Page 11 of Breaker

I lick my lips and shake my head. “The other three, I barely saw the other one. The big one.” He glances again at Clyde, and I wish I could decipher his expression. I shoot a quick look at Clyde, but he’s watching Rune, not me. “Then they put me and Delly in a room together and they just fed us, and we rarely saw them.”

“What did they say?” Clyde asks. “Did they say anything?”

“They didn’t talk to us.”

Rune’s face hardens again. “They really told you nothing? None of them said anything about me?” he asks, a dark glint clouding the blue of his eyes.

“No Papa, nothing.” At least that’s not a complete lie. Outside of what Viper told me about Rune killing their brother, I genuinely know nothing. It’s not a surprise Rune ordered someone killed. He has often. Delly’s good at pretending not to see things, but I take it all in. “They just said when they took us it was for revenge.”

My words seem to set his teeth on edge, and he leans forward slightly, pinning me with a glare.

“The big one.” Rune steps forward like if he invades my space, it’ll force the answers he wants to spill from my lips. “The big one said that, right?”

I nod, realizing he may know them, but he doesn’t know who they are. Just what they are.

But he knows the man with the terrifying glare. Their father. Rune knows exactly who he is. That day in the lobby, Rune asked ifhesent them. He must have been referring to their father, the man Rune feared had come for us. And he did, sending four men to take us from Rune for killing his son.

“Answer me, Cora,” Rune growls.

“When they took us from the lobby,” I confirm.

His throat moves as he swallows. “The night before…” his voice trails off, teeth gnashing together in rage. He can’t stand the thought of Reaper touching Delilah.

There’s a part of me that likes the thought of him thinking Reaper is a rapist like him. But they aren’t. They are murderers, yes. They’re kidnappers, too, using Delilah to seek revenge, and I want desperately to get back to them, so I have to convince Rune to trust me.

“The big one who took you, the one who killed Manuel. He never once spoke to you?” Rune asks, keeping his eyes focused on my face. “None of the others? They never once said anything to you about why you were there?”

I shake my head, not liking how he licks his lips or how he unfurls his fingers, stretching them out as he leans back on his heels. Like he’s trying to keep his violence in check. I know it’s only because Clyde is here. If he wasn’t around, Rune would be less nice with his line of questioning.

There’s something about these men, these four, that has him on the verge of madness. Rune may have killed their brother, but I’m thinking he may fear them. I wonder how long ago he ordered their brother killed. Months?

“That’s all I know, Papa.”

His head tics to the side and my heart punches against my ribcage. He knows I’m lying.

Instead of arguing or drilling me with more questions, Rune stalks in close again, gripping my cheeks with one hand and turning my face side to side, pulling the sweater down and brushing my hair back to look at my neck. Looking for signs I’ve been violated or hurt, maybe.

No, not hurt. He cares they’ve touched what he thinks is his.

But he’s never said a word before. Not when I went on dates. Not when I know someone reported to him I went home with not one, but two men.

I bite my lip, keeping still as he tugs at my clothes, pulling my sweater off to look at my arms, my fingers. Runs the pad of his thumb over the blue veins in my wrist. He drops to his knees, and lifts my dress, looking at my claves. When he takes my socks off to check my feet, I see it.

The absolute pain in his face mixed with hope.

Hope that if I’m not harmed, Delly isn’t either.

My chest squeezes and the tears start.

“Papa,” I whisper, touching his jaw.

He looks up at me, and his blue eyes meet mine. God, how I wish he loved me like loves her. I swallow the knowledge he never will, not really. He loves what I provide for him. He loves me in some fucked up way a man should never love a woman, much less the girl he raised. I have to accept that, because I’ll forever break my heart if I don’t.

“They haven’t hurt her,” I tell him, touching his cheek. I only do because I know it will stop the madness I see contorting his face from unleashing onto me. “We barely saw them.”

His features seem to fracture, like my words stabbed through his hard facade, creating fissures of pain. I blink backtears. From his place on the floor, kneeling before me, he’s just a simple, weak man.

I’ve seen him weak so many times it shouldn’t bother me like it does. Because it’s weakness that makes him hurt me. Weakness that he allows himself to be so hateful.

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