Page 36 of Daughter of a Monster

I don’t know what to say to that, so I don’t say anything. It’s true. I remember there being other people at the audition, ones that arrived with Jericho, but I didn’t take notice of any of them.

I only saw him.

“So, tell me, Berkley. Let me in on the secret. What is it about you that makes you so special?”

“Nothing,” I say, pushing all the thoughts of my family, my father, out of my mind. “I’m just plain old Berkley.”

Gideon laughs again. “Oh, I seriously doubt that.”

chapter thirteen

BERKLEY

If I get to the pool early enough, I can watch the sky change through the panels of the glass roof as the sun rises. It turns from black to gray before a slight purple tinge creeps in. Lilac, I guess you could call it. The lilac throws hints of pink before the orange of the rising sun takes over. Then it’s like the colors combine, taking turns, pinks and purples and oranges and golds until blue takes over.

It’s my favorite time of day. Everything is fresh with the promise of being new. But today, as I lie on top of the water, floating aimlessly and staring up at the sky, there are no colors. The sky simply turns from black to gray, then stays that way as colorless clouds roll past.

I didn’t get much sleep. Nightmares about my father have come back with a vengeance and I woke covered in sweat and my heart pounding. It was earlier than usual when I came down to the pool. I did a few lengths without any light, allowing myself to get lost in the sensation of the water and now I’m just floating here, caught between the need for sleep and the realization of knowing that’s not going to happen. Not after the news I received.

My father escaped.

My father is missing.

My father is free.

I should have called my mother, but the shock of the news stunned me out of any practical thought. Ever since, I’ve been in a sort of daze, my mind caught on where he could be, what he could be doing, what he might be planning.

There is no doubt in my mind he orchestrated his release just so he could disappear. He would have known a re-trial would have ended with him straight back in prison. It makes me wonder how much he must have bribed the judge who granted him bail in the first place.

Vibrations of sound echo through the water. Some sort of rhythmic pounding. One, two, three, four in quick succession. Pause. One, two, three, four. I lift my head and bring my feet to the ground, peering over the edge of the pool to see where the sounds are coming from. The door to the gymnasium is open. Pulling myself out of the water, I creep over to the door, opening it more so I can see inside. Jericho and Barrett are on the mat. Jericho’s hands are enclosed in boxing gloves and Barrett stands opposite him as Jericho pounds into the pads gripped by Barrett. One, two, three, four. His punches are short and sharp. Barrett calls out commands and encouragement in between each set. They bounce as they spar, a dance of aggression.

Jericho is covered in sweat, his gray t-shirt drenched. He wears shorts and no shoes. His hair is pushed back from his face, slick with sweat. He lets out a hiss of air with each punch, chasing Barrett as he dances. He moves as though he knows how to fight, rather than just using it as a training method. There’s determination and purpose to his punches, as though he knows firsthand the damage they can inflict. They’re too preoccupied to notice me.

“On the ground,” Barrett orders and Jericho drops to the mat. It’s strange to see him taking orders from Barrett. Barrett is usually so polite and unassuming. Jericho isn’t.

Barrett stands over Jericho who is lying on the ground, feet either side of his hips. “Come on,” he says, knocking the pads together. “Last sets up top.” Jericho lifts his shoulders off the ground, holding a crunch position as he punches the pads. “One, two, three, four, that’s it.” Barrett keeps shouting encouragement as they work through the sets. “Come on, last one and then you can hit the pool for a cool down.”

Jericho grunts as he throws all his energy into the final punches and then collapses back once he’s done. Barrett laughs and tosses the pads aside, holding out a hand to grip Jericho’s wrist and pull him back to his feet.

Knowing they are about to head my way, I quickly dash back to the pool and slide into the water. Jericho doesn’t notice me as he barges in, slamming the door against the wall. Pulling off his t-shirt as he walks, he tosses it aside and turns on the open shower, stepping under the spray of water.

I’m not sure if it’s the flashes or something else, but when I’m around him, I can’t help but notice the way he moves like some sort of predatory animal. I can’t help but notice the motion of his muscles, the darkness in his eyes.

I can’t help but feel lust.

Even now, there’s a physical ache inside of me as I watch the water trail over his flesh. His body is a work of art. Not only are his muscles defined and glorious, but there’s a tattoo covering his back and snaking down his arms. I’d seen the ink poking out from his sleeves before but I could never tell what it was. Now it’s fully on display as he runs his hands through his hair, the water washing over him.

The tattoo is of two swans fighting for dominance. The design is angry and blunt, the artist creating the images with harsh and messy lines. Feathers stray down his arms, ones set free by the fight of the birds. The lines of the tattoo run in places, as though the ink was wet and slipped down his skin. I’m mesmerized, watching the way the birds seem to battle with each movement of his muscles. Even the feathers seem to take flight when he lifts his arms to push the water away from his face.

He stands with his head tipped back, face under the direct spray of the water, letting it flow down his body. There’s a heaviness about him, a weight that sinks his body, grounding it to the floor. He moves slowly, reaching down to tug off his shorts. I’m so surprised, I don’t even look away. I stare at the rounded cheeks of his ass, the fact of his nakedness not registering until he turns around. And then I’m confronted with him. All of him. And I can’t help but stare.

If he’s startled to find me in the pool, he doesn’t show it. His expression stays the same, but his eyes narrow slightly.

“Sorry,” I say, embarrassment flooding me. I fix my eyes on his face, doing my best not to let my gaze slip lower. “I’ll leave.”

I’m in the water but I’m doing nothing but leaning against the edge and staring at him. He shakes his head, droplets of water flying as he walks to the steps of the pool. He smirks a little as his body sinks into the water with each determined step.

“No need,” he says.

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