Chapter 67: Reflection of Own Mistakes
Tarn jolted awake with a gasp, his hands flying instinctively to his groin. His eyes widened in disbelief as he stared down at the intricate ladder-like pattern now woven into his pubic hair. “What the hell?!” he shouted, his voice cracking with a mix of panic and confusion. He scrambled to his feet, nearly tripping over the edge of the leather couch as he turned to Karn. “What did you *do* to me?!”
Karn leaned casually against the polished wooden table, his arms crossed and a faint smirk playing on his lips. He held up his phone, the screen glowing with a series of photos Silas had just sent him. In one, Tarn was sprawled out on the couch, mouth slightly open, as Silas’s nimble fingers twisted his pubic hair into what looked like a bow tie. In another, it had been shaped into a star. The final photo showed a ladder, meticulously crafted and absurdly precise.
“Silas,” Karn said, his tone light but edged with amusement, “is very good at weird things. Consider this your payment for hiring him as your tutor.” He tossed the phone onto the table and gestured toward Pete, who was standing awkwardly by the fireplace, his face flushed. “Pete, show him the greeting position.”
Pete hesitated for a moment, then knelt down, his knees apart, his hands clasped behind his head. His posture was stiff, his expression a mix of embarrassment and determination. Karn nodded approvingly. “Yes, like that. Tarn, your turn.”
Tarn’s face turned crimson. “You’re kidding, right?” he said, his voice rising an octave.
Karn raised an eyebrow. “Do I look like I’m kidding?”
With a groan, Tarn dropped to his knees, mimicking Pete’s position. His hands trembled slightly as he placed them behind his head, and he couldn’t help but glance down at his now-laddered pubic hair. “This is *so* weird,” he muttered under his breath.
Karn stepped closer, his gaze sharp and assessing. “Now, Tarn, what did you learn today?”
Tarn swallowed hard, his mind racing. “Uh… sneaking into other people’s privacy is bad,” he began, his voice shaky. “And I shouldn’t do it again. Also, teasing people when I know it’s going to cause trouble is… not great.” He paused, his brow furrowing as he tried to recall the rest. “Oh, and Silas taught me that overthinking isn’t always helpful. I mean, I managed to simplify my thoughts and finish my report thanks to him, so… that’s something.”
Karn nodded, his expression unreadable. “And do you realize your mistakes? Who do you need to apologize to?”
Tarn’s shoulders slumped. “Yeah, I do,” he said quietly. He turned to Pete, his eyes filled with genuine remorse. “Pete, I’m really sorry for poking my nose into your relationship with Karn. I didn’t mean any harm—I was just trying to have fun and cheer you both on. But I went too far, and I ended up making you overthink everything. I swear, I didn’t mean to hurt you.”
Pete’s expression softened, and he gave Tarn a small, forgiving smile. “It’s okay, Tarn. Just… maybe tone it down a bit next time, yeah?”
Karn clapped his hands once, the sound sharp and final. “Good. Don’t forget what you’ve learned today.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small key, unlocking the cuffs that had been securing Tarn’s wrists. “Now go take a shower. You’ve got a lot of… *creative* styling to wash off.”
Tarn stood up, rubbing his wrists and glancing down at his pubic hair one last time. “I’m never napping around Silas again,” he muttered as he shuffled toward the bathroom, his steps heavy with resignation.
The bathroom door clicked shut, muffling Tarn’s continued grumbling about pubic topiary. Silence bloomed in the penthouse, thick and sudden, punctuated only by the distant hum of the city below, now a glittering tapestry woven by the deepening twilight. Pete shifted his weight, the expensive wool of his trousers feeling suddenly rough against his skin. He watched Karn pick up his phone again, scrolling absently through Silas’s bizarre photo gallery.
A connection sparked in Pete’s cluttered thoughts, sharp and surprising. "Today," Pete began, his voice tentative in the quiet room. "With Silas helping Tarn... it wasn't just about punishing him for sneaking around and teasing us, was it?" He met Karn’s eyes, searching the familiar, composed face. "You planned that. You brought Silas here specifically to help Tarn untangle his report. To teach him... somehow."
Karn lowered the phone. A slow, enigmatic smile spread across his lips, not quite reaching his cool grey eyes. He didn’t deny it. He simply chuckled, a low, rumbling sound that seemed to vibrate in the spacious room. "Who knows, Pete? Who can say for certain what my motivations truly are?" He tilted his head, feigning deep contemplation. "Maybe Silas just happened to be passing by with his laser and his… artistic inclinations."
The casual dismissal slammed into Pete harder than a physical blow. He froze, the chill of Karn’s penthouse suddenly seeping into his bones. If this – orchestrating Silas’s chaotic genius to simultaneously punish and tutor Tarn – had layers Pete hadn’t seen, then what about the spectacle downstairs? The Black Tags, destroyed. Anya, Ben, Pab, Gareth – groveling, terrified, hauled away naked to isolation. Karn had framed it as teaching Pete strength, consequence. But now… doubt, cold and sharp, pricked at Pete’s certainty.
