Enforce, Page 55

CHAPTER FIFTY

  Broken

  Phoenix

  My dad had officially disowned me.

  He'd told me to my face, slapped me, then laughed as the rest of the associates had watched — and done nothing.

  I was humiliated.

  And the worst part. I'd probably deserved it, because I'd said no to him. I'd finally stood up for myself, and he'd damn-near killed me for it.

  He'd asked me to take another virgin.

  Another one he'd been putting on the market for one of his special clients. I'd declined, telling him to go to hell.

  Instead, he'd put me there.

  I had no money.

  No home.

  No friends.

  No family.

  I was better off dead.

  Just as I was about to go put a gun on my mouth and pull the trigger — because really what was the point anymore? — Trace had barreled out of a classroom and whispered under her breath.

  "Grandma, I wish you were here."

  "Grandma?" I repeated. My voice unrecognizable— Who the hell was that talking? It was like I was present but not in control of my own actions— No, rage had long ago taken over; the monster inside had broken free.

  Because I'd fed it.

  Over and over again.

  With sex.

  With darkness.

  With killing.

  I'd fed it, and now it was hungry, angry, and needing more food. She was the reason I had nothing. She was the reason I was going to kill myself. And she deserved to be shamed, just like I felt shame.

  Her eyes were afraid.

  Something else snapped, maybe it was my conscience, because in that moment I didn't see her as a person but an object that needed to be destroyed, a problem that only I could fix.

  "Grandma?" I repeated. "Would that be Grandma Alfero?"

  She laughed and tried to walk past me. "I have no idea what you're talking about." She started texting, dismissing me as if I was nothing. Confirming my suspicions all along.

  I was nothing.

  A waste of air.

  A waste of freaking humanity.

  Just like my father said.

  "Where do you think you're going?" I moved to stand in front of her.

  She turned around and started walking in the other direction, but I jogged in front of her. My arms shot out to brace her shoulders. My fingers dug into her shoulders as I slammed her into the wall.

  My enemy.

  Who should have been my friend.

  What the hell was I doing?

  My body screamed for vengeance.

  My mind was a jumbled mess of insults and darkness, and then her face became like every other face I'd screwed. Every girl I'd taken from…

  Was found in her innocence.

  I moved forward. Maybe if I kissed her, maybe she would fix it, make it better, suck the darkness from my soul. "Talk." I brushed my lips against hers.

  She pushed against me.

  Unwanted by her.

  Of course. Because I wasn't him.

  "Or not." I grinned, though I wasn't happy, just really, really sad and confused. "We could always do some other things. Word around the school is that you're used goods. Once I'm done with you, you'll forget all about Nixon and be screaming my name instead."

  She kicked me, and I snapped, dragging her down the hall with me. She started screaming for help, but I knew nobody would help her.

  "She likes it rough." I laughed.

  People joined in.

  I was living my own nightmare.

  This wasn't me.

  But I kept pulling her.

  I kept choosing to let the anger control me, pound through my soul. Maybe I'd just kill her and shoot myself next.

  Maybe I'd take from him like he'd stolen from me.

  "No, No! Please! Please help me!" Her voice was frantic.

  I ignored her plea and continued pulling her toward our campus hangout.

  "Stop! Phoenix! STOP!"

  She dug her heels into the ground, but it only made me laugh harder as I threw her over my shoulder.

  "That's more like it," I said gruffly. "You think you're so perfect just because of who your family is? Do you even know who I am?" I jerked her head close to my mouth and yelled it into her ear. "And all because of you I've lost the chance to be with Nixon's family! My connections? Gone. My money? GONE! Wanna know why?"

  She tried to shake her head.

  The anger boiled inside, pushing out of my chest, making it twist with pain, pain she'd caused, pain she'd suffer from.

  "Because the De Langes aren't a for-sure thing. Our money isn't good enough. But Nixon's? His name? It's freaking gold, and you went and ruined everything by batting your damn eyelashes. You're a freaking whore just like your mom…"

  I slapped her across the face before I pushed her into the room, my own hands trembling.

  What was I doing?

