We all had jobs to do. Mine? Make sure my dad didn't lose his shit for the billionth time — oh, and become his personal punching bag when he fancied it. The guys didn't know how bad things had gotten, and I sure as hell wasn't going to tell them the evil I experienced on a daily basis. The way I saw things — I, at least, was used to it. Used to the garbage, used to the hate, the pain, the rage — sometimes I felt like a sponge. My father was the water, and all he did was pour into me and squeeze.
Sighing, I knocked on his door again.
He was the dean, Nixon's way of keeping the De Lange boss close.
"What?" He jerked the door open; his eyes were pinpoints. Great, so he'd been using again.
"Pops…" I cracked my knuckles. "…the rounds are done. I need to get to class, but I wasn't sure if you wanted any help with—"
"Help?" he interrupted. "You're such a disappointment, Phoenix. I groomed you to be strong. Now look at you," he sneered. "A pathetic made man for the Abandonato boss. You aren't even second in command — hell, you aren't even third. You're just a shit foot soldier."
"As opposed to you?" I rolled my eyes. "A boss to a scorned family in debt up to their eyeballs, selling God-knows-what to God-knows-who, and trying their damnedest to get away with murder? Really? I'm the loser in this scenario? Nixon's the most powerful man I know, and I'm his best friend. We just put up with you because killing you would be frowned upon."
My father's eyes narrowed before he spit in my face. "And I just put up with you because I like to torture you."
I wiped the spit from my cheek and turned to walk away.
"Wait," he called.
I froze, dread pooling in my stomach.
"We have a job."
"Job?" I refused to turn around, didn't want him to see the interest in my eyes. We'd been trying to re-fill the family coffers for decades, it seemed. Side jobs were the only way to make sure we could live the lifestyle we'd all been used to. Nixon sure as hell didn't pay me.
So I worked for Satan — my father — in order to own a new Corvette. Sue me. He had me by the balls, and he knew it. I'd kill him myself if I could make it look like an accident.
"Yeah, a few girls were brought in."
My knees knocked together.
"Virgins, but not for long…"
My stomach rolled.
"Just do the usual, and when you're finished, keep your favorite… as payment."
Was he for real? Bile rose in my throat. I choked it down and nodded firmly. "How much are you getting?"
"Half a mil," he said in a low voice. "Just make sure the girls are broken in. I'll text you the address."
"Right." I licked my lips and walked to the elevator, fingers shaking as I tried to hit Lobby twice before the button finally lit up.
The elevator doors opened and closed.
I leaned my forehead against the cool metal doors and fought tears as they tried to surface and roll down my cheeks. Men didn't cry. But I was no man. I'd stopped being a man and morphed into a monster.
Into my father.
Because I was going to go visit four innocent girls, ruin their lives, and drag them into hell with me — all for money. All for pride I'd never had. All for a father I'd never loved.
The doors opened.
Banners were everywhere in the registrar building, welcoming new students. Smiling faces mocked me as I walked slowly toward the main doors.
The last time I smiled — the last time it was real — was when Nixon said he'd be my best friend.
I hadn't smiled since.
My dad had made sure of that, because made men didn't cry. They also didn't smile. They showed no emotion because emotion was weakness.
Just like love.
It was why I couldn't be with girls — at least not in a normal way. I was violent with the way I took them. When girls talked about making love, when they gushed about romance, I usually ran in the other direction because it wasn't something I was capable of.
After all, a monster only knows what a monster sees.
And I was a monster.
Sex was violent.
Sex was murder.
Sex was necessary in order to put money in my father's pocket.