Page 77 of Into the Woods

He’d gone and stayed with his other family. I knew because Ash helped me find them, and I’d gone over there. I’d watched Dad leave, kissing a woman who wasn’t my mom like he was one of those guys who went to work and was saying goodbye to his family.

I watched from the shade of the bushes across the street as the woman left next, driving away in a shiny red SUV. I waited until the boys—my brothers—trickled out into the yard to play football together. I waited until they’d gone back in before I’d finally sucked up the courage to go over and knock on the door.

“Court! Where the fuck are you?”

I pushed back from my desk and took my time crossing my large bedroom and opening the door. I knew he hated it when people didn’t jump to obey his every command—a byproduct of being a general in the United States Army for several decades—which made this little rebellion one I particularly enjoyed.

It was a few minutes after he’d shouted that I appeared at the top of the steps, arching an eyebrow. “What?”

Dad—or the general, as my brothers called him—glared up at me, his cheeks mottled red. He was in his early fifties but still in great shape. I knew he hit the gym every day, determined to stay in top physical condition.

“Get down here,” he growled, stabbing a finger toward the floor.

I arched my brows. “I’m doing homework.”

“I swear to fuck, Court, if you don’t get down here—”

“What?” I challenged, squaring my shoulders. I’d hit a growth spurt last year and shot up to eye level with him. I was still mostly arms and legs, but I’d been using our state-of-the-art gym myself. Not that it seemed to do much yet.

Besides, Mom would have his balls in a vise if he laid another hand on me. She’d gone out of town with Mrs. Whittier for a spa weekend yesterday, but we both knew all it would take was a call from me, and she’d be on the phone with a divorce attorney before I could say parental abuse.

And dear old Dad would be fucked. Or, rather, his shiny new company would be. The U.S. Army didn’t pay much, which was why he needed Mom. He needed her money and the billions her parents had left her when they’d died.

After the argument, Mom sat me down and explained a few things about herself and Dad. The big thing I’d learned was that Mom didn’t give a shit that he had six kids with another woman. Their marriage had been arranged between their families when they were in college, or so she’d told me. She didn’t love him, and didn’t care if he didn’t love her, but she did love me, and that was where she drew the line.

She told me how my brother, King, had died because my dad made him do some wilderness survival test in the middle of nowhere. All of my older brothers—Royal, Rook, and Bishop—had done it when they turned thirteen. But earlier this year, King had fallen in a ravine when it was raining and hit his head on a rock. King had only been six months older than me, and Dad planned on me doing the same test they had.

Turned out all those times he took me camping and showed me how to build a fire and track deer weren’t just to spend time with me. It was to make me into the man he wanted.

But I hated him. I’d never be that man. I’d never be like him.

My parents had a complicated past, but I didn’t give a shit. I was counting the days until I was eighteen and could live my own damn life. In the meantime? I decided Mom was right—I didn’t care what Dad did as long as he left me alone.

“It’s time,” the General hissed, breathing hard like a pissed-off dragon.

An icy chill swept across my skin, because I knew what time he meant. I’d turned thirteen last week. Dad had casually mentioned a “camping trip” at dinner last week, and Mom had thrown a glass at his head. She’d said absolutely not, and I’d figured that was the end of it. “No. Mom said I’m not doing it.”

He glared at me. “It’s time to be a man, Court. There’s a car waiting outside.”

My hands shook. “No.” I lifted my chin, defiance and bravado twisting my guts. “I don’t want to.”

He sneered up at me. “Of course. Too fucking scared. What a little bitch I managed to sire.”

“Well, thank God you have six other sons,” I drawled, then snapped my fingers. “Oh, wait. You’re down to five now, right?” I shot him an openly mocking look.

He bristled, his chest puffing up. “Your brother was too weak to handle the one test I gave him.” The cruel twist of his lips showed just how little he cared that he’d been directly responsible for his own son’s death.

I clenched my jaw. “Fuck you. I’m not going.”

“Yes, you are,” he gritted out, his steely blue eyes flashing.

“No, I’m not,” I retorted, shoving my hands into the pockets of my jeans. “I can always call Mom.”

Threatening to call my mom was pretty pathetic, but I knew it would work. I’d heard them arguing about the test for the majority of the week. Mom had put her foot down and said absolutely not. My father might’ve commanded thousands of men in his decorated career, but he didn’t control my mother. Not even a little bit, and especially not after King had died last year.

Dad had grown up in a military family that was obsessed with strength. Apparently the test had started with my grandfather. Some fucked up survivalist trial to make sure his sons were man enough to be worthy of the Woods name.

My dad carried out the same fucked-up tradition.

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