Power Uppers | ✔️

Chapter Twenty-Three

"When I tell you to do something, you do it. Understand?"

"Yes father," Darin mumbled, still glaring at Max.

Max knew Darin blamed him for the hit. He always did. Whenever their father took anything out on Darin, it was always Max's fault. Always.

Christopher grabbed Max's chin and twisted his head back and forth. His deep green eyes traced every inch of Max's face, his thick lips rested in a firm line. When he released Max's face he tapped his cheek.

"I don't like hurting you Max. Why do you make me do this?"

"I don't make you do shit."

Christopher's lips bounced. He grabbed Max's arm and squeezed. Max screamed. His father didn't squeeze hard enough to break a bone with his super strength, but he'd make sure he left a bruise. It was his way of reminding Max who's the boss.

And right then, he was every inch the boss. All six foot two, two hundred fifty pounds of him wouldn't let Max forget it.

Max released a breath, closing his eyes. His fingers tapped against the armrest, willing his power to their tips. "Let me go." He ignored the pain in his arm and face; the burning sensation still emanating from where the wand touched his skin, there was only his power. "Let me go."

Christopher laughed. "That won't work in here."

Max opened his eyes. Both of his brothers stood behind their father, laughing and leaning on each other for support.

"This room is special. It's soundproof, so anything said, or screamed, in here won't reach the outside. However, that isn't what makes it truly special. That chair you're in is designed to stop superpowers." He leaned against Max, putting the full weight of his strength on Max's wrists. The youngest Foster bit on his tongue to keep from screaming. "You have two options, Maximilian."

Christopher squeezed one hand, Max thought he heard a snap in his wrist. His father's eyes narrowed above his wicked grin. Busy eyebrows knitted together in triumph when Max could no longer hold back his scream. The grip lessened almost immediately.

"You know your place in this world. Why do you fight it?"

Max vibrated his throat, gathering the biggest wad of snot and spit he could muster before spitting it onto Christopher's face. He knew that act of defiance wouldn't end well for him, but he no longer cared. There was nothing his father could do that would make him re-join the hell that was being a Foster. Even still holding that last name made Max sick to his stomach.

All those Supers they killed by delivering to the PC's. He'd never forget any of them. Never.

Christopher righted himself. One hand dragged against his face, wiping off the chunk of bodily fluid from his nose. The ends of his lips twitched. Both hands linked together, pushing outward with the soft crack of the air in his knuckles. Max thought about closing his eyes to brace for the impact, but that would give his father too much satisfaction. Instead, he smiled. He continued to smile even as the first fist pounded into his jaw.

Not even the pain throbbing from the impact erased the smile. Christopher's fist landed three more times and Max started laughing. His father stepped back, wiping Max's blood off of his hand. Max continued to laugh.

"Fine. Have it your way, son."

"I'm not your son." Max spit blood at his father. "You lost the right to call yourself a father when you experimented on your own fucking children! You're a sick bastard and I can't wait for the Super underground to release the tapes that prove how fucked up you and the PC's really are!"