Broken Hands

29. Daring

The morning routine was as usual, but the tension was unmistakable. Alex had made breakfast, and everyone sat around the table—everyone except Grayson. Julian kept glancing at Russell, his gaze communicating what words couldn't. This wasn't the first time Grayson had landed himself in trouble, but getting expelled? That felt different. The boys silently hoped there might be a way to fix this, maybe even a chance for Grayson to transfer to another high school.

Alex cleared his throat, breaking the quiet. "I'll be going on a trip today. Should be back by next week, hopefully."

Julian groaned, while Russell simply nodded. "I have my ice skating performance next week too," Julian revealed, his tone hopeful.

Alex offered a nod, managing a small smile. "I know. I've got it on my calendar—I'll be there."

Julian looked at him, eyes serious. "Okay, Just... don't get hurt, Dad. And call me if you need someone to talk to. I know your job is tough." There was a warmth in Julian's words that brought a genuine smile to Alex's face.

"Will do, Junior." Alex reached over to give Julian a quick hug. "You're the best. If I were you, I'd have taken a one-way trip to the moon with all the stress. But here you are. I hope someday you can retire and do something less... intense." Julian said sincerely.

Alex chuckled, but Damien interjected, casting a pointed look across the table. "Told you, Alex—retire already."

Alex threw him a mock glare. "Fine, right after you."

Russell stood, grabbing his bag. "We're off." Julian let go of Alex, heading over to grab his own bag, pausing as he glanced up the stairs, clearly hoping for a glimpse of Grayson.

Stray trotted along beside them as they headed out. Alex removed his apron, checking his watch. "I'll be heading off now, too," he told Damien, who gave a nod in response.

Alex hesitated at the door, looking back. "And Damien... go easy on him. Be patient."

Damien shrugged. "I'll try."

After Alex left, Damien retreated to the study, opening his laptop to review past surveillance footage. He was met with gaps—whole chunks of footage missing, vanishing every few days, Grayson. He frowned, noting the silence in the house, the faint sound of Alex's car leaving the driveway. It was too early.

Stray wandered in, curling up on the sofa. Damien gave her a firm pat before stepping out of the room. He glanced at his tracking app: Julian and Russell were on track, but Grayson's tracker was offline, gone from the map. Damien shot off a quick text: "Get me the 568 tracker, bracelet shape, male." An immediate response confirmed it.

His phone buzzed, but seeing the name "Rita," he ignored the call, focusing instead on a message from his superiors. Once done, he rose from the couch, steeling himself before heading upstairs to Grayson's room.

He didn't bother knocking, simply walked in. Grayson was quick to react, shifting as if to hide something. Damien didn't miss the heavy breathing, the evasive way Grayson averted his gaze.

Damien took a slow step forward, letting his gaze travel over the messy room, the disorganized closet. He finally leaned against the desk, arms crossed, his voice calm but probing.

"How old are you, Grayson?" he asked, keeping his tone casual.

Grayson remained silent, his jaw tight, making no attempt to respond. The air between them was thick with tension as Damien watched, waiting, the silence speaking louder than any words could.

Damien's gaze bore into Grayson, his tone unyielding. "I can't read minds, Grayson. Speak up. My patience is running thin."

Grayson shrugged, almost nonchalant. "Seventeen."

Damien's eyes swept over the room, lingering on the mess before coming back to Grayson. "Then why do you act like you're seven?"

Grayson's jaw tightened as he stared at the floor. "I don't."

"Yeah, you're right. You act like you're four. Or maybe two. At least with a two-year-old, there's an excuse—they don't fully understand consequences, their minds are still developing, same with a four or seven-year old. But you? Grayson, I'm disappointed." Damien's voice was hard, unwavering.

Grayson's face paled, but his brows furrowed.

Damien's words pressed on. "The real question is, why? Why are you acting worse than a child? Why'd you do what you did? Why did you cross the line and make a complete fool of yourself?" He watched Grayson, waiting for a response, but Grayson only shrugged.

Damien raised an eyebrow. "What was that?"

"I don't know," Grayson muttered flatly.

Damien shook his head, disappointment evident. "So you're just running on impulse, and your impulse is...self-destruction?"

"I never said that," Grayson shot back defensively.

"I don't need you to say it, Grayson. I need you to explain it. What were you thinking, throwing yourself under the bus like this?"

Grayson's gaze snapped up, a glare flashing in his eyes. "I said I don't fucking know! Just stop asking already!" His voice rose, his words hanging in the air like a challenge.

Damien didn't flinch. Instead, he moved calmly toward the closet, and Grayson froze, his defiant stance faltering. Damien retrieved a thick black belt, he'd never seen Grayson use this, his movements were deliberate, his expression cold. Grayson took a step back, his defense crumbling.

With practiced ease, Damien folded the belt in two, advancing toward Grayson. He grabbed him firmly by the arm, ignoring Grayson's attempts to pull free, and turned him around, forcing him down over the bed. The first strike landed hard, echoing through the room, and Grayson bit back a groan. Then came the second, and the third, until Grayson's resistance faded into silence.

When Damien finally pulled him back up, Grayson's face was white, his eyes holding fear he couldn't hide. Damien's gaze held him, unyielding, as his phone buzzed in his pocket.

"I'm giving you a few minutes," Damien said, voice cold as steel. "And you're going to think about why you did what you did. I want a reason for every decision you made—one that actually makes sense." With that, he released Grayson's arm and turned, reaching for his phone. He caught sight of Grayson's gaze shifting toward the window, a fleeting glance.

Damien's eyes narrowed as he crossed the room, slamming the window shut. "Don't even think about it," he growled, low and menacing. Then, as he walked out, he dropped the belt on the desk, leaving it there as a silent reminder before closing the door behind him.

A/N

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