Page 34 of Brutal
It isn’t praise. It isn’t a question. It’s just a simple fact.
“Yes.”
“Did it cost too much?”
“No.”
He opens the top drawer of his desk and removes a small black box. He places it on the blotter and slides it across the wood toward me.
“Open it.”
I do.
The ring sits inside on dark satin. It’s dull as old iron. Not polished bright like a college heirloom. Not showy. It looks older. Rougher. As if it’s been pulled from the ground instead of made by a jeweler’s hands.
I lift it out.
It’s colder than I expect.
The face bears an engraving—a narrow-headed key.
I turn it once between my fingers. “What does it open?”
My father’s expression doesn’t change. “If I thought you were ready for that answer,” he says, “you wouldn’t need to ask.” He rises then and comes around the desk, not close enough to touch me. My father doesn’t touch. He dominates without touching. “Power isn’t given, Samson. It’s not inherited. It’s not deserved. Many of those who wield it don’t deserve it.”
I slide the ring onto my finger. It fits perfectly.
“Power is taken,” he continues. “And once you take it, you don’t get to pretend it came without a price. You carry what it cost you. Every decision. Every consequence. Every line you crossed to keep it. If you hesitate, someone else will take it from you, and they won’t care what it costs you to lose it.”
I look down at the metal on my hand. The key catches the light from the desk lamp.
When I lift my gaze again, my father is watching me.
Is he waiting for me to say something? To show him that I understand?
I do.
And I also don’t. Not completely. But in this house, some lessons are never explained. They are left in your hand for you to make sense of them.
So I nod.
Nate is still standing near the desk, his face unreadable now.
I’m still touching the ring. Nate wears an identical one. So does Cain. So does our father.
I let my hand fall. “Father says a lot of things,” I say.
“Yes.”
“Most of them are useful only in retrospect.”
Nate doesn’t argue. He knows our father taught by breaking things and leaving us to figure out why.
“What do you want me to do?” I ask. “You told me to pay attention, so I did. And now you want me to stop seeing her?”
He draws in a breath. “That depends on what you think this is.”
I almost laugh. I have no idea what she is. But I know what she’s not. She’s not easy. Not harmless. Not impressed enough by my name to forget herself.
