Total pages in book: 160
Estimated words: 163089 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 815(@200wpm)___ 652(@250wpm)___ 544(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 163089 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 815(@200wpm)___ 652(@250wpm)___ 544(@300wpm)
“Dad didn’t meet his son?”
“No, because he didn’t consider him a son. Just a full-time blood donor, I suppose. Patient X was kept in a house with a lab his whole life, poked and probed, and used as Lance’s and Leo’s lifeline.”
There’s a sharpness in her words. A rage that’s tucked so close to the surface, as if she can see herself in the sibling she never met.
It’s fucked up. All of it.
A father making a child just to save the other children is simply wrong, but I can’t say I’m surprised.
Andrew is just that type of cold.
A memory flashes in my head. I was maybe six as my parents and I were walking through the snow-covered park. Mom had a call and went to the side to take it, letting go of my hand in the process.
I reached out to Dad’s hand, wrapping my smaller one around it, and he calmly but firmly pushed it away.
Then he tsked. “Useless child.”
I always wondered what he meant by saying that. Useless child. Now, I think I know. I was useless because he never managed to use me to pump my blood into his empire.
I focus back on Serena, who has a distant look in her eyes. “If Patient X was used to keep Lance and Leo alive, why did they die?”
“Lance’s immune system was as much of a drama queen as he was. Once again, he developed resistance to Patient X’s blood when he was around twenty, so they took a risk and did a marrow transplant, which worked. Can you imagine the pain Patient X was in? He was merely thirteen at the time. But no one asked about the nameless, faceless person who was made for Leo’s and Lance’s highness.” That bitterness returns to her voice. “You know, everyone in the Osborn household was celebrating when the operation was a success. We threw a party, and the whole estate was lit with fireworks, but no one mentioned the thirteen-year-old kid who made it happen. Isn’t that ironic?”
“I suppose.”
“Well, Lance sure got his karma a couple of months ago when he suddenly developed an autoimmune disease that killed him within a week. As for Leo, he received transfusions his entire life. He was so sick all the time and had severe relapses, so Patient X needed to undergo full bone marrow transfusions occasionally. Do you know how painful that is for a child?”
“I can only imagine.”
“All his childhood, Patient X’s body went through severe trauma after severe trauma. As if he were a guinea pig.” She purses her lips, then smiles tightly. “Oh well, at fifteen, Leo suffered from transplant toxicity and developed a secondary cancer that killed him.”
“What happened to Patient X?”
“What do you think Dad would do to his lab rat?”
“Since Leo died at fifteen, Lance would’ve been twenty-one at the time. And even though he’d already had the marrow transplant, with his body’s history of delayed rejection, he’d still have a risk. So Dad would’ve kept Patient X under surveillance in case Lance needed his blood in the future.”
She snaps her fingers. “Bingo. Unfortunately for Dad, X died in a house fire shortly after Leo’s death. Rumor has it, ‘his doctor parents,’ who he believed to be his real parents, felt sorry for him and let him die.”
“Just like that?”
“Just like that.” A strange look clouds her eyes. “At least he was no longer in pain.”
“And you got less competition.”
“I suppose,” she says with a smile, but it’s forced. “Do you know why X was used and died?”
“Because Dad is a piece of shit?”
“Well, there’s that. But he also lacked power.”
“He was a kid who spent his childhood strapped to a hospital bed. Where could he have come up with power?”
“He should’ve found a way.” She pats my arm. “Don’t be another X, Marcus.”
She walks to the door, the sound of her heels echoing in the silence before she stops. “Oh, one more thing.”
“Yes?”
“Congrats on the game last night. I know you have that sadistic streak like all of us, but don’t give our boys at the Vipers a hard time, all right?”
She winks, and I narrow my eyes, which makes her laugh in that knowing way.
There’s no way she’s aware of my little game with Preston. Though calling it a game feels off.
What is it anyway?
After that night in the locker room, I’m not so fucking sure. Is it a game if I felt like bursting out of my skin just because I was touching him?
Because he allowed me to touch him.
I could tell he was uncomfortable at first, but he gradually fell into it and let me coax him into accepting my touch.
Until he backhanded me, that is.
I tap my thumb against my middle finger as I leave the arena, my muscles bunching up.
No, I shouldn’t correlate that backhanding with Dad’s rejections throughout my childhood, but tell that to my brain.