Yet instead of acknowledging it, I turn away. "She's my problem. Nicholas gave her file to me—"
"Yeah, and don't think we haven't noticed that you haven't shared a single shred of that file with us," Abel says.
"You've seen the file." I drag my fingers through the sweaty strands of hair at the top of my scalp.
Something hits me in the back of the head. My own fucking water bottle. I turn, baring my teeth, but Abel is right there. He stands toe to toe with me, face red with anger. If anyone else dared to get this close when I feel like ripping the world apart, I'd break their fucking neck. As it stands, I have to remind myself that this is Abel. My best fucking friend. My brother. Even if it's not blood, he's closer to me than any relative I've ever had.
"We've seen the file we had before the old men called us to the warehouse," he says through clenched teeth, glaring at me. "Not the one they gave you. We've let it slide because we know that you're on a tight rope, but since when have we kept secrets from each other?"
Never. That's the answer. These two had been there for my first kill just as I'd been there for theirs. We knew everything about each other. We knew which girls we'd fucked and left, and we knew which ones had almost gotten deeper. I inhale and hold my breath, letting the burn of it fill my lungs before pushing it out.
"If there was anything in that file that concerned you—that was a threat to you—you'd have it," I state.
"You don't think she's a threat?" Abel's eyes widen with incredulity. "If that were true then they would have no interest in her, but they do, and now, so do you." He shoves his hand against my chest. "If I were you, I'd just fuck her and get it over with. She's just a girl. Fuck her, make her fall for you, and then you'll have complete and utter control over her."
I grab his hand and throw it off me. "Oh, like you? I don't fucking prostitute myself. If and when I fuck her, it'll have nothing to do with the old men. They do not control me." The words come out before I can fully think of them and even as they fly from my lips, I can visually see the effect they have on him.
A cold mask falls over his expression, masking the small hint of damaged shock I'd barely gotten a glimpse of. He takes a step back.
Shit. Fuck. Why the fuck did I say that? "Abel—"
A fist flies towards my face and I don't even try to block it. Abel's knuckles knock against my cheek with enough force that I fall back several steps. The skin on my lower lip splits and blood fills my mouth. I look up and try again. "Abel, I'm—"
He doesn't wait to hear my apology. Abel turns around and leaves the room. I fall back on the mat and groan as I throw my arm over my eyes, blocking out the light. It isn't until the mat shudders as another steps on it that I recall Braxton.
"Not smart, man." I feel him hover over me before dropping to my side.
I lift my arm, but instead of looking at him, I stare at the tiled ceiling of our personal gym. "I fucking know. I didn't mean it like that. I was just..." What the hell am I doing? "He's not a prostitute," I finish lamely.
Brax chuckles darkly. "Isn't he?" he asks. "Aren't we all? We sell ourselves to the orders of our fathers if only so we can overtake them one day."
I have nothing to say to that. I can't deny it. Clenching my teeth, I feel the burn as the cut on my lip widens and more blood hits my tongue.
"It's not forever," I say. "We do this to get power and we're almost there. People are already coming to us. They're getting old. They have more enemies than we do. They'll fall and when that happens … we'll be there."
Brax is quiet for a moment. I half expect him to answer, but when he merely gets up and silently leaves the room, I can't say I'm shocked. He never does. He wants to believe it as much as I do, but it's hard to think of freedom when you've been chained down for your entire life. My arm