5 WEEKS before E-DAY

[Halvo Bay, 0645 hours]

"What the hell is this?" Jocelin Baird brandished the wedding program Damon had thrown in the fireplace in his bedroom suite. He hadn't been able to bring himself to burn it yet. Apparently he was going to pay for that little bit of cowardice. His father shoved the wrinkled leaflet into Damon's chest. He caught it reflexively and his eyes involuntarily went to the cutting words scrawled across the Order of Service:

She's my wife now, and I'm in love with her. Don't try to contact her through DENIS, we've locked you out of his system. Keep the goddamn necklace; we don't care what you do with it.

"He stole your girl, your life's work, your goddamn dignity, and you just stood there and took it on the chin? You make me sick!" Jocelin elbowed Damon in the face so hard that he collapsed in a heap. Pulsing black spots and white streaks of light crowded his vision, but not so much that he didn't see Jocelin removing his belt and wrapping the end around his hand.

Damon covered his head, tucked up on the marble floor. Normally his father's whippings were tolerable, but this time Jocelin was using the belt with the enormous COG buckle, the one whose deliberately sharpened gear teeth left painful, open welts. "Get up, you piece of shit!" his old man yelled. "You don't deserve to be a Baird! You don't deserve an inheritance! You don't deserve to breathe!"

'Why the hell am I lying here?' All the stabbing pain and anger from the last six months – hell, the last eighteen goddamn years – boiled over in a seething, white-hot rage. Damon actually saw a red haze at the edge of his vision. 'I'll be damned if I'll just lie here like a dog.' He waited for the belt to swing down again, then lashed out with his left arm and let the leather's momentum wrap it around his forearm. He yanked the belt out of his father's grasp and leapt to his feet.

Damon snarled, swinging the belt at his side like a lariat, the COG buckle making an oscillating whistle as it cut through the air. "Let's see how you like it, you son of a bitch."

The belt snapped out like a bullwhip, catching his father in the side, but then glancing off. Jocelin spat, "You don't have the balls to take me on, you little brat."

Damon roared, this time stepping forward as he lashed out, giving the buckle extra momentum. The teeth caught Jocelin in the same spot, this time sinking into the flesh and sticking there. He pulled the belt straight back and bits of shirt and gore came with it.

Jocelin didn't make a sound, or even cover the wound. He circled his son, and Damon mirrored the movement. "Pitiful," the elder Baird sneered. "I can see your close-combat lessons were a waste of good money."

Damon feinted another stroke with the belt, then hooked a foot behind his father's ankle and shoved him in the chest. Jocelin went skidding across the marble hallway on his side.

"Come on, coward! You can do better than that," Jocelin taunted, lounging on the floor like he was sunning himself at the beach. Damon leapt forward and drew his arm back to punch him. "Not like that." Damon stopped. 'He's giving me frakking advice on how to beat him up?' "You'll break every bone in your hand punching a man in the jaw. Use your elbow."

'Fine, you old bastard, I will.' His father's breath huffed out in a rush when Damon's elbow connected with the side of his face, and droplets of blood flew from his mouth. Damon hit him again in the same spot. More blood.

His father started laughing. His teeth were stained bright red. Damon stood back, confused as all hell.

"Good boy!" His old man leapt to his feet, holding his ribs and spitting out a small spray of blood, but otherwise seemingly unaffected. "You'll make a decent Gear after all."

Damon stared at him, incredulous. "This was some kind of sick test?" He couldn't believe it. This was barbaric, even for an utter bastard like Jocelin Baird.

"And you passed. Flying colors. I knew you just needed a final push." His father's grin widened. "Well done, Damon." He gestured toward the nearest kitchen. "Now go get some ice for that elbow. You need to be in top shape when you get to the Kellers' estate."

"What?"

His father lifted his chin and smiled approvingly. "Go beat the living shit out of that frakking upstart. Nobody steals from a Baird and gets away with it."

Damon tossed the belt at Jocelin's feet. His father let it lie there and said, "I'll bail you out of jail when they arrest you. I'll make sure you won't go to prison." He shrugged. "Unless you kill him. That might take a little longer to sort out."

Damon turned to the archway that led to the east wing's kitchen. His mother was leaning against the wall. Clearly she'd been there the whole time. She held an ice pack out to him and smiled proudly. "Give him hell, baby."

He took the ice pack and pressed it to his elbow. This was the first time his mother had ever called him "baby". He gave them both a wicked sneer. "You bet your ass."

His father sneered right back. "That's my boy."