Chapter 155: A Father’s Mask 1

Micah’s POV

The air inside the underground bunker was thick with terror.

Dozens of kidnapped students were huddled together in the corners, their shivering bodies pressed flat against the concrete. Every tiny sound... the squeak of a boot, the clink of a rifle sling, a distant cough... sent a violent wave of panic rippling through the room.

Nobody spoke above a whisper. The only thing they talked about, in broken, sobbing murmurs, was the man in the dark suit.

The boss.

Sunny had warned me about him. He was the figure every hostage feared above all else. He wore a tailored navy suit and an ornate porcelain mask that hid his face, walking through the bunker like an executioner inspecting cattle before slaughter. The guards treated him like a god. And according to Sunny, as long as he was inside this facility, the guards kept their hands to themselves.

The moment he left at midnight, the guards turned into rabid beasts.

I sat beside Sunny on the cold dirt, staring fixedly at the heavy blast doors at the far end of the bunker. I didn’t need to guess who the masked man was. I knew the cut of that navy suit. I knew the broad shoulders.

It was Bernard Miller. My father.

CLANG.

The heavy hydraulic locks hissed, and the steel blast doors groaned open.

The entire bunker went dead silent. Even the girl who had been crying nonstop in the corner choked on her breath, slapping both hands over her mouth.

A tall man stepped into the yellow light. He was dressed in an immaculate dark navy suit, his black leather shoes polished to a mirror shine. Covering the upper half of his face was a smooth, bone-white mask, revealing only his cold, rigid jawline.

Four armed guards flanked him, keeping their weapons pointed toward the floor, their heads bowed in submission.

The masked man walked down the center aisle. He didn’t look at the sobbing track athletes. He didn’t look at the collegiate boxers curled on the floor.

His eyes locked straight onto me.

He stopped five paces away, raised a gloved hand, and pointed a single finger directly at my chest.

"You," his deep, muffled voice commanded. "Follow me."

Beside me, Sunny gasped, her fingers clutching desperately at the sleeve of my sweater. I gently pulled my arm free, giving her hand a tight, reassuring squeeze before pushing myself up onto my feet.

Two guards stepped forward. One of them pulled a serrated pocketknife from his tactical vest, sliced through the nylon cords binding my wrists, and stepped aside without roughing me up.

"Move," the guard muttered.

I rubbed my chafed wrists, keeping my chin raised as I followed the masked figure down a narrow, brightly lit concrete corridor.

We reached a heavy steel door marked COMMAND SUITE.

The man pushed the door open and stepped inside. I followed him into a soundproofed, modern office outfitted with glowing surveillance monitors, leather armchairs, and a polished mahogany desk.

The door clicked shut behind me, locking out the guards.

The man reached up with both hands, unbuckled the leather straps behind his head, and pulled off the white porcelain mask.

He tossed the mask onto the mahogany desk with a dull clatter.

Bernard Miller stood before me, his dark hair neatly parted, his cold grey eyes studying my face with an unsettling, calm affection.

"Sit down, Micah," Bernard said, gesturing smoothly toward the leather armchair in front of his desk. "You must be starving."

Sitting in the center of the desk was a warm cardboard takeout box. The smell of roasted chicken, garlic, and seasoned potato wedges filled the room.

A wave of pure disgust washed over me.

"I am not sitting down," I snarled, my voice shaking with raw, furious hatred. "And I am not eating your damn food!"

Bernard didn’t flinch. He walked around the desk, sat comfortably in his high-backed leather executive chair, and steepled his fingers over his chest.

"Do not raise your voice at me, son," Bernard said mildly. "I brought you in here so you could eat in peace. Nothing bad is going to happen to you while you are under my protection."

"Your protection?!" A bitter, hysterical laugh tore out of my throat. "You kidnapped me! You had your thugs smash the back of my head in the lock room entrance! You threw me into the back of a cargo truck like garbage!"

"That was for your own safety," Bernard replied without hesitation, his tone chillingly reasonable. "The arena was compromised. The city is a battlefield right now, Micah. With George Jenson’s father and the municipal board panicking over the abductions, you were vulnerable out there. Here, inside this facility, you are entirely safe."

"Safe?!" I screamed, taking an aggressive step toward the desk. "You have dozens of innocent students locked in an underground bunker! Sunny is out there shaking in terror! You’re holding them hostage! How could you do this?! How could you be this sick?!"

Bernard’s expression didn’t change. He looked at me with the tired patience of a parent dealing with a throwing-a-tantrum toddler.

"Lower your voice," Bernard commanded quietly. "What happens to those children is politics. It is power. It is none of your concern. You are my son, Micah. You are the only person in this city who matters to me."

He reached out, sliding the box of chicken and chips across the mahogany wood until it rested at the edge of the desk.

"Eat," Bernard insisted. "Keep your strength up. Because once Noah is gone, you and I can finally resume our lives as father and son without his toxic poison."

I froze.

The breath locked dead in my lungs.

Every drop of blood drained from my face until my vision spun with cold static.

"What... what did you just say?" I whispered, my voice cracking into pieces. "What do you mean, ’once Noah is gone’?"

Bernard picked up a gold pen from his desk, turning it over between his knuckles.

"It means exactly what it sounds like, Micah," Bernard answered, his voice dropping into a pit of bottomless ice. "Noah is a dangerous cancer. A feral dog born from an extinct bloodline. He was supposed to die years ago when the Whitfield estate burned to the ground. Keeping him alive under my roof was the biggest mistake of my life."

Bernard looked up, his grey eyes piercing straight through my soul.

"The syndicate has mobilized their primary hit squads tonight. They are tracking his movements right now. By sunrise tomorrow, Noah Miller will be dead. And you will never have to live in his violent shadow again."

A violent inferno exploded inside my chest.