cracking something else open and placing it there.

Just like when I was a boy, and I knew I needed to break things to make that feeling go away.

Like right now.

Right now, I wish I could trap, burn, fucking rid myself of this coiling feeling snaking through my gut that’s threatening to destroy four years of work, because I’m about to smash this asshole’s face into his skull.

It would help. Punching him over and over until I heard something break. Cracking his face open would ease this agonizing tightness in my chest.

“I fucking love this thing,” Zane says, but I’m barely paying attention. All I can see is Cora sobbing in Harlow’s arms as they waited for me in the parking lot.

This mother-fuckertouchedour girl.Hurther in some way that Clyde had to intervene.

This ugly asshole plans tofuckher.

Tap, tap, tap.

The ring on my pinky clicks against my glass. I only wear the ring with the lion’s head when I’m Ben, never Breaker. The irony doesn’t escape me. But I would never dress like this. White linen button-down shirt, slightly open at the collar, revealing a few of my tattoos and the thin gold chain at my neck. Khaki pants and leather shoes. And Ben’s classic aviators. I look like an asshole, as big of one as Zane, and I’m having to act like one too because that’s what we had to do in order to make our plan work.

Viper says I don’t have to act the part, just be myself. He thinks he’s funny. I wish he was here. He’s so much better at this than I am.

”—Probably because of the clientele.“ Zane winks. I debate taking the martini glass in his hand, breaking it on his face, and stabbing it into his throat so I can watch him bleed out. What kind of asshole drinks apple martinis? Another smirk and he raises his glass. “Some of them don’t even look legal when they board.”

I silently say the Lord’s prayer.

Zane waves to the stewardess, and circles his finger in the air, indicating he wants another round. I glance down at the drink I’ve not touched in my hands. I’m drinking a vodka rocks because I’m not a douchebag. Or rather I’m pretending to drink it.

I need to keep my wits about me. Zane Devin is testing my every nerve and my ability to hold my composure. If I slip even the slightest from my role as Ben, I risk not just my life, but Harlow’s and Cora’s.

After a minute, the stewardess brings us more drinks and that need to break something returns as he winks at her like the jerk he is.

She grimaces and backs away. I watch her retreat, wishing I could just kill Zane right now. I’d be doing the world a favor.

”—Can you believe that?“ Zane asks. A light breeze carries his sharp cologne—musky and sour—my way, making me shift my focus back to him. He takes a long pull of his fresh martini. The man’s going to end up drunk before we can even go over the contract.

“Impressive,” I say, even though I have no idea what he just said. I lean slightly into Ben’s ambiguous accent. Could have a slight French touch, could be American. I could be from anywhere in the world helping lend to the idea that Ben is from everywhere and is everyone’s friend.

I’m a fucking nice guy. Everyone likes me.

“She’s a Codecasa. She’s namedFair Play,“ he says. “Forty-five meters long, this girl can go up to thirty-two knots.” He looks around with a lopsided smile. We’re sitting on the mid deck, the sun setting behind the city, washing everything it touches in gold.

If I wasn’t with this asshole, I’d be enjoying myself. It’s not just Ben who loves boats, and speed, and beautiful things.

“It’s a shame,” Zane says. I shift in my seat to look at him. This fucking demon wearing a man’s skin. A chill runs up my back, memories trying to take over, but I push the horrific images away. “I was going to buy my ex-fiancé a yacht of her own as a wedding gift.”

Ex-fiancé?Now he has my full attention.

“Ex?” I ask, doing my best to keep my facial expression even. “I wasn’t aware you were engaged.”

He waves his glass, like he’s swiping the words from the air. “It was short-lived. Fucking bitch.” His brows knit like he’s had a sudden thought, and I wonder how long it would take for him to bleed out after I stabbed him in the balls. Minutes, maybe even a handful of seconds, if I cut deep enough. “I think you probably met with her. Cora Julian. She’s Rune’s accountant. Or one of them, anyway.”

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