Page 21 of Handsome Devil
Maybe it was true, but if a bright future meant living in complete darkness, I didn’t want to live at all.
“You need to leave,” I whispered to Ares, pushing the window open and placing him on the sill. “He can’t see you here.”
Ares gave me the stink eye and slipped out of my room just as the door opened.
Andrin never knocked.
I buried my face in my homework, ignoring his frame as it loomed over me, casting a shadow along my body. He stood directly behind my shoulder, looking over my algebra answers.
“Boy,” he grumbled.
That was what he called me.
Boy. Never by my name.
My spine went rigid. I said nothing.
Andrin was easy to anger and quick to get violent.
He was Swiss, but his English was impeccable. He made it a point that I speak each language without a lingering foreign accent.
My English was American, my French, Parisian, my Italian was Tuscan, and my German was Hochdeutsch.
His long, pale finger reached over my shoulder, tapping at an equation. “You miscalculated this one. Do it again.”
I grabbed my pencil, flipping it and erasing my answer with a trembling hand. I felt his breath on the nape of my neck. I wanted him out of this room. Out of my life.
“You have thirty seconds,” he clipped.
Sweat dripped from my forehead to the page, burning my eyes. I forced myself to focus. Tuned out the world around me. It worked. I solved it.
Andrin made a dissatisfied sound behind me. He wanted to punish me. He came here every night under the guise of helping me become the number one child mathematician in the world.
He said it would help my chances of getting adopted. But he was never happy when I did well.
“Get up.” Andrin gripped the back of my neck, yanking me up.
I staggered to my feet silently.
“Turn around,” he instructed.
I did.
Andrin was slim, short, pale, and terrifying. He wore his age on his skin. His skull was peppered with liver spots, his wrinkles engraved on his flesh like roads and rivers on a busy map. He had a nasty hook of a nose, no lashes, and a grimace that seemed stitched across his face.
“Have you practiced your survival skills this week?” he inquired.
My heart screeched to a stop.
Please. Not this again.
“Yes,” I lied.
“Good. Then you won’t mind showing me.”
Reaching down to grab my sneakers, I felt his hand on my shoulder.
“No, Boy. You’ve been slacking on your math. This time, you’ll do it barefoot.”
