Our fathers were sitting at the long table, all on one side, all silently serious when the back of my hand hit Vic’s ribs lightly. “You owe me twenty bucks.”
He bet me before the drive down that we were too old for secret meetings. Vic liked to think he had more power than he actually did. They only let him think that because it benefited his own personal war and that, in turn, benefited them.
Vic only glared at me. He took this shit as seriously as our fathers.
“We wanted to check in with you four.” My father normally spoke first. I normally spoke… never.
Bowen was slumped in one of the chairs in the corner avoiding eye contact. Khaos was a kind of angry that made his arms look tense, folded across his chest, and Vic was pensive before he spoke. They were always trying to please them, while I was the black sheep of this fucked-up family.
Cutting Vic off, I spoke out of turn: “Great. Whose idea was it to have Jessica find a bed to sleep in when I know there’s extras?” I was pissed off, in need of more meds hidden in my glove compartment, and hallucinating about my new secretary. I was on edge.
My father’s heavy stare was boring into me and forcing my sloppy posture straight. “That isn’t a business matter. We’ll discuss it later.” Turning his attention to Vic, he shot off names and accounts with us, expecting an update.
Vic was never caught off guard. “He’s in town next month. He likes Grimm best, says he reminds him of his brother. He’ll show him a good time.”
I wasn’t paying attention enough to even know who we were discussing, just that I played some role in entertaining them. I got bored listening to the bullshit about the business and the accounts we oversee. I couldn’t explain what we did if I tried.
All I truly knew was that we oversaw things running smoothly, people fearing Hell and praising God. We took people’s money, got rid of problems, and did mandatory weekends at the estate, like some fucking company retreat.
The Clave was a cult with its hands in so many pies I lost count of what was jam and what was blood on them.
“Are we done here?” I interrupted our four fathers pretty much praising Vic for his sense of leadership.
My father’s cold, semi-dead eyes looked mean under a dropped eyebrow. He wasn’t amused. “Boys, get some sleep. Tomorrow is the hunt. Jason, sit.”
Every time he said my name I felt my soul cringe, trying to make sure it didn’t stick. Pulling out the chair at the long table, I slumped down into it, waiting for whatever remark he’d have now that we were basically alone.
“Why can’t you embrace this life? You have nice things. You need for nothing.”
I muttered to myself, “Exactly…”
His hand slammed down on the tabletop creating even more silence than there was before. I didn’t expect the man so poised and polished to show a crack. We weren’t alone.
“You’ve always been a problem. You have no reason to be so uncompliant, blatantly disregarding what I tell you and sulking like a child.”
My mouth was open and my tongue was between my two rows of teeth pressing down enough to stop myself from even muttering.
I was going to make this so much worse than it needed to be.
Standing up, I went to walk away, just before I felt myself pulled back to the table and knocking my knuckles against the surface. “Don’t ever force a girl onto me, again. As far as I see it, I’m the Grim Reaper for you. Would hate for you to go before you really should, Dad.”
I wished I meant it. I didn’t really know if I had the balls to kill my old man.
Do I want to? Yes.
Would him dying mean less of the Clave in the world? Nope.
There are lines of people, generations, and backups ready to sit in his chair.
Now I had zero reason to be roaming the halls. Pushing the hide-a-door open, I saw the guys all sitting in one of the sitting rooms waiting for me.
Vic handed me a drink, even knowing I didn’t drink, “I actually enjoy this weekend. Can you go back to your one man crusade after it?”
Taking the drink, I didn’t touch a drop. Sometimes holding a drink is all people need to feel more comfortable.
Rolling my eyes to myself, I contemplated how I could have survived this long in this life.
“You can’t be the judge, if these people deserve to die, Vic.”
“That’s why you’re here, Grimm. Why can’t you just accept this is our life? You kill. I start wars…” Pointing at the other guys, he finished: “He deprives people until they beg us for it back, and he brings chaos. We’re balanced.”
“We’re fucked-up monsters pretending this is how the world works anyways, so we might as well jump on board.”
With his hand on my shoulder, I watched the guys paying so much attention to this conversation I could see the worry in their eyes at my push back.
Only Vic knew exactly how against this life I was.
“Monsters rule the world, brother.”
Setting the glass on a table, untouched, I decided to find my car and my Xanax so I could chill out.
I was at a weekend where the elite rubbed elbows, killed enemies, and had dinner after to celebrate the sacrifices made. The heel of my palm hit my head trying to make sense of something I had been doing for years.
Maybe a conscience in a monster just needed time to grow.
Finding my car was harder than I expected. I knew we hid them so when the hunt started no one could attempt to get away, but now I couldn’t get away.
A prisoner, just like them.
There was a guy wearing a black vest with no jacket, making it obvious he was the help and not invited.
“Hey, where’s the McLaren?” I shot his way with a whole staircase between us before I descended.
He ignored me, like he hadn’t heard me, and when I got closer, I repeated myself.
“Sir, the cars can’t be accessed until Sunday.”
The monster living inside me had its grip on my senses when I closed my fist around his vest and pulled him dangerously close to me.
I repeated myself only to get the same answer as I dug my key fob out of my pocket with my free hand to prove to him it was my car… if that was even the problem.
Fucking sheep.
“No offense. I can’t, man. I would if I could.”
I could see how scared he was.
The monster inside me was climaxing just seeing his features drenched in adrenaline and fear.
You know what to do. The monster talked to me when I hesitated, pushing me, motivating me when I lost steam.
“Where are the keys?” I wasn’t really asking—more demanding and tightening my grip on him, which made him flinch.
He pointed behind me, like it was a loophole keeping him out of trouble if he didn’t have to speak.
Do it, Grimm.
The monster didn’t just want to climax at the fear in others; he wanted to come to the glory of fear being the last emotion they felt.
Without thinking, my hands were gripping his neck and chin, ready to pull in opposite directions. In one motion, not even that much force or muscle, his neck popped, and his body dropped to the grass.
A heavy exhale surpassed my lips, and I felt the monster satisfied, soaking in the fear and drowning out his personality, basic functions, any fight inside him...
Turning away, I made my way to the small wooden door on a stand with all the keys inside. I quickly found my McLaren keys, still not sure where my car was parked exactly.