Chapter Five
Skylar sits down next to her brother at the dining room table, and I chuckle as I pick up my glass of water and take a sip.
If they’re trying to put on some kind of united front, then I’ll have to break them ahead of schedule.
“Dinner is great, Daddy,” she mumbles quietly as she opens her napkin and smooths it across her lap.
“Maybe you should have some before you start with the bullshit,” I reply as I set the glass down and suck my teeth. I pick up my fork and raise my eyes toward her, holding her stare until she turns red and lowers her gaze to the pan of lasagna sitting in the middle of the table.
Richter clears his throat as he stands up and reaches for the spatula, breaking off a piece for his sister’s plate, then taking another for his own.
“Put that back,” I instruct him in a loud tone.
He looks up at me in confusion, half-hovering above his chair. My fork falls against the plate with a loud clatter, and I hold a finger up toward him.
“Do I have to repeat myself?” I challenge him evenly.
“No.”
“Then put it back.”
He steals a glance at his sister before he does as he’s told then sits down again.
“Skylar, fix your own plate,” I continue after I clear my throat. “But fix his first.”
“Dad—”
“Shut your mouth,” I snap at the boy. “Pay attention to what you’re being taught and maybe one day you won’t need me around to help you pry your balls out of your fucking stomach.”
His face burns red with rage as he angrily crosses his arms over his chest, but it’s what I want.
Anger.
It’s the most powerful emotion one can have and using it appropriately gets shit done faster than most other feelings can.
“I’m not hungry,” he mutters, defiantly.
“Yes you are and you’re going to eat your dinner,” I reply as I go back to my food. “And if you don’t, then I’ll assume you’re not hungry tomorrow either or the day after that. Hell, at this rate, I’ll just have to assume that you’re worth even less than I’ve pegged you for and you can go into the oubliette like your mother did.”
I pick up my glass of water, take another sip, then set it down as I look at Skylar. She’s nervous, holding a plate of lasagna and not certain if she should place it in front of her brother or not.
“Go ahead,” I say to her with a nod. “I want to ask you something once you’re settled and have a little food in you.”
She puts the plate down in front of her defiant bastard of a brother, before she quickly makes one for herself then sits down.
I watch as she cuts the smallest piece, then pops it into her mouth. She does her best to subtly elbow her brother in the ribs, so he starts eating, but he’s too busy staring daggers at me to even care.
“Vaughn used to act like you do,” I tell him with a smirk.
“Who?” he asks, his anger giving way to confusion.
“Exactly,” I agree dangerously as I place an elbow on the table and lean closer to them. “Now, unless you want to be another who, I suggest you do as you’re fucking told.”
Leaning back in my chair, I turn my attention back to my food, taking another bite of the meal before reaching for my napkin and dabbing at my mouth.
I think anticipation is the best part of any meal—regardless of what meal that may happen to be. But it’s the fear, the feeling being so palpable in the air, settling low over the two of them that makes what I’m going to ask her even more worth it.
I wait until she’s finished half her plate.