Page 7 of Dark Reunion

“Take it to my son.” The servant walked closer, his eyes void of all emotion. Like he’d seen worse, maybe had worse done to him. The box was placed before Dean.

“Proof,” his father stated. “Show us you belong. Show your children why men obey the rules. Show us that you are not scared to do what needs to be done and why you’re my heir.”

Yasmine sucked in a breath, hand clutching Isabella tighter. The twins stared at the man on the floor, confusion and fear written all over on their small faces.

Dean’s vision narrowed. He saw the guards, the guns, the cameras. But…he also saw his father’s hand resting casually on the butt of his gun. His father may be old, but either Dean, Yasmine or one of his children would be dead before the blade sheathed his father’s heart. All that Dean could see was one of his children bleeding out on the floor, eyes wide like so many of those he served with, and he couldn’t do it.

He crouched beside the twins, bringing his voice down to a whisper. “Look at me. Not the strange man. Just me.” They locked onto his face, their hands gripping his sleeve. “Good. Now you’re not to watch this. You hide your faces, keep your eyes closed like this is a scary movie.”

“Is a movie?” Aiden asked.

Giving him a weak smile, Dean nodded. “Yes,” he lied. “Remember…don’t look.”

They nodded and Dean rose. The boys buried their faces into Yasmine’s side. Dean gave her a look, but she kept what she was thinking off her face.

The servant followed with the box in hand, and it wasn’t until Dean was right in front of Arturo that he gripped the handle of the large blade.

He could kill. He’d done it so many times that it was practically an art now, but that didn’t mean he wanted to kill this random kid that still had his whole life ahead of him. Still, Dean picked up the knife.

Arturo’s breath rasped through the gag, panic bleeding from every line of his body.

Dean’s voice dropped low, for Arturo alone. “I’m sorry, I take no pleasure in this. I’ll make it fast and as painless as possible. Close your eyes and picture something…someone you love.”

Tears filled the young man’s eyes and slipped down his cheeks, but he did as he was told and Dean walked around behind him and faced his father.

Dean locked eyes with the man that had the nerve to call himself Father. He was no father. He didn’t even know the meaning of the word.

He stroked the man’s hair once, offering all the comfort he could afford. A whimper escaped Arturo’s lips despite the gag. Holding his head in place he struck quick and clean. The blade sliced across his throat from ear to ear and almost severed his head. It was merciful. Dean lowered Arturo’s body slowly to the floor, sparing him the indignity of falling like he never mattered to anyone.

He chocked and twitched Dean held him still until his body grew silent.

Blood pooled, hot and metallic, the scent strong on the breeze from the open window.

Dean turned his body, shielding the worst from Yasmine and the twins in case they peeked. His stomach twisted, but his hands stayed steady.

The room buzzed with murmurs of approval, some disappointed at the lack of spectacle. His father clapped once, sharp.

“There,” he said, eyes gleaming. “My son. My heir. He is an angel of death…or are you the reaper?”

Dean set the knife back in the box, his expression all stone. Inside, rage burned, coiled tighter than steel wire.

“Neither…I’m a man, nothing more.” He dropped the knife into the box of satin. “And now you have your blackmail to hold over my head.” Dean looked up toward the camera to make sure it had a good view of his face.

He wandered over to the table and once more crouched beside the boys. Their eyes were wet, fixed on him.

“I told you not to look,” Dean whispered, with a firm tone. “It will be fine. Remember it is just a movie. Scary, but it will be alright. Take a deep breath.” He inhaled, exaggerating. They copied, shaky but obedient.

“Good, that’s it.” He never wanted his sons to see this kind of violence, to be part of this kind of depravity. He had run from this and had wanted to shield his family from ever having to see the things he’d endured. This more than anything broke Dean’s heart.

Yasmine’s face was pale, eyes shining with fury. She mouthed one word at him when his father looked away.

Survive.

Dean watched his father raise his goblet in a toast. “To the future. To blood. To obedience. The heir has returned!”

Dean’s throat ached and burned with acid, but he lifted his glass. He needed to bide his time.

Find the cracks. Expose the cracks. Then take a fucking jackhammer to them. One day, he’d split them wide open.

The words were on a loop inside his brain like a carousel. But for now, Dean sat. He kept his children close. And he waited for the next command. His father would slip up. The arrogant ones always did.