"What... what was the real point of that?" Pete whispered, the words scraping his throat. "Downstairs? With them?" He gestured vaguely towards the elevator shaft, the memory of their terrified pleas echoing silently in his mind. "What meaning... what else were you doing besides just... revenge?"
Karn turned fully towards him. The fading light caught the sharp planes of his face, casting one side in deep shadow. His expression was utterly unreadable, a mask of polished indifference. He took a single, unhurried step closer. "Takes time, Pete," he said, his voice soft, almost gentle, yet laced with a condescension that felt like a razor’s edge. "Understanding moves at its own pace. You won't grasp the deeper currents that soon." He let the implication hang, heavy and deliberate. You’re not capable. Not yet.
Another low chuckle escaped him, darkly amused, as he watched the dawning horror and confusion war on Pete’s face. It was the sound of a predator enjoying the futile struggle of its prey.
The weight of it – the manipulation, the hidden chessboard Karn operated on where Pete was just a pawn being shuffled towards some unseen checkmate – crashed down. Pete’s knees buckled. Not in the practiced submission of the ‘greeting position’, but in pure, overwhelmed defeat. He dropped heavily onto all fours, palms flat on the cool, polished marble floor, head hanging low. The city lights blurred below him. "Exactly," he breathed, the word thick with despair and utter bewilderment. "I... I can't. I can't understand it by myself." He stayed there, a figure of abject confusion kneeling on the gleaming expanse, dwarfed by Karn’s shadow and the sheer, terrifying scope of the game he was trapped within.
The shower cut off abruptly. Silence, thick and humming, filled the penthouse, broken only by the distant city drone and the soft drip of water from the ensuite bathroom door. Pete remained on the floor, forehead pressed against the cool marble. Knees ached. The city lights below blurred into streaks through his unshed tears. He felt clumsy. Stupid. Lost in a game whose rules Karn refused to explain.
The bathroom door clicked open. Steam billowed out, carrying the scent of Karn’s expensive sandalwood soap. Tarn emerged, rubbing a towel vigorously over his damp hair, another slung low around his hips. He’d scrubbed Silas’s bizarre ladder creation from his skin. "Man, that water pressure is insane," he started cheerfully, then froze. His eyes landed on Pete, crumpled on the floor, shoulders shaking with silent sobs. "Whoa. Pete?" Tarn’s voice dropped, sharp with concern. He took a hesitant step forward. "What's wrong? Did Karn...?" He shot a worried glance at his cousin, who stood impassively by the window, a silhouette against the glittering skyline.
Karn didn’t turn. His gaze remained fixed outward, posture relaxed, almost bored. He gave a tiny, almost imperceptible nod. Permission granted.
Tarn exhaled, relief mixing with purpose. He crossed the room quickly, the damp towel clinging to his hips. He knelt beside Pete on the cool floor, disregarding the dampness seeping into the fabric. "Hey," he said softly, placing a hesitant hand on Pete’s trembling shoulder. Pete flinched but didn’t pull away. "Talk to me, brother-in-law. What’s got you like this?"
Pete lifted his head slightly. His eyes were red-rimmed, face blotchy. He wiped his nose with the back of his hand, a gesture so boyishly vulnerable it cracked Tarn’s usual levity. "I... I can't," Pete choked out, his voice thick with despair. He gestured vaguely, helplessly. "Downstairs... what happened... Silas... Tarn...him." He looked towards Karn’s silhouette. "It’s all... pieces. But I can't see the picture Karn’s making. I'm just... stumbling through it. Clumsy Pete. Always messing up, never understanding the moves." A fresh sob shook him. "He asked me to be strong, to show consequence... but then... it felt monstrous. And I did it. I looked at Anya like that. And I don't even know why he really made me do it!"
Tarn squeezed Pete’s shoulder, his expression earnest. "Okay, listen. Deep breaths." He waited until Pete’s ragged gasps slowed slightly. "Look, Karn’s... Karn’s a lot. Weird chess master vibes, yeah? But listen." He leaned in closer, lowering his voice conspiratorially, though Karn clearly heard every word. "He gave me the green light to tell you." He paused, making sure Pete was listening. "What happened downstairs? With those Black Tags? That wasn't just revenge. And he doesn't want you to be him, Pete. Not cruel like that."
Pete sniffed, confusion warring with desperate hope in his wet eyes. "Then...what?"
"He wants you strong," Tarn said firmly, his gaze locking onto Pete’s. "Strong like steel. Strong enough that no one, no one like Anya or Ben or those assholes Derek and Liam back at your old place, can ever make you their prey again. Ever." He emphasized the last word. "That clumsy Pete? The one everyone pushes around? Karn’s trying to... I dunno, shape him up? Give him some armor. Make predators look at you and see another predator, not lunch." He glanced back at Karn, who remained motionless, a dark sentinel. "He sees something in you. Something worth forging. He’s just... using really intense fire and a damn weird hammer sometimes." Tarn managed a small, lopsided grin. "Like Silas and my pubes. Weird teaching tool, huh? But it got the point across."
