The Price Of Love

Chapter 6

Jay's POV

I glare at my kitchen table which holds a total of twelve cameras, ones that I found hidden inside my house.

But I guess it would be confusing if he hadn't tried to spy on me. I'm sure the thought of not being able to watch my every move has him losing sleep.

It's been just over twenty-four hours, and I already hate everything about this fucking place.

I'm not used to being alone. Ever. I've never even been away from home for longer than three weeks.

But in fairness, I didn't have much of a choice unless I wanted to come home to one of my brother's funerals.

They needed me. They still do need me. And I can't be there for them, and it's fucking killing me.

I thought before was bad. But this..this is so much worse. Because yes, I was completely useless back at the house when it came to preventing their pain, but I could at least make sure to help. To have their backs- be a person they could rely on. An adult they can fucking talk to. Because they sure as hell can't talk to our parents about it.

But of course, the tiny opportunity I had to make their lives a little less shit got ruined by Issac. Why the fuck am I even surprised at this point?

I'm torn from my thoughts by the sound of my front door opening.

Turning quickly, I grab my gun from the waistband of my jeans and aim it at the man standing at the entrance of my house.

He freezes, staring at me with wide eyes. He slightly raises his hands. "Sir, I'm Atlas- Mr Hendrix sent me" He mumbles, and I stare to see if he's lying. He doesn't seem to be.

"Prove it" I order, and he pulls up the sleeve on his t-shirt, showing our mafias symbol tattooed on his shoulder.

Slowly, I lower the gun, but keep my guard up. I watch him closely as he lets out a sigh of relief and closes the front door.

He then begins walking towards me. "So-" "Your key. Give it to me" I order, and he stops in his place, looking confused.

"What?" Atlas asks, but I just stare at him, not bothering to repeat myself. He heard me the first time.

"But Mr Hendrix gave me-" "Mr Hendrix isn't here right" I cut him off, getting impatient as I stare at this idiot. "Give me the key and I promise to let you leave this house alive," I tell him, and he tosses me the key two seconds later.

I hum in approval of his decision while staring at the key briefly. I then pocket it, since I wasn't given a key.

To my own house.

"If you ever walk inside my house uninvited again, I will shoot you dead on the spot" I warn him. "I don't care what Mr Hendrix fucking says. You answer to me".

He nods his head, his eyes glued to the floor. "Understood sir" He whispers, and I sigh. "Speak" I wave my hand, gesturing for him to get whatever he's about to say over with.

"I'm just here to give you a briefing. About the Robinson family," Atlas says, and I nod. "I already read the file".

"Oh..okay. Well, the mission reports- would you prefer if I sent them to you so you could review them privately?" He offers, and I nod my head in answer. His eyes practically light up at the chance to leave.

Atlas is gone five minutes later, leaving me alone in my quiet house once again.

I fucking hate this house.

It's quiet and bare. It's lacking life. And right now I feel drained of mine, so I can't do shit about it.

Not only did Dad send us away without letting us say goodbye, but he also didn't let us pack.

That's right. I was sent here for the next three years without any clothes or personal items. Or a fucking phone charger. I'm lucky my phone was in my pocket or I'm sure that would have been left too.

I just hope the triplets had their phones on them when they were dragged from their rooms. So they have some way to entertain themselves.

Suddenly, my phone rings.

I stare at it. More specifically, I stare at the caller ID.

Issac.

I had to walk to a gas station last night to grab a phone charger, but I'm starting to wish I let it die.

Knowing he won't stop ringing otherwise, I answer.

"You think your fucking funny?" He scowls, and I sigh, knowing I'll be yelling within the next two minutes.

"I'm not a mind reader Issac" I inform him, and he scoffs over the line. "The painting".

I smile.

Staring at the blank wall beside my kitchen table, satisfaction washes over me.

The first thing I did yesterday after getting off the phone with Issac was take down the horrid self-portrait of him.

Then, I let out my anger in a rather immature way.

After slicing his neck in the portrait with a knife, and writing 'Sadistic child beater' on top of the painting in a black marker I found, I shipped the painting right off home.

I'm hoping that Clayton somehow sees it, and it makes him smile. Just a tiny bit.

"I don't see your problem. How was I supposed to know the truth pisses you off" I mutter, pulling out a chair from under the kitchen table and sitting on it, trying to reserve my energy for this fucker.

"Keep it up, and I'll actually slice someone's neck. And I'll ship it to you too" He mutters, and I roll my eyes.

"Don't try to be funny again. It won't end well for Clayton" He mutters before hanging up the phone.

I fucking hate him.