Page 123 of Undertow

Their eyes widen. I shiver at my mistake.

“I don’t believe it. You care for her, don’t you,” Madelyn grunts. “After everything. How could youstillfall victim to your soft heart? This was your last chance and you blew it.”

I look away. There’s no point arguing.

“We’ve decided not to interfere with McArthur’s plans for you,” Gerardo says in a stiff tone. “We’re going to tell him you’re no longer necessary for this negotiation. We’ll let him handle you before we handle them.”

“You’re a lost cause, Jonah,” Madelyn continues. “And now you’re a liability. You’re no longer useful to us. It’s become clear you’ll never be cut out for this.”

Their words slice into me. Emotion beats on the backs of my eyelids, but I blink it away.

“You understand,” Gerardo says. “You were always weak, but you were never stupid.”

I nod and grip my trembling hands behind my back. “And Razor?” I ask quietly.

They exchange a look. “Is also no longer useful,” Gerardo says in a matter-of-fact tone.

My world goes dark. A plea rises in my throat, but I manage to swallow it. It won’t do any good, and I know Gramps won’t expect anything different. Once Julia tells him what happened, he’ll know he’s next and will accept his fate with open arms. It’s why I fought so hard to shield him from the truth.

I wipe at my eyes, but more tears take their place. I flinch at the storm I know is coming for showing weakness.

But this time they say nothing. This time they’re silent as my heart leaks onto my face. No jeers. No harsh punishment or indignant lectures. Just quiet resignation that we’ve reached the end of our decades-long impasse.

“We’re sorry, son,” Madelyn says in an even tone. “We were hoping for a different outcome.”

I bite my lip and nod, willing the tears to stop.

It’s the nicest thing my parents have ever said to me.

THEN: BEAT AND BREATHE

“Watch! You will watch!”

Memories of my father’s harsh command rumble through my head as I cower in my room. My small hands shake with every image of the grisly scene flashing through my head.

The stranger’s twisted screams. Blood exploding over walls and stoic bystanders.

They didn’t even tell me his crime. I kept wondering if it was the same as mine and this would be me one day.

I’ve encountered plenty of violence in my nine short years on this earth. Witnessed it. Experienced it. In some ways it’s my entire existence, since I live under the constant threat of blood and pain. Any time I do something they don’t like, I become the eye of the storm. They call it “training.” I don’t know if other kids are trained in the same way. I don’t know a lot about life outside these walls.

Today’s training, though...

I choke on each breath, fighting to clear my mind of the poison. But there’s no escape. It coats every recess of my head. Now it’s spilling out into the air around me like an invisible cloud.

And there’s no promise of relief.

No one I can talk to. No space to vent or means of processing the gruesome, confusing scene they just forced on me. I’ve learned the hard way these feelings have to stay inside, where they fester like a devious disease that slips in unnoticed, then seeps into every vein and artery. Eventually, the toxins infect my heart, where it pumps the poison back through my body in a maddening cycle.

I need a way to get it out. It’s suffocating me. Killing me breath by breath…

My gaze rests on the desk in the corner of my bedroom. It’s sparsely filled since they don’t allow “frivolous indulgences” like art supplies. But there’s one object they endorse. They applaud meticulous records and strategic planning.

With trembling limbs, I push myself to my feet and stagger toward the desk. My hands barely cooperate as I slide a notebook toward me. I grasp a pen and fight like hell to bend it to my will.

Devious disease…

I scrawl the phrase on the first blank line.

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