Page 14 of King of Ruin

Phineas chuckles, his muddy eyes flashing to me. “Is that so?”

I nod. “Yes, sir.”

“Well.” Phineas slaps his thick hands together, turning back to Sam. “I’ll see to it you never pick him up again. Don’t want my second in command getting slapped around by my heir.”

My father is amused, while Sam looks relieved. All the while my stomach is tightening because I’m watching Phineas’ hands ball into fists at his sides. He’s mad I hit Sam. Mad I’m making him find someone else to pick up his secret kid. It leaves room for people to catch wind that he has a son. For his grand scheme to come crashing down.

He told me last year I would be the key to bringing down the last obstacle holding him back from owning the entire state. He also needed me to know that when he felt I was ready, these training sessions would stop. It would become harder to hide me and I would have to be on standby. Sitting around waiting forthecall.

It should make me feel at least anxious knowing even when he stops coming to get me that I’m still his to use. Like a cloud always following overhead, not knowing when it will finally split open. But it doesn’t. Instead, there is only relief. Happiness. Pure joy from knowing one day, life will be different, even if just for a while.

Caught in thought, I don’t notice Sam leave, but definitely notice when Phineas’ hand moves.

I jerk back too late and he catches me across the side of my face with an angry blow. The pain is instant, radiating across my jaw and through my ears, making them pop.

“First mistake is touching Sam. The second, daydreaming.” His voice is a hot poker in my side.

I shove my own fists into my pocket as I turn back to look at him. If I give him an apology–even though it would be completely fake–I’d be in more trouble. So instead, I straighten my spine and glare into his eyes.

He smirks, his thin lips curling at the corners. “Seems to me you’re still thinking like a child. Let’s fix that, shall we?”

He snores like a freight train. A freight train that is running out of steam and is plowing through an overgrown jungle. It’s wet, loud, and almost seems as if he might stop altogether. Which wouldn’t necessarily be a bad thing, but also probably would.

Zek’s plan worked out great for the most part. He told me to find the weakest guard and get his attention. Once I found one and got him to look my way, he developed a crush rather quickly, and in a few days, my not-so-nice stay felt a heck of a lot better.

I’d lied to Zek. I didn’t want him to worry and since Ithoughtthis whole thing was my fault, I figured it’d be best to keep him in the dark. But the truth is, when I first got here, I was pretty sure I wouldn’t make it through the night without a few of the guards visiting my room. They’d put a bag over my head, nearly cutting off my oxygen before leading me through the mansion. I couldn’t see anything, but God did I heareverything.

The slurs being thrown, I could handle. It was the sound of sloppy wet kisses, and obscene noises of them pretending to fuck me that made my skin crawl. Then they physically threw me in a cage they called a room. It was bare of anything except a cot, but luckily I had a window–albeit with thick metal bars–and an attached private bathroom. There was only one roll of toilet paper, but the place was clean and I’m sure that in itself was something I should be highly grateful for.

My entire first day I literally tucked myself in the corner of the room, staring at the door waiting for someone to come. When no one did, I slept as much as my body would allow, and tried to become invisible, in hopes they would forget I was even there.

But then the next day Sam paid me a visit.

He tossed me a phone, told me to come up with a good excuse to my small group of friends as to why I’d be MIA for a while, then pushed a couple of buttons to basically disable anything but incoming calls.

At first, the place wasn’t terrible. Meals were sparse, but I wasn’t bothered in the ways I’d first feared. Time passed slowly, and besides the view of men patrolling outside my window, and food drop-offs, I never saw anyone. But when weeks passed and Zek was barely giving anything useful, that all ended.

Guards stationed outside of my room and suddenly thought it was fun to torment me. To bang at the walls in the middle of the night, jack off right outside the door, and shoot their jizz under the small space. The time between meals got longer and the moments to sleep without interruptions got shorter. The fear I had on my arrival grew tenfold and because of it, I started to get mad.

Mad because I know my brother. I know how good he is at anything he’s ever done. How he can work a puzzle like the freaking Riddler and strong-arm anything out of anyone. He’s never had any issues with getting me out of situations before and I couldn’t understand how this could be any different. What could possibly be taking so long?

I think that’s when I realized I couldn’t be nice during our calls anymore. My downplay of the situation had him forgetting that I wasn’t off in some five-star resort. I’d already planned to be firm with him, but then, Phineas came to see me.

The clink of the lock sliding flips a switch in my body. My nerves instantly begin to vibrate as I shove myself in the corner, wiping away the sweat already breaking across my hairline. Anytime the door swings open, I’m not sure if it’s a half-eaten food delivery or a guard who wants to push me around a bit just for kicks.

But instead of either of those things, an unfamiliar man steps through the threshold. His body is massive, somewhere between a sumo wrestler and a boxer, leaving his suit a little too big for him in some places while tight in others. A short salt and pepper beard covers his pale face, while his matching hair is slicked back.

“Hello, Fiona.” The man says dully, his dark eyes scanning over my unmade cot and stretched-out shirt and stained jeans. I imagine the smell is also terrible, though I’m immune to it having sat unbathed in here for so long.

He stops a few feet away from my bed and tucks his hands in his pockets. Rolling back on his heels he introduces himself. “My name is Phineas Murphy.”

When I don’t speak or respond to the name he frowns. “You don’t know who I am?”

I shake my head but quickly open my mouth. “I mean, I know you’re the owner of this mansion. And that you run an illegal organization–”

He laughs. It’s full and deep as if I’d made an actual joke. How can someone meant to be so dangerous, sound casual? Like nothing more than a typical car salesman.

Before I have time to ponder the question he steals my breath with a single sentence. “I’m also Ezekiel’s father.”

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