Firebomb (The Jewel Project #2)

12|| Childhood enemies

Chapter twelve

Childhood enemies

Ron stepped out of his room and walked down the hallway, banging his fist against the wall. He needed fresh air and he needed it bad. He reached the main door of the building and sat on the ground right next to it, leaning his back against the wall. There was no point walking any further.

The wind blew his reddish hair over his face and he pushed it back annoyed. They would return to the labs the following day. Yet, he had this nagging feeling he'd left something unfinished. And he was confused.

Ever since he'd left the Grants, his mind had been working feverishly, trying to decipher Sam's words. How could he know he'd start feeling doubt, question the side he was on?  How could he foresee that he would feel like a traitor to both sides?

His talk with Snitch Gravel didn't make things easier. Even he thought the kids weren't a complete waste of space. And they were so unlike Freider.  Ron had to choose when he'd never though there was a choice to make. And he had to do it fast, before it was too late.

He stood and started pacing in front of the entrance.

"Hey, how are your Grant buddies these days?"

Ron stopped and looked to his right. Two guards had stopped ten feet away and were sniggering as if sharing a private joke.

"Don't they come calling anymore?" the other guard asked.

"My Grant buddies are just fine, since they keep escaping you clowns," Ron mumbled.

He turned away and stalked back towards his room. Grant... That name felt like a curse more than ever. At some point, before his parents had died, he'd been proud of it. Proud to be a Grant. Just like those kids – his nephews – seemed to be. How much did they know about the bloody stain the name carried? Had Freider told them anything about the lies, the betrayal, the senseless death?

Rom shuddered. He and Freider had never gotten along, from the moment he could remember. The twelve year age gap between them had been too great to allow common interests and activities. Freider had been a torturer to him, not a big brother, a prison guard, not a protector, a slave driver...

The moment he'd turned eighteen, he'd run away as fast as his legs could carry him. As far away as he could from a brother who terrorized him, from another who didn't care and... No, don't think about that. Don't think about him!

He'd had a crazy, dangerous youth. And now, here he was, practically working for Snitch Gravel who wanted nothing but to destroy his family. And up until now, he'd been on board. Nothing in that snake pit was worth saving. Except, now he wasn't so sure.

Freider's kids weren't like him, weren't cruel. And yet it was them and not Freider who were hunted down. And with all his twisted morals, Ron could still see it was wrong. Just stop thinking about it. It's none of your business.

Ron pushed the door of his room open and froze in the threshold. Snitch Gravel sat on a chair next to his bed, one arm dangling over the back of it. He still wore his black suit, but the blazer and tie were gone and he'd rolled the sleeves of his scarlet shirt up to his elbows. The top hat was also gone. The jet black hair had no white streaks in it. Snitch Gravel looked ten years younger than in the complete getup.

"What are you doing here?" Ron asked warily.

Snitch Gravel studied him for a moment as if trying to decide if it was worth to answer, then he stood. "I didn't get to welcome you properly." He strode to Ron and caught him in a tight hug.