Pete blinked, the words sinking in like stones into deep water. Strong. Not cruel. Armor. Not prey. He looked from Tarn’s earnest face to Karn’s unreachable back. The cold marble beneath his knees felt suddenly less like a prison floor and more like... solid ground. The tears slowed. A fragile understanding, thin and new, began to thread through the chaos in his mind. He wasn’t supposed to become the monster. He was supposed to learn how to scare them off. Protect himself. Protect the farm. Protect his family.
The silence stretched, filled only by Pete’s slowing breaths and the city’s distant pulse. Tarn stayed kneeling beside him, a steady presence. Karn finally turned from the window. His grey eyes, sharp and assessing in the dim light, met Pete’s across the expanse of polished floor. He didn't speak. He didn't smile. But the intensity of his gaze held a new weight. It wasn't amusement at Pete’s confusion, nor the chilling emptiness he’d taught Pete to mimic. It was expectation. Waiting. Watching to see if the lesson, finally explained, would take root.
The silence stretched, thick as the condensation on Karn’s chilled whiskey glass. Pete stayed kneeling on the marble, the cold seeping through his trousers, staring at his own distorted reflection in the polished floor. Karn’s expectant gaze felt like a physical weight. Strong. Not cruel. Armor. Not prey. Tarn’s words echoed, clashing with the visceral memory of Anya’s terror, Ben’s collapse. He’d worn Karn’s emptiness like borrowed skin, felt its chilling power. Was that armor? Or just another kind of cage?
A tremor ran through Pete’s hands. He pushed himself up slowly, joints protesting. Without a word, he walked stiffly to the farthest corner of the vast living room, away from the panoramic city view, away from Karn and Tarn. He lowered himself to sit on the floor, his back pressed against the cool, textured concrete wall. He drew his knees up, resting his forehead on them, arms wrapped tight around his shins. The posture screamed retreat.
Tarn exchanged a quick, questioning look with Karn. Karn gave a minute shake of his head, his grey eyes fixed on the hunched figure in the corner. Wait.
Half an hour crawled by. The setting sun bled orange and purple across the skyline, painting long, distorted shadows that crept across the room. The only sounds were the low hum of the HVAC, the faint clink of ice in Karn’s glass, and Tarn’s soft, restless shifting on the leather couch. Pete didn’t move. He was a dark shape against the wall, breathing slow and deep, utterly still. Processing. Wrestling. Remembering Derek’s sneer, Liam’s laugh, the sting of betrayal from Jason, Ball, Sarah… all of them. The helpless humiliation of being stripped, exposed, while those he once called friends watched, joined in.
Finally, Pete lifted his head. He unfolded himself, pushing back from the wall. He stood, turning to face Karn. The diffused light caught his eyes. Gone was the bewildered hurt, the naive softness. What remained was a hard-edged clarity, a focused intensity that hadn’t been there before. It wasn't Karn’s predatory chill; it was a forge-heated resolve. His voice, when it came, was quiet, rough, but unwavering.
"Karn."
Karn lowered his glass, his expression attentive, unreadable except for a faint, almost imperceptible tightening around his eyes. Pride? Anticipation? "Pete."
"I need to go." Pete took a step forward, his gaze locked on Karn’s. "To where they’re holding Derek.Liam. Jason, Ball… all of them." He swallowed, the names tasting like ash. "I can’t… I can’t get stronger carrying this. Not really. Not deep down. That clumsy Pete, the prey… he’s tangled up with them. With what they did. With what I let happen." He clenched his fists at his sides. "I need to see them. Face it. Solve that… trauma. Completely."
Karn studied him. The silence stretched, taut. Then, a slow, genuine smile touched Karn’s lips, subtle but undeniable. Approval warmed the usual ice in his gaze. "Good," he said, the single word carrying immense weight. He glanced at Tarn, who was watching wide-eyed. "Tarn submitted his report early. Tomorrow," Karn continued smoothly, "is a free day. No obligations. We can go." He paused, his gaze sharpening slightly as it returned to Pete. "All three of us. Together."
Pete nodded, a flicker of relief crossing his features, quickly replaced by steely determination. Karn picked up his phone from the polished table, his thumbs tapping swiftly. "And I'll ask Silas to join us."
Tarn perked up."Silas? Why?"
Pete’s brow furrowed slightly, watching Karn’s focused expression as he sent the message. The gears in his mind, rusty but newly oiled, began to turn. Karn didn’t do anything without layers. Silas wasn't just chaotic company. He was a tool Karn deployed with unnerving precision. That laser. The 'artistic' pubic topiary. Pete felt a prickle of familiar unease, but beneath it, a spark of grim curiosity. Karn had something planned. Something that involved Silas. And whatever it was, Pete knew it wouldn't be random. It would be part of the forging. His gaze hardened. He was ready to see it. Ready to face what came next.
Karn pocketed his phone, the faintest ghost of a satisfied smirk playing on his lips as he met Pete’s newly resolute stare.