  I hesitated for a moment.

  But hesitation had never gotten me any more. It had left me unloved. It had left me with nothing. The monster needed to be fed.

  I needed vengeance.

  In order to die in peace, I needed something, didn't I? I deserved something! A son abused, a friend ignored, I just wanted purpose.

  And she'd taken it from me. Stolen it from my hands.

  Trace started frantically pushing the screen of her cell.

  "What are you doing?" I grabbed her phone just as it rang. "Answer it. Tell him you're fine."

  She shook her head. I pulled out a knife. "Answer it, or I'm going to make a permanent mark on your face."

  With shaking hands, she took the phone and answered, "Hello?"

  "Trace?" a loud male voice said from the other end. "Are you okay? Nixon said you left class and— Trace are you crying?"

  "No." Her voice was strained.

  I couldn't place the voice on the other end, but I assumed it was one of the guys.

  "Um, Chase, I gotta run. I'm going to go back to my room to take a nap." She glanced at me, still talking on the phone. "Yeah?" Her eyes snapped shut, and she whispered. "Scorching."

  When she handed me back the phone, I threw it against the wall. It shattered it on contact.

  "Think you know all our little secrets just because you're an Alfero?" I pushed her against the same wall and laughed. "Where's Nixon now? Is he going to save you? Where was he when your parents died? Oh right. He was too young, unable to do anything. Just like he won't be able to do anything now."

  "Why?" she choked out.

  "Why?" I licked my lips then spit on her, just like my father had spit on me. How's it feel, princess? To be nothing. Treated like you don't matter. Like your existence was a mistake. "Because you're a dirty whore. Because you've ruined everything I've worked for years to build. Because the minute Nixon broke me away from the Elect, nobody in town would do business with us. I've been ordered by my father to take care of things in any way possible. This is my way of doing that. Can't have family secrets rearing their ugly heads, just because Nixon decided he had a heart, now can we?"

  "Nixon will kill you." Her voice shook with rage.

  I punched the wall above her head, knowing it was true and hoping the bastard would stop me, save me from myself, save me from doing something I didn't want to do, but had no control over. My hands shook, my body convulsed. This wasn't me. It wasn't me.

  But the real me had died long ago.

  He had been forced into submission.

  "Not if I kill him first." I ripped the sweater from her body. "A thousand bucks says you're a virgin…" I slowly undid the buttons to her shirt. My hands still shaking, I gagged. This was what he had turned me into; my father had made sex an act of violence.

  Even with someone like Trace.

  It was violent.

  It would be violent.

  Because I wasn't a person anymore.

  Her fist caught my jaw.

  I staggered and then whispered, "I like a girl who's rough." The words coming fro
m my mouth didn't match my actions, didn't match my feelings, but rage controlled everything.

  She fought harder.

  And again I saw those girls' faces.

  And when I looked up, I imagined my face, the face of my father, as I ripped the skirt off her body.

  He would pay.

  They would all pay.

  For turning me into the one thing I never wanted to be. When I'd been a little boy, it hadn't been monsters that had scared me.

  It had been him.

  Dean De Lange.

  He'd terrified me.

  I'd prayed to God, wished on every shooting star to just save me from his fate.

  But God hadn't listened.

  And the stars had chosen to shine on good little boys and girls, but not Phoenix De Lange, never Phoenix. My vision blurred as her skirt fell in pieces next to her.

  What. The. Hell.

  She tried to buck me off her.

  I slapped her.

  It made me feel better.

  So I slapped her harder.

  When a tear streamed down her face, and her expression was familiar, that of Trace and not one of the girls I'd used before, I blinked, my hands reaching toward her underwear, as if I couldn't stop myself.

  But I wanted to.

  So I prayed one more time.

  One final time in my life.

  I prayed for God to answer me. Just once.

  Save me from what I've become.

  Just save me from this.

  Something pounded the door, and in a blur, Nixon and Chase charged in. Fists landed against my face.

  And I smiled, not because I was getting the shit beat out of me.

  But because… when it had mattered…

  God had heard my prayer.

  And saved me from myself.