Page 112 of Fragile Facade
The back of my head thunks off the wall and my jaw itches with healing words. “Fucking each other’s brothers, I guess.”
“I guess,” he repeats.
The moment slows, Mom keeps crying to herself, and we chew our salty snacks. Am I settled? Did the curse really lift? Am I, god-fucking-forbid, happy? My toes twitch out a soundless beat in my boots, wiggling in front of me because there’s more I want to say, but I don’t know how to say it. Or if I even need to.
I clear my throat.
So does he.
“It’s more,” he blurts.
“Not just fucking,” I blurt at the same time.
“Yep.” He stands, uncomfortable as fuck.
“Yeah.” I stand with him.
His eyes meet mine. I look away first. I nod. Krypt nods. He leaves. God, that was awkward, but at least it’s out there.
“You love the other Hallows boy?” Mom asks.
“You love Gregory Malone?” I snap back. “The man who haunted three of your sons and helped push two of them into early graves?”
“No,” she cries. “No! I don’t. Please, let me out of here!”
“Then why do you keep asking for him?”
Her face crinkles in confusion, like she doesn’t think she’s been asking for him and doesn’t know what I’m talking about. Wow, she’s messed up.
She’s not sane. Neither am I, but at least I can function. Maybe she’s telling the truth, and maybe Krypt is right, but I’m not the one who is going to make this judgement call. If Remi and Selena want her to stay here, she will. If they want to check her into the legitimate part of the asylum, they can. If they want to send her back home to potentially die in this upcoming war, great. I’m washing my hands of it. I don’t give enough of a fuck anyway. I just want the bitch to suffer for what she did to our dad.
I grab the empty chip bag and swear at it as I leave. “Fuck, he’s soft.” I head back to Vile House for the meeting Director called.
* * *
Facts isextra jittery since the parade on Death Row last night. I didn’t get the chance to introduce him to Novak, but he eavesdropped without butting in, so at least he has some sort of idea about the guy. I grin at him, and he blinks at me, mouthing ‘hello’ to himself, before looking away like I don’t exist. Normally, that would piss me off. I snort instead, amused at how awkward he is about sexual interests.
“With the keycodes you two got,” Director says, nodding at me and Riot. Killian? The fuck do I call him here? “We’ve been able to read the Reaper Corp chips in every one of their brains. The three prisoners we got from Misfit Hall were part of a breach task force.”
“What?” Menace cuts in. “They were literally bred and trained just to breach places?”
“Seems so,” Director answers. “Axel is still going through their encrypted files, and Glitch has been helping.”
Glitch nods. “Yeah. The keycode gives us access to their patient and training information, most of their breeding program traits, and their rank level. The only thing it doesn’t have is real names; they’re mostly code names. Reaper Corp works in specific DNA traits and then trains their people through levels until they reach a useful status. It’s like everyone born from the Reaper Corp program is bred for a specific purpose, but the civilians who lived in the city they took over just got put through mass brainwashing to believe Reaper Corp rule. It’s impressive, even though it pisses me off.”
It's bullshit if you ask me. I mean, if I was the puppeteer, sure, I’d be into it. But I couldn’t imagine being a puppet to serve a purpose in someone else’s show. I live by my agenda, and performing for Vile House furthers it. I do shit for me and only me. Mostly…
I look to my right, where Riot’s knee bounces next to mine under the table. He calls me sweetheart and I’ve slipped a baby out here and there, and maybe I do things for him, but they’re also for me. Can I be in a relationship when I’m this selfish, or will he understand because he’s self-obsessed, too? It’ll probably lead to massive fights because I’ll want him to live by my agenda, and he’ll want me to live by his, and when neither of us give in, the battle will be brutal. Like it always has been. Kinda looking forward to that part. When his knee bounces right into mine, he stops, pressing us together. Glancing up at him, he grins without looking at me, and then his stupid hand moves up my thigh and my fucking asshole clenches.
Jesus.
“And that woman who blew up Death Row was listed as,” Director pauses, looking at Glitch for confirmation.
“Infiltration and scarification.” Glitch shakes his head. “Bitch was literally bred to be a suicide bomber.”
Ransom leans forward, elbows on the table. “What about Benton Wentworth? Anyone scan his brain?”
“You think he’s Reaper Corp?” Facts asks.
