Betrayed by Truths (Truth or Lies 2)

Dad sighs, exhaling his frustration, coffee, and whiskey. He may have just been drinking coffee, but I know his day is wrapping to a close, not starting. He was out late last night, chasing down a yacht from one of our enemies who threatened his control of the seas. From the anger waving off of him, the chase didn’t go well. But my father returned, and the only way that would have happened would be if he eliminated the bastard for daring to kill a single crew member from our ranks.

He shakes his head as he peers into my broken eyes. “Do you want to become Black?”

I nod my head, knowing any other answer will land me another blow to the head. Although, I’m not sure I want to become Black. Black is synonymous with my father. And he’s the l

ast person I want to become.

“Then you have to put in the work. The Millers will be preparing their heir to take over. To defeat you. He will be stronger than any foe you’ve ever faced. You can’t lose.”

I squint my eyes. My father would never allow me to come home if I lost. Good thing he’ll be dead when it’s finally time for me to do battle. That’s what triggers the next Black to take his place. And I can’t imagine a world where my father will ever die. So I don’t expect to face my opponent until I’m ninety.

“You will be Black. The legend, the myth, the ruler. You will take my place someday. And when that day comes, you’ll be more dangerous and ruthless than I ever was. You have a better teacher than I did. You will be more prepared to take over than any heir before you.”

If this is what I have to do to prepare, then I don’t want to be Black. I don’t want any part of it. I’d rather lose and live my life on the sea, learning how to sail, and working hard than go through another day of my father’s training course.

“And when you become king, like me, you will be free.”

Free.

He said the magic word.

The one thing I crave more than anything—freedom.

My father grins, his eyes deepening as if he unlocked the key to the greatest treasure, instead of just finding the key to getting me to take his training seriously.

“Good,” he says releasing me.

I ball my hands into fists, instead of reaching for my pounding head like I want. Never show weakness. I learned that lesson when I was seven and cried when I skinned my knee on the sidewalk after riding my bike too fast. Father whipped me for every tear I shed, which only made me cry harder and earn more lashings. When my tears had finally dried up, I had changed. I’ve never cried since that day. I’ll never cry again.

Never flinch.

Never wince.

Never cry.

I am invincible. At least that is what the world thinks of me. I’m unstoppable.

His lips curl up higher as the evil wheels in his brain turn with an idea.

Fuck me.

I’m screwed.

Last time he had an idea, I was forced to run barefoot through the forest behind the house. I ran for three days straight with him hunting me on horseback with the promise that if he caught me, he’d shoot me.

My stomach lurches thinking of what happened when he finally caught up to me. My feet were bleeding; my body was frail from not eating; I was delirious with dehydration. He should have been proud that I lasted for three days. I hadn’t slept or eaten. I never stopped moving. It took him three whole days to track me down and find me. He had the advantage of horses, scent dogs, and a weapon.

But father wasn’t proud. I don’t know how long he expected me to last or if shooting me was the plan the entire time no matter what I did. But my shoulder will never be the same.

He shot me without a word—only a dark stare of disappointment.

I was in shock, so I didn’t realize what had happened until he motioned for me to follow.

I took one step and collapsed from the pain. When I awoke, I expected to be in a hospital or at least in my bed at home. Instead, I found myself covered in dirt, my shoulder still bleeding from the wound my father caused.

I could have died!

The bastard.