Page 77 of Player
She gasps, but doesn't add anything, and I leave the room like I have the devil at my heels. I grab my bag from the living room, under the heavily reproachful gazes of our roommates.
I don't care what they think of me; anyway, it can't be worse than my own opinion of myself.
As I leave the building, I notice a large black sedan parked by the curb. A figure exits the back seat, and I freeze when I recognize him.
My jaw clenches so tight my teeth grind. Not him, damn it! Not now!
But he's seen me and he's waiting for me to approach him. Almost against my will, my body responds to that silent order, and I realize that Bolton's hold on me is far from gone.
When I get close enough, he opens the door and motions inside with a tilt of his chin. I hesitate for a moment, but every time I face him, I feel like I become that frightened little boy again.
Without thinking, I toss my bag onto the seat before sliding into the car. My father follows me and the door slams behind him.
No wonder Dean Stevens kept me waiting so long before seeing me, he contacted my father, who rushed to come get me. I have no illusions, this isn't a sign of any affection he might feel for me. No, for him, it's a way to control the situation.
A deafening silence reigns in the car as the driver starts the engine and the vehicle pulls away from the curb.
The journey proceeds in a silence you could cut with aknife, but I'm not fooled, I can feel the anger emanating from my father. Even if he doesn't show it, I know his entire being is tense. And I can guess what comes next.
An icy shiver runs down my spine as memories resurface. There isn't a single pleasant one to cling to. Not even those with my mother in them. I was too young when she disappeared in a plane crash. She's presumed dead, and even had a funeral. We buried an empty coffin in the family crypt. I never go there. As far as I'm concerned, she's not there.
Perhaps she's the luckiest one in our family when all is said and done, she managed to escape Bolton Boardman, which is no small feat. She just had to die to do it.
After a good hour's drive, we reach my father’s building. The driver parks the vehicle in the basement reserved for the penthouse owner, near the other cars my father owns. It's not money he lacks, no, what he desperately lacks is humanity. There's nothing loving about him, no paternal instinct. Nothing. The man’s most likely a sociopath. On the other hand, he has many demands, and I know what I'm talking about.
We ride up in the elevator without speaking. The silence seems to thicken as we climb the floors, and by the time we reach the vast entrance hall of the penthouse, I'm almost suffocating.
Suddenly, Bolton pivots toward me, and I don't see the punch coming. His uppercut hits me right in the stomach, and I double over from the impact. The air is forced from my lungs, leaving me breathless. I gasp for air, and this movement causes a sharp pain in my ribs.
Fuck! He must have broken one of my ribs, again.
"Stand up straight."
His voice cracks sharply across the hall. I obey and lock my gaze with his. What's stopping me from talking back right now? Nothing, except years of ingrained paralyzing fear. The samefear I felt as a child when he didn't hesitate to instill his discipline with liberal doses of belt lashes, punches, and sometimes even kicks.
"You disgust me," he spits. "You're not worthy of the Boardman name."
"Then disinherit me."
My provocation only fuels his hatred, and somewhere deep down, I think I'm seeking this burst of anger that's sure to come. Violence is the only relationship I've ever known with my father.
He approaches me, his gaze locked on mine. "You're going to get back on the right track, whether you like it or not."
I clearly sense the threat in his voice, but also in his body language.
"You think getting kicked out of school would solve your problems?" he adds. "Believe me, you have no idea what you've just set in motion."
A shiver of apprehension runs through me. I hate that his threats still affect me.
More than that, I hate him.
My silence doesn't calm him down, quite the opposite. He looks like he's about to explode, and I know all too well what happens then.
"You're going to study until you know your courses inside and out," he states. "And you'll train as well."
I tell myself that my sentence isn't so terrible after all, but Bolton has one last surprise for me. "But first, you're going to take a little trip to Rikers Island detention center."
I shake my head, flabbergasted. “Are you out of your mind? I haven’t been convicted of a fucking thing! No one can send me there!"
