Page 52 of Crush
Father doesn’t take his eyes off me.
“Something bothering you, Father?” I keep my gaze on my breakfast.
He peels his napkin from his lap, dabbing at both corners of his mouth. “Yes, since you bring it up. You haven’t brought me news on Ember Weatherby for quite some time.”
The mention of Ember’s last name lifts my stepmother’s chin.
“I’m working on her.” I lay my spoon in my half-empty bowl.
“Not quick enough, it seems.”
“I figured subtlety would be appreciated,” I toss my napkin beside my bowl. Get the hint, Father. “Don’t you want to win against the Weatherbys?”
I’ve said the wrong thing. Cutlery smashes against porcelain as Father slams his hands down and pushes to his feet. Julie cries out and recoils from the table, her chair scraping when she pushes back. I’ve been at the receiving end of his temper enough times to school my expression and remain still and silent.
“I have given you a true test of loyalty,” Father spits out through his clenched jaw. “A task meant to set you up for kingship of our Society, and instead of aiming to succeed at it like a true Noble gentleman, you consider it a joke. Malcolm’s bastard is a problem for this family, Thorne. An issue you are meant to eradicate. She’s a girl, impressionable, vulnerable, and perfect for the likes of you. You don’t come by your looks honestly, nor your brain—but I thought I ensured that you employ them properly.” Father pushes off the table, lengthening his shadow over us. “I’m told she’s looking into Savannah Merricourt. Were you aware of that?”
I force my continued stillness. “You said it yourself. Ember is an empty-headed girl who’s been forced into a world she has no experience in. Why would that be any kind of threat?”
I shrug, but my mind works overtime. Save for when she first got here, Ember never gave a hint of interest in Savannah. Yes, she buddied up to Aiko Nakamura, a relationship I discounted with confidence—Aiko emits a ton of bravado, but she’s small in stature and in rebellion. Sav’s stepsister doesn’t make waves. She wouldn’t recruit Ember to help her with Sav’s disappearance. Sure, Ember knows computers, but so does half of Winthorpe’s graduating class.
Except I haven’t given up that Sav’s still alive. Why the hell did I think Aiko would?
I deliberately stare down at the table so Father doesn’t sense my mistake.
“She’s a Virtue, now,” my father says. “Anything that Weatherby girl unearths she could tie to our Societies, and we simply cannot have that happen. The senator’s loss is devastating.” Insert snort here, but I don’t fucking dare while Father goes on one of his tirades. “And the Societies are doing their utmost to discover clues as to her whereabouts. We are working on it. Not amateur detectives dressed as teenaged girls. She could tarnish evidence or learn information she has no business knowing—especially if she brings it to Malcolm. No, son, Ember Weatherby has become a liability, one you must eradicate swiftly. If I can still trust you, that is.”
“Then why did you bring her here?” I raise my eyes, clashing with his. Identical blues with arctic blasts as irises. Julie murmurs something, crossing her arms over her chest. “You’re the one who told Malcolm he had a daughter, convincing him to bring her here and break up a family Ember was better off living in. Fuck, being kidnapped was probably the best thing that happened to her. Why’d you do it then, Father? Why is Ember Beckett Weatherby in my goddamn life?”
Without warning, Father lunges across the table, anchoring his leap with my neck. We crash to the floor, the ornate chairback digging into my spine. Father leers over me, spittle coating his lips as he presses into my cartilage.
I curl my lips in and tense my neck muscles, refusing to gasp, struggle, or cower.
“Have you been eavesdropping again when you’re not supposed to, son?” Father’s face grows blotchy. “None of what you hear in my office is any of your business unless I make it so. I brought Ember here for the sake of keeping Malcolm under my control. I know more about him than he does about himself. God knows how he’d survive without my tutelage. But … he also needs lessons.” Father talks as if he hasn’t landed frog-legged on his son’s body, crushing my windpipe.
Spots coat my vision. My hands curl into fists, ready to pummel him if this fucker doesn’t get off, consequences be damned.
“Malcolm’s been a bad boy once more, I’m afraid,” Father continues. “Now, I must take away the gift he received.” He leans into my face, droplets of sweat dripping down his nose and onto mine. “Either you strip her bare, piece by piece, or I will.”
Father lifts off. I can’t control the gulping gasp for breath as I roll to my side, coughing and rubbing my neck.
“Get her expelled. Ruin her reputation. Assign her a Societal task that gets her killed, for God’s sake. Anything to harm her and therefore prevent Malcolm from straying. Am I making myself clear?”
Father looms over my prone form. Stiffening, I rise to a sit, then a stand, the desire to land the ultimate punch that kills him, overtaking every tendon I possess. Yet I stand tall with my fists pressed against my thighs. If I was taught anything in this farce of a family, it’s to choose my battles. And planning someone’s downfall behind the scenes always wins out over lashing out in temper-fueled blindness.
“Yes, Father.”
“You better have something for me by the time I get back. Julia. Come.”
Father spins on his heel to the dining room’s door. My stepmother does as he asks, but she takes the long way, making sure to pass me before she reaches the door that my father, in all his posturing, has already passed through.
“Don’t take her away from him,” she whispers, so low I have to jerk my head down to hear it. “Malcolm’s had enough stolen from his hands.” Julie dares to lift her gaze as if by looking into my eyes, she can truly change the man I’m becoming. “Either make Ember yours or warn her. Please. I’m begging you.”
“Make Ember mine?” My brows press into the center of my forehead. “What—”
“Julia! I said come.”
Father reappears in the arched doorway, his expression too mottled in fury to really take in the scene of his wife and son conversing. Even if he did, I doubt he’d question two lowlifes talking. He probably assumes we’re speaking caveman to each other.