Daughter of Zeus ✔

5.2

Brontes would never consider himself an asshole. He was smart and knew the rest of the world likely viewed him through a skewed lens. Brontes only ever took the necessary course of action, like he'd been shown. Sometimes the necessary course got him called asshole, or his favorite: bastard.

If he had to filter the acquisition of the nicknames down to a moment, he supposed it must have begun after his sister, Adina, left.

They'd been best friends, only three years apart. When they played together, the world made sense. She was the older sibling, and took care of him. Helped him make better decisions. Every July 4th, they had snuck out to watch the holographic fireworks his parents couldn't afford. They'd only been caught once. Brontes had wanted to lie, but Adina convinced him to face the consequences by telling the truth. According to her, truth was stronger than any lie. For a long time, Brontes had believed her.

His father and Adina disappeared on the same day, when he was twelve-years-old. While he cared little for his father, he cared deeply for Adina. Her absence cracked open a void within him. Suddenly he had lost his compass. Finding purpose on his own was harder than he'd thought, but he'd learned his way. Brontes wasn't averse to getting things done quickly, and often this efficiency involved others getting hurt.

Outside of the window to his study, he could see his son, Phennell, in the pool, splashing his sister, Darcy. Their mother, Chancelin, watched from her lounge chair, avoiding the water works to keep her hair in its shining condition. The sun glittered on the water. His wife's perfect form completed the picture. His family resembled an advertisement-too perfect to be real.

He kept them in the dark about his past, but they knew he could be an asshole when it came to the business end of things. As long as he kept doing what he was doing, they would never have to fully know. His family could go on as they were. For their happiness, he would bear the mantle of asshole.

He let his mind wander as he stared out the window. As she told her mother a story, Darcy held on to the edge of the pool. Chancelin looked mildly interested. Yet, for Brontes, Darcy's every word was golden. Every time she spoke, she was unaware she lit up with pleasure.  Her smile reminded him painfully of Adina. Momentarily, he steeled himself against wayward thoughts. His career, his perfect life, continued because of his discretion. Lack of impulse control was for the young. And Brontes was no longer young.

A beeping from the clear desktop interface returned him to his work. His contact had sent another message. Brontes touched the video file icon. In it, a man pointed a gun from then at himself, looking frightened and confused. Then the man ran himself face first into a plate glass window until he was knocked unconscious. Swiping his finger across the screen to replay the scene again and again, Brontes laughed, eventually petering out to chuckles. At the bottom of the file in the comments section, his associate had typed, She made him do this.

Fear mixed with elation flooded through Brontes. The powerful woman reminded him of his old life. Colorado and all the dank, dirty living associated with it had been buried deep. Yet, the woman brought back bad memories. And good ones.

She wanted to see him. His associate was bringing her straight to his office. Brontes watched the video one more time and promised himself not to end up like the man she played Pinocchio with. The only one playing the part of puppet would be her, and then the Sammies would leave him alone for good.

